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funkylittlebidiot · 3 years

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Feed The Birds

Part of puppets on a string

Being the expensive specialized New York recovery hospital that it was, the physical therapy room - only one of many - was about the size of half a soccer field. The equipment was expensive and sleek, keeping the room orderly and giving it an overall clean look. Some parts of the floor were padded - removing the need for mats that could easily be tripped over, while the rest was made of smooth wood, continuing further up the wall to form paneling reaching halfway towards the ceiling. The wood ended in rounded bars that lined the entire room, an easy handle for support when needed.

Tony had already spent more time in here than he would have liked, and most of it had been gruesome. Though his brain knew how to walk, he was stuck with 150 pounds of uncooperative limbs fighting his every move.

He’d grown to detest the workout room in his time here. Though today, he found a whole new appreciation for the gym.

Rhodey got up from his chair as Tony pulled himself into a sitting position and turned to let his legs dangle off the side of the table he was lying on. He’d have to do one more set of exercises before he had to go back to his room to rest, but for now, he could take a small break. Rhodey sat down next to him, encouraging smile gracing his lips. “You’re doing great.”

Tony didn’t respond, simply letting his eyes wander towards the other side of the room, where Sophia was standing in front of the mirror-lined wall with her private ballet instructor. The hospital had been kind enough to allow her to follow classes here during his training periods - and had been well compensated for their trouble.

He liked having her around, though, and it was nice to see her happy and living a normal childhood while he was trying to get better. It helped him stay focused on his goals, on being able to go home as soon as possible and get back to the way things were.

Sophia had always reminded him there was life after war, a reason to secure their victory. That someday, she would be a teenager, a college student, a young woman making her own way in the world.

Tony would make sure to see that happen, but there were years to go until then. Years to live without having to fight for his life every waking second. Years where they’d just get to have ice cream and watch Disney movies and call it a day.

He just wanted to recover and get to those moments as quickly as possible. And though it was certainly easier said than done, having Sophia here reminded him to stay strong and keep working towards recovery. To not give up.

It helped that, despite everything, these were the hours he looked forward to most - the hours that kept him out of his hospital room and his body active and moving, his mind occupied. He didn’t mind pushing his body as hard as it would go, but his trainers - and especially Sophia’s presence - kept him from overworking himself.

He took his breaks, watching her dance with her instructor, and used the time to talk to Rhodey, and worked things through when his mind was distracted by the physical exercise.

Sophia shifted her arms as the instructor corrected her and wobbled only slightly during her plié. It made Tony smile.

“How have things been?” Tony asked hesitantly, keeping his eyes on Sophia, so he didn’t have to look at his best friend. He’d avoided the question thus far, so busy with his recovery and finding his footing again in the figurative sense; he hadn’t wanted to talk about everything he’d missed.

For one, to him, it only felt like yesterday that he’d been dancing with Stephen underneath the party lights and had declared to the entire world that he’d joined a terrorist organization. Everything had changed so much since then, in but the blink of an eye.

Tony had avoided the Internet like the plague since he’d woken up, but it wasn’t just the outside world that had changed.

He’d missed Sophia’s fifth birthday - the first birthday she would have spent with them. Apparently, Harley was living in his penthouse now. And Stephen . . .

Tony wasn’t sure what to think of that situation. He’d been the one in the coma, but still, it felt like he had lost Stephen, somehow. The man seemed… absent around him, distant. And it - well, Tony just didn’t understand why. He - at the very least - would have expected more excitement at his regaining consciousness, but even that felt - ugh, he really didn’t know.

Everything just felt so ... confusing. First of all, his own body just did not feel like it used to anymore. It didn’t want to cooperate on simple tasks, and his limbs felt heavy and weak.

Then there was his right arm... The scarring was rough and unfamiliar, sensitive to the touch. And as much as Tony was glad he hadn’t been conscious for the most painful part of its healing process, it still often ached and burned, reminding him of those few moments he’d been conscious as he’d snapped. And though he recognized it as his own arm, it felt foreign - off. Like thunder-less lightning.

Every time he tried to use it - every time he even glanced at it - he couldn’t shake the feeling of otherness. Like it didn’t belong to him at all.

The rest of his body ... well, you try lying in bed for 3 months. The physical therapist had done all he could trying to keep his muscles from completely wasting away, but at this point, Tony was happy he could support his own weight and walk three small steps.

Having had solid food for a week had helped as well. Tony definitely felt like he had more energy, but that only made it more disheartening when he’d try for that fourth step and failed. When he was reminded once more that his body just did not want to cooperate. That it was out of his control.

That was it; everything felt out of control. Everything was spiraling. Tony barely had any say about the structure of his day; everyone deciding what he’d eat, how much he’d have to eat, when he’d have to get out of bed, when to get back into bed. He was lucky that he got to choose when to go to the bathroom, but even to get there, he needed help.

