Tumgik
#what will you do when you beat yourself against the bug zapper of life
antigonick · 4 years
Text
Out of sight
DISCLAIMER : Everything belongs to Malin Rydén and Fallen Hero, as you must know by now. THERE’S ALSO : I guess this one and this one feature the same idiots, though they all work as stand-alones. WHAT TO EXPECT : Well, I said I’d do a bit of farm-angst for Una, so that’s where we’re at. I’m still trying my hand at their POV, and it’s all very vague and very where-are-you-going-with-this, I have no excuse, I just had a free night and stopped using my brain halfway through.
2013. The Farm.
You’re not closing your eyes now, not in this place, not ever. Blink and you fucking disappear. Things have changed. You’re just biding your time. You’re just crouching low. You look at them straight in the face and if they’re too soft you bare your teeth to make them stumble back. You can smell the fear on them, the unease. They’ve seen you quick, they’ve seen you wild. They can prod, they can slice, they can tear. You don’t care. You lock your muscles and you give them a smile that will turn their dreams to anguish. Oh they know, that they’re threading dark water. 
What did they expect? 
You fled once, and you had no-one then. They don’t stand a chance this time. No slipping away into the night. No fleeing on silent feet. No mercy. You’ll be ready when the cavalry breaks down the door with a quip and a zap. Any day now. Keep your eyes open ’til then.
─────
No windows underground. No clocks in the labs, only watches that the white coats hide under long sleeves. They keep you awake, but you wouldn’t sleep anyway. Your brain left to its own devices tends to spew a bloody-black tar of vertigo. Your eyelids feel vellum-thin and your fingers mauve-cold, and that’s all fucking fine. Jittery means paranoid, paranoid means alert, alert means lethal. Or as lethal as you can be when they tie you to the exam table and inject you with enough tranquilliser to kill a small dog. Guess you shouldn’t have slammed your forehead in a-too-close-nose on—when was it? Day three? Day four? No more than that. 
You can see your synapses blink and flash on their black screens. Their speech is muddied, but it trickles in eventually, molasses-slow; sometimes it comes back quick and sharp when you break the surface of awareness, heart mad with the return of life. 
In the morning (is it morning?) they pin your tongue with a metal probe that tastes like a gun barrel and your name screamed too late.  You’re not worried though. Too late once, but not twice.
─────
It’s not that you can’t do it alone. They’re not stashing you in the same facility, weapon that you are now, but you’re starting to get the hang of the layout, stumbling in blinding corridors between two guards, listening to a stray hint and a whispered conversation. If you take them by surprise—a well-placed elbow when they free your wrists—you might be able to slip and hack your way through those keypads they thumb carelessly. The white coats don’t have guns, but the guards do. You’ve become more than adequate; you should be able to beat one of them up, even if your limbs right now feel like pulp, even if your mind— The dampeners make your telepathy buzz and writhe inside your skull—too long, too long without stretching itself, without extending its fingers to brush at a reality blurry as a nightmare.  Experienced like this, stuck inside your own body, bereft of those mind thresholds that allowed you the grey freedom of liminal spaces, the world has grown unreal. Maybe it is. Maybe you’re not here. Maybe you’re already gone.
Hey, come back. What were you saying? You should be able to beat one of them up and run run run to that metal door you hear shut like a sigh when the white coats finish their shift. Really—it’s not that you can’t do it alone. It’s just good thinking. You’re stronger with someone on the outside. When he comes, you can split this place open like a bruised fruit. 
You just have to hold out a little longer.
─────
Any day now.
─────
You don’t know what’s happening to your eyes. You’re not closing them now, not in this place, not ever—or maybe just a minute, only because the light needles at your optic nerve like a nail—you can feel it shift inside your pupil, nudging your brain with a wet ripe sound, all the way… All the way, far far far down to the back of your throat. 
Stop. 
Where are you? You haven’t seen your face in so long. Behind the mask there’s a mask that hides a mask that hides a mask. No—that’s not true. It was all real, it was, it was. You remember your face, unveiled on a grey-fog night, glimpsed one last time in the glass panes before they shattered into emptiness—it can’t have been more than a week. You know he’s coming for you like you always come for him. They’ll be here. They’ll all be here. They’re heroes after all. You’re heroes after all. None of you would let the world fester like this. None of you would let the tubes leak black, the air turn to rust, the HOWL enter you until it spreads and slashes at your brain, until the trigger clicks. Where are you? You haven’t seen your fa—Wait. Rewind, don’t get lost, he’s coming for you like you always came for him. Shouldn’t you prepare yourself? Get up? Move fast? Cover your bare spine, your naked legs? You wouldn’t want them to see your skin. 
