Ain't Supposed To Rain

January 18, 2018:

Tony Stark comes home to a dark house and makes some bad decisions.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Pepper Potts, Phil Coulson, Jane Foster,


Mood Music: Welshly Arms - Ain't Supposed To Rain

Fade In…

It was dark and cold and he should be in bed. Over the past few days Tony Stark has been awake for nearly three of them. Fighting for two of them. Shellshocked for the whole time. He’s been shot, blown up, punched, repulosred, choked, and finally in an epic display of bad timing…Hulk’d.

He is made of more bandages than person at this point, more bruises and breaks than whole. He shouldn’t be /moving/ let alone walking around. He never ever has been one to play by the rules though. Not once in his life as he done that. Which is why he’s up, out of medbay and against everyone's orders. Walking through the darkened halls of his labs.

He had already given the orders and expertise necessary to fix the ARC reactor and assist with the restoration of the power grid of the city. He had already done what was needed for everyone. Now? Now he was doing what he needed to for himself.

He was silent as he walked, an odd black box tucked under one arm. Swathed in bandages, limping along with assistance of a augmented leg brace from his own med-labs, he was a far cry from the usual Tony Stark that walked these halls. The whir of the servos from the motors of the brace his only company in his slow and steady pace.

Eyes fell on massive holes torn into walls in the lab. Great rents in the structure of the building, his home. His sanctum. Rips and tears though what he’s built up over the years he’s lived. As he reached out to touch the damage pieces fell away at the touch of his fingers, an abject reminder of the violence doled out to his home.

The normally boisterous Stark, the man who could never stop talking, is silent as he looks towards the ruins of Jane Foster’s lab. Equipment and a few SHIELD guards set up looking at him curiously before he passed out towards where this all started.
Where it all went wrong.

Nothing had been moved, Pepper and Phil had seen to that. Everything lying where violence had left it. In once case leaving it had been out of respect, in the other case out of desire to collect evidence. He stopped at the door to the room, the broken glass crunching under his feet. One hand rested on the bent and broken frame for a moment as he surveyed the wreckage. In this lab there wasn’t all that much really. Mostly blown over tools and burned electronics from the twin bursts of EMP blast and power surge.

“SIRIN,” The normally chipper Tony, the irrepressible inventor, was quiet. Subbed. “Lights.”
“I-I’m sorry, sir.” Even the peppy AI was quiet, her more sardonic side not appearing. “The repairs haven’t reached this floor yet. Power should be restored shortly but right now everything is still heavily damaged.”

“Of course it is,” Stark growled as he stared into the shadows of the room. Slowly he paced forwards a few steps until his shin banged against something in the dark. He crouched above a familiar housing on treads. Slowly one many bandaged hand reached out to rest on the fallen arm housing of one of his first creations. His first friends. Back when he was an eccentric student and not an eccentric…whatever he was now. His fingers curled slowly over the smooth and rounded metal as his head bowed over the still and unmoving corpse of the drone.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I messed up.”

His eyes closed, his head bowed. There was such emotion in those few soft words. Emotion that the man that was almost always all smiles. He held that pose for a few heartbeats before he shifted, patting the metal once again.

“I’ll fix it, buddy. I’ll fix it.”

He stood slowly reaching over to put the black box on one of the worktables. His hand cocked at the wrist, his fingers splayed out as if to type. “Give me the specs on…” His voice trailed off as he realized that the holo emitters were dead too. Fingers curled into fists, causing pain to shoot up his arms as abused bones and muscles protested the sudden motion.

Slowly he drew a deep breath. “SIRIN. How much longer until—”

A flicker of power and a few remaining lights slowly flickered on, revealing the painful state of the lab. The unmoving from of Dummy sprawled on the ground. The discarded inventions and the odd black box sitting there on the table. His eyes turned towards it and slowly narrowed. In the dim his face took on an uncharastically harsh and determined look.

Without looking Stark swiped tools and inventions from a table as he stared. A device forming almost unconsciously as he started to step towards the box. He twirled the device, a longish tube of super technology. “Alright. Lets see what makes you tick.”

“Sir,” SIRIN’s voice was unsure, quiet and uncertain of what might happen. “Are you sure that this is the best of ideas? That virus is dangerous…I’m….” Frizzit. “…scared out of my circuits, sir!”

“Yeah,” Stark twirled the device again. “Well if there is one thing you need to learn about me, SIRIN.” The inventor replied as he stared at that box. “Is that I never make the best decisions.” One more twirl of the device before he smirked slightly. “I have things to do, things to fix, and things to never let happen again. I suppose I should get started.”

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