But he wasn’t going to complain - and definitely not in front of Sophia.

He knew it was what was necessary.

It would have just been more bearable if he’d knew why Stephen was acting so strange.

“Well, the world is nothing if not resilient,” Rhodey replied, and Tony could hear the soft smile in his voice. “Alien Invasion is nothing compared to Sokovia - definitely not as much damage thanks to you. The shields definitely helped focus Thanos’ attention on us.”

“You were the one that came through with the Wakandan army,” Tony smiled, bumping his shoulder into Rhodey’s. “How’d you do that?”

“Like I said - they came to me.” He shrugged, and this time Tony turned to look at him. “Their technology was able to sense the ships even before yours did. Beyond that, King T’Chaka and Prince T’Challa have been seriously amazing. They’ve been doing damage control with the press. An outside source rationalizing the attack has really helped take some of the heat off of you and the Avengers. King T’Chaka has also been using it as a way to bring Wakanda out of hiding and join the rest of the world.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll take you to visit once you’re better; you’re going to love it.”

“How about the Avengers?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically demure even to his own ears.

Tony planned on seeing the Avengers once he was out of the hospital and well on his way to full recovery - and not a moment sooner.

He already felt powerless enough as it was. He hated hospitals, hated the way he felt in the hospital bed, the wires trapping him and keeping him restricted. Especially when he woke in the night - when the room was at its darkest with the only light being the yellow hall light that streamed in through the small opaque window in his door and the orange streetlights peering through the old curtains - did it remind him terribly of the months he’d spend in captivity. When all he had was a damp cave and a friend, and wires chaining him to an old car battery.

Stephen had made sure he had his housing unit safely tucked into his bedside drawer, but he’d promised not to wear it. Despite that first peaceful day of waking up surrounded by his loved ones, anxiety had followed soon after. Lingering traumas and new PTSD symptoms keeping him busy with a therapist for two hours every other day.

“They’re working with the UN now.” Tony couldn’t hide the surprise at Rhodey’s words, though it seemed like Rhodey had expected his reaction. “Yeah, I know,” he chuckled, “Steve following orders is something else. But I think the Thanos attack helped him reevaluate some things … and well, of course, there’s the thing with - “

Rhodey stopped himself, seemingly surprised as he blinked as if having to remind himself that, of course, Tony wasn’t on the same wavelength as him yet. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable, glancing hesitantly at him.

“What?”

“It’s - Well, in exchange for the Avenger’s cooperation with the UN, the UN is pardoning James Barnes.”

“Oh,” Tony hesitated, taking a moment to let those words sink in and figure out how he was feeling about it. “That’s -“

“It’s understandable if you’re not okay with it,” Rhodey was quick to reassure him, “you don’t ever have to be around him if you don’t want to and- I get if you want him to be punished in some way but-“

“I don’t mind,” Tony interrupted him, placing a comforting hand on Rhodey’s thigh. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Really?” Rhodey asked, watching him dubiously. He was frowning, and though he seemed skeptical at first, his expression quickly changed into a smile as he rolled his eyes. “Nevermind; I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“But are you sure that’s something you really believe, or is this just one of those ways you punish yourself?” He asked after another beat. Tony raised an amused eyebrow at his friend, who was scrutinizing him with a considering gaze.

“Seriously?”

“Do you blame me for asking?”

“Fair enough,” Tony sighed, glancing back over at Sophia as she made a pirouette. “It’s not like I’m going to have to be around him. Rhodey, I know you’ve been working a long time on getting the Avengers in line with the UN and having them be more supervised, but I’m- It’s just-.”

“I’m not going to ask you to be part of it.” Rhodey interrupted him, and when Tony’s eyes snapped over to meet his, he found they were steady and reassuring. Tony focused on him and the grounding effect of his presence as he breathed out slowly, using the techniques Stephen had taught him to expel the tension from his body. “I’ve already excluded you from any and all contracts concerning the collaboration with the UN. Carol’s assured me that any and all extraterrestrial threat to Earth has evaporated with Thanos and the stones.”

“Carol?”

“Oh right,” Rhodey explained casually, but Tony could see the hints of a grin in the all-too-familiar lines of his face. “Some badass superheroine who was stationed off-earth. Fury called her back when the invasion started, but she arrived late to the party. Calls herself Captain Marvel.”

“It’s better than Captain America,” Tony shrugged. If she had Rhodey smiling like this, she indeed must be something else.

“Even better: she’s an actual captain.”

^^^^^^^^^

“Everything okay, mister Stark?”

Tony glanced up at Lana, standing in his doorway, a pile of blankets in her arms. He doubted those were meant for him, as he had more than enough already.

He tried flashing her a smile, though it was often difficult these days. It was past ten already, but Tony couldn’t sleep, currently favoring the sofa chair in the corner of his room, putting him in full view of the hallway. It was with good reason that Lana had stopped to ask if he was alright. His door was left open, along with the standing lamp in the corner behind him, providing him with ambient lighting to write by.