You’re running now. There’s a good chance you’re running. Remember? Remember? Remember the city how the windows reflect the street how the skyscrapers melt into the sky how the sky dissolve into the dark mad sea? The pavement is thumping against the sole of your feet and the heat is swarming up your legs up up up through the tip of your fingers to the root of your hair. Yes you remember the heat. Outside, inside. Heart bursting with it. 
You think you gasp awake.
─────
Don’t forget again, you have to keep your eyes open. Blink and you fucking disappear.
─────
Time is sluggish around here. No clocks, and you miss the toxic purple of the Los Diablos sunset, the velvet cover of the night, you miss, you miss, you miss Anathema, their voice, their hand on your shoulder, that smile you saw melt like too-hot play-doh under their stained fingers—shut up—you miss the heat of the sun on your nape—yes that’s better—you miss coffee rich and dark, you miss the mind-voices weaving in and out of your head, never alone, always alone, you miss the supple cover of the suit, the darkness of the mask, you miss you miss you miss your name so roundly shaped by tongues warm and familiar. 
You remember your name, right? One of the white coats joked about it the other day. Asked you if anybody ever fell for that cardboard Irish heritage you aimed at. They’re growing bolder now; they get in your face, they laugh, they don’t hesitate before they pull at your eyelids, stab at your arm, open your jaw. Too close, too cocky, leaving on your tongue the foretaste of revenge.
One night (is it night?) two of them move around you snake-like in the yellow daze and while they stick their electrodes on your scalp they jeer, they circle, they ask again and again—so did you like it, the glitter, the fame? Say, how was it? Did you party your heart out? Did you touch your heroes? Did you wear a dress? Did you think you could be a person? Did the tattoos turn your little friends on?
As if they didn’t know that what you snatched for yourself back then was only a half-life, hidden and veiled like prey, every opening making you weaker, making you reckless, making you—what? Hopeful?  Still they shouldn’t, shouldn’t snicker, shouldn’t touch, shouldn’t spit. 
You could still bite. You will, won’t you? You were supposed to be crouching low. Feels like you might have fallen to your knees instead.
─────
Time is running out. You’re not stupid. You can feel your palms turn soft, your muscles turn liquid, the mellow ginger fuzz growing thicker and thicker when you slide a hand on the head they shaved—when? A week ago. A month ago. A century ago.
Any day now. He knows you can take it until he’s ready. He must be planning something big. Silly man, always so dramatic. He’s had time to track you down now, to gather what he needs, to convince Steel, even. You can see it now, the bursting in all guns blazing, the brilliant grin, the righteous anger, the flash of blue and white. You’ll be ready, you’ll be ready.
It’s not that you couldn’t do it alone, but you’re a little tired. It’s so much easier when someone’s got your back, right? He taught you that. You should tell him when he gets here. You should tell him a lot of things.
Hours—days—weeks—seconds unfurl like a shroud.
They leave you alone a little sometimes and when nothing moves when nothing hurts it’s difficult not to sleep. Pain soft and hushed has settled at the base of your spine, reminding you where your body starts and stops. You haven’t felt the edges of your mind in so long, you have to cling to flesh. 
Today they’ve settled you in the familiar lab, sitting slightly swaying on the exam table, waiting, useless and empty. Your patient gown is thin and papery, gaping at the back like a hungry mouth. The air is hot and humid, the neon tubes sizzle and pop like bug zappers. On the white boards, they left a few of your scans—lovely colourful waves on translucent black. On the nearest work table, you can see the coffee growing cold, and two library books wrapped in neat plastic covers, and even a trashy tabloid with a cover so crisp and new—  So crisp and new—
You know that smile. Suddenly swallowing is stretching your throat. You know that stupid fancy shirt. You know those camera flashes. You know that lazy hand caught in a cheeky wave, two fingers up. You know that sloping shoulder, that arm wrapped snugly, warm as a secret and light as electricity.  Oh yes yes you know that sun-drenched happiness. You don’t know the girl, you don’t see the venue, you can’t read the title, but it doesn’t matter.
You’ve seen enough.  You close your dry eyes before they burn. He’s not coming. Nobody’s coming. You fucking disappeared. 
80 notes · View notes
starksnack · 5 years
Text
My best bab @withstarryeyes and I did a fic swap. She wrote the dialogue and I based a story around it. Hope you like it C!! Thanks to @wing-heads for the beta
Starting Over From The End // Stony // 2k //TW: Bullying, Blood mentions, vague mentions to past homophobia // Read it on AO3
Tony Stark was not new to the ‘getting the shit kicked out of him’ club. He lay on the sticky tile by his locker, praying for death and cheeseburgers as Justin Hammer introduced his fancy Louboutin sneakers to Tony’s million-dollar smile. It was just another Thursday he decided as the fluorescent lights blinked in and out of his vision.
“Dude, what the fuck? Get away from him.”
And there was Captain Perfect Ass here to save the day with his earnest blue eyes and coconut-sized biceps. With hair spun of gold like Midas had felt his head up, Steve Rogers yanked Hammer away from Tony, dark brows pulled over his stormy eyes.
“It’s fine!” Tony rolled his eyes, flopping onto his front to push himself up. If Hammer didn’t beat the crap out of him now, he would just come by and do it later. Tony didn’t have time in his plans to reschedule his weekly bullying. There were no fucks left to give. “Just leave it.”
Hammer was just upset that Howard had recently scored a military contract for Stark Enterprises that Hammer Industries had been gunning for. He’d probably get over it within the week and find something else to beat Tony up for. It was a dance that Tony had long since gotten used to considering Hammer’s parents could pay off the school, and Howard didn’t care enough to get involved in Tony’s life.
“You heard the nerd,” Hammer sneered, brave enough to go toe to toe with an absolute unit like Steve. Even Tony didn’t have the balls to face the peak of male perfection. “Just leave it.”
But of course, Mr. Big Blond and Busty refused to relocate himself and his massive rack. Tony sighed, pulling himself to his feet just as Steve was pointedly saying, “I will not just leave it, move away before I make you.”
Wrong thing to say. Tony leaned against his locker, recognizing the fury in Steve’s eyes. He’d had that look directed at him once upon a time. He grabbed his mechanical physics textbook out of his locker, slamming the door shut with a resounding crack that had both Steve and Hammer looking up.
Quick to get back to intimidation mode, Hammer balled his hands into fists, thumb on the inside. Maybe those weak punches would work on a runt like Tony but on someone as bulky as Steve? Hammer was about to end up in the ER with broken bones and split knuckles. Karma was a bitch.
“You’re gonna make me leave?” He taunted before turning and thumping Tony in the chest in what looked passably amicable. “We’re friends, right nerd?”
Tony crossed his arms over his chest, pain pulling at his abdomen. He was sure to have a painting of purpling bruises across his pale skin tonight, but he didn’t need Steve fighting his battles for him. They hadn’t been on the same side for a long time. “Right.”
Steve, always quick to be the righteous asshole in the room, planted himself like a tree and stood his ground. “I said leave.”
“Fine.” Hammer rolled his eyes, shooting Tony a dirty look that promised more pain later. Great, maybe Bruce would let him hide out in the supply closet he used as a panic room for the rest of the week. Tony blew Hammer a sarcastic kiss as the asshole left with a “bye, dweebs.”
Steve turned to watch him go and Tony took that as a cue to turn the corner while he was distracted and sprint down the hall. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Steve Rogers, the asshole that broke his heart just as senior year was starting. They were so close to graduating and then Tony could avoid his perfect pale ass like nobody’s business from the comfort of his dorm room at MIT.
The squeaking of shoes down the hall told Tony that Steve was in hot pursuit, but like a gazelle fearing for its life and delicate feelings, Tony sprinted down the hall fearing for his life and delicate feelings. He turned a corner into the stairwell, headed to the parking lot where his car was haphazardly parked in the back of the lot.
Shit, the exterior door was locked. It was part of Principal Fury’s new initiative to cut down on smoking. What a Debbie Downer. Tony thumped his head against the metal door as Steve slowed to a stop beside him.
Double shit. The stairwell was empty. If Steve really were here to break his heart a second time, there would be no one to hear Tony’s screams as he died of embarrassment. It was probably for the best, he was told his screams resembled that of a dying bus fighting a chain-smoking leaf blower.
“Are you hurt?” Concern was not what he expected, but it was better than an all-out yelling match. Tony took a deep breath, trying to slow his breathing as he really thought about if he was hurt or not.
There was a lot to be hurt about. Justin Hammer using him as a punching bag, Steve breaking his heart eight months ago, the impending end of life on earth as they marched closer to oblivion. Tony shrugged. It could be worse, at least he was here, in high school. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Alright, well,” Steve scratched the back of his neck, a hopeful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Tony immediately beat down the butterflies fluttering in his rib cage with a bug zapper. “I have to meet Nat. Would you like to join?”
“Uh… no.” Nat was one of the friends Tony convinced himself he didn’t want to keep in touch with after Steve left him in the dust to pursue popularity and football. Tony didn’t want to be tempted to ask their mutual friends about how Steve was doing so the only person he didn’t push away, on pain of death, was his science bro, Brucie-bear. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. But would you tell her I said hi?”
“No,” Steve said firmly and Tony resisted the urge to flinch back. With a firm hand around his wrist, Steve led him out of the stairwell and further away from freedom. Tony resisted the urge to let out a sad sigh. “But if you come with, you can tell her yourself.”
Tony frowned. This almost seemed like an olive branch. He wiped his wet mouth, feeling a twinge of pain as his fingers came away bloody. He had to look like an absolute mess. “I can’t stay long.”
“Didn’t expect you to.” Steve smiled, blue eyes bright as the sky and deep as the ocean as he passed a glance down Tony’s body. It wasn’t the kind of checking out that Tony wanted though. Steve was looking for injuries. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
“It’s not anything I can’t handle,” Tony shrugged. He passed a hand across his stomach without wincing. He deserved an Oscar for that alone, Hammer was brutal when he was jealous.
“If I take you to meet Nat and you’re bleeding like that she’s gonna think I caused it.” Steve eyed Tony’s split lip pointedly, digging a tissue out of his bookbag. “Can I?”
Wiping blood off his lip was a surprisingly intimate move. Wasn’t Steve worried he would catch cooties or some immature bullshit like that? Tony hesitated, waiting for the punchline. “...Alright?”
“You’ll let me know if I hurt you?” Steve had an earnest expression written across his features, so Tony decided that maybe his ex-best friend wasn’t out to get him today.
“Sure.” Tony sat down at a bench by the bathrooms and Steve sat beside him. He was silent as Steve carefully wiped the blood off his chin, focused in a way Tony had never seen him before.
Without warning, Steve grabbed the hem of his shirt and before Tony could stop him, his AC/DC graphic tee was being lifted to expose his bruised midsection. Steve made an angry noise, almost like a growl, in the back of his throat as he splayed a hand across the hard ridges of Tony’s stomach. “Who was that guy?”
Tony ignored the way Steve was feeling him up, too tired to fight and make a sexual innuendo that would surely have Steve running for the hills. “Didn’t you hear him? A friend.”
Steve’s brows were pulled together, blue eyes almost black with fury as he fixed Tony with a hard glare. “He’s not your friend.”
“No shit…” Tony rolled his eyes, painfully yanking his shirt away from Steve’s grip. He stood up before Steve could reach for him again. “But he’s not much of a bother. I mean, he’s not usually that bad.”
Steve rose to his feet, heading down the hall. He got a couple of steps away, before turning and gesturing for Tony to follow. With nothing better to do, Tony complied, running down the hallway to catch up. Steve’s voice was dark as he asked, “What’s he usually like? Too dumb to hit a moving object?”
“Nah,” Tony shrugged nonchalantly as Steve pulled open the door to the Sports Med room. “Just too large to catch me.”
Steve nodded, grabbing a plastic bag off a shelf and filling it with ice. Dispensing a handful of paper towels, Steve held it to Tony’s stomach, careful not to press too hard and hurt Tony further. They sat together in the comfortable silence of the classroom, looking out the window together at the cars in the parking lot.
Steve smelled the same as always, like Irish soap, bike polish, and the American dream. Sitting in the empty class with him, Tony was reminded of that time they hid in an empty classroom for hours, hiding from their friends and an aggressive game of Would You Rather? They had spent hours sitting together, talking about nothing. The sports on tv, the recent bumfuck election, their futures.
Clearly, Steve’s mind was on the same train of thought because mumbled words were falling past his lips, almost too scared to break the comfortable silence. “I... don’t you miss this?”
“What, getting beat up?” Tony asked sarcastically. Steve was the one who threw their friendship away. All because he got beefy and decided he was too good to hang out with a fairy like Tony.
“No..” Steve’s perfect brow furrowed in frustration as he tried to get all his thoughts together. Tony knew the feeling. “Us getting along. Not having it be so hard all the time to just…”
“Get ourselves into trouble?” Tony suggested, just to be an insufferable asshole. It was nothing compared to how shitty Steve had made him feel.
“Forget it,” Steve sighed, frustrated as he looked toward the door.
“No!” Tony could swallow his pride enough to admit he missed Steve. Missed their late-night adventures in the woods, missed skinny dipping at the community center after hours, missed pizza picnics in the park and truth or dare, and sharing cotton candy at Coney Island. He missed Steve so fucking much it hurt. “I mean, uh, yeah; I miss this. A lot.”
“Does this mean you forgive me?” Steve’s voice was quiet, tentative in a way that Tony had never heard as he looked up at Tony with the biggest puppy dog eyes.
Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Is that an apology?” As far as apologies went, Steve honestly could have done a little bit better. Though Tony had already forgiven him. Probably since the moment he stepped up and stood up for him against Hammer.
“No,” Steve stumbled over his words, an admittedly adorable blush spreading across his face as he looked up at Tony through dark blond lashes. “I mean kinda. But there’ll be more.”
Tony grinned at Steve, bright as the sun, heart swelling as Steve hesitated before smiling back at him, just as happy.
“It means… maybe I’m willing to see what the apology is.”
39 notes · View notes