The floor in front of him was covered in balls of papers, only half crumbled as for even that his right hand didn’t have enough force. His left hand ached from his attempts at writing for the last half hour, but he still hadn’t achieved anything besides tormenting himself. All in all, it wasn’t a good night, and the darkness of his room only accentuated his loneliness and frustration.

“Fine,” Tony answered anyway, glancing at his current attempt at ‘Tony Stark’ as to avoid her inquisitive gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Hold on,” Lana replied, and Tony glanced up to find she had disappeared. He waited a couple of minutes, but she was back before long, blankets having been delivered to their destination.

She stepped further into the room this time, glancing at the piece of paper. “Your recovery team will get to small motor functions eventually. You shouldn’t worry.”

“I’m not very good with patience,” Tony responded with a shrug. “Never mind that what I really want to be doing right now is building something, restoring a car, or tinkering on a watch.”

Lana nodded, a thoughtful frown crossing her eyes. “I understand. But maybe slowly working toward it will be more beneficial. We have some activities in the common room that aim to slowly build up smaller motor functions. Want to go take a look?”

Besides the training room, Tony was also encouraged to spend a few hours in the common room every day, an option which he’d thus far forewent. The common room meant other people, people who would recognize him and ask questions.

His doctors had mentioned that the support of others in a similar situation might bring him comfort, and maybe in the future, that would be true. For now, however, the thought of anyone outside of his family seeing him just filled him with dread and shame. It shouldn’t - he knew that. But he didn’t like appearing weak, feeling exposed, or vulnerable. There was already enough in the hospital room that made him feel less than he was - he didn’t need the added pressure of the outside world.

Too much of his life had already been a cause of public opinion - this was too intimate. He couldn’t - wouldn’t face it.

“I know I’m supposed to encourage you to sleep at this hour,” Lana continued when he didn’t respond, and as if reading his mind, she added,” But I know you don’t like the common room during the day.”

He nodded then, reminded of the late hour and assured of his privacy. At the very least, his interest was piqued, and if Lana was right in there being more productive ways to spend his time, he was all for it. “I’d like to walk.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Stark? I already shouldn’t be getting you out of your room without proper reason; I don’t want you to get hurt on my watch.”

“Please, Lana? I’ll use the walker, and you can stalk me with the chair if it makes you feel better.”

Lana regarded him with a critical look, biting her lip in thought, before eventually sighing and giving in.

He had to use the walker, and he only made it halfway down the hall before opting for the chair, but he was still content with the distance he’d managed to travel. It had immediately helped to lift his spirits, to end the day on a more satisfying note. It had even given him a new appreciation for the walker, which he usually refused because it made him look as old as he felt.

Now, having given it a chance, he actually felt more lively and energetic, as he was able to move more independently.

Most of the hallways were darkened with the late hour, as most patients were already asleep or winding down before getting closing their eyes. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that Lana must be the night nurse for today, having not seen her earlier in the afternoon. The common room was also darkened and empty as promised.

Tony stared. He hadn’t been there before, but it looked like any lounge you’d expect in a hospital or communal building - couches and comfortable chairs were spread around in small clusters, cabinets lining the walls were filled with board games, books, and other boxes Tony couldn’t discern in the dark.

However, what had taken Tony by surprise was the massive windows lining the walls, uncovered by the shades adorning the ones in his room. The ones in the training room were similar, but those had often been covered to protect against the otherwise blinding sunlight, and he’d never been there after nightfall. Like this, the open view on the dark skyline beyond just filled him with such profound homesickness, it took his breath away.

It was strange - he’d never felt homesick for anything other than his Malibu mansion before. That had been the longest he’d ever lived somewhere that wasn’t his parents’ manor. New York usually looked the same wherever you lived; the skyline was just that - a skyline, ever-changing and yet a constant everywhere.

The mansion in Malibu had been his, built to his various whims and desires; it was the house he’d spent the most peaceful part of his life in.

He’d only had his Soho penthouse for a few months, and yet he craved it now in a way he’d never before dealt with.

“Don’t -,” Tony stopped Lana from switching on the lights, not wanting to ruin the effect the city lights had on the walls and his frayed nerves. “I prefer it like this. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Lana replied, though Tony could sense the hesitation in her voice. “Do you still want something to practice with? I’m not sure you’ll have enough light- do you know how to play the piano? “

The view had managed to distract him, but now Tony did indeed noticed the grand piano in the corner of the room. A smile pulled at his lips. The idea of him playing piano again after twenty years was outright ridiculous, and he held no delusions that his injuries would suddenly make it easier. Even without his scars, it had been years since he’d played, and he highly doubted he’d be able to produce much more than a few harsh-cutting notes.

Still, a song arose from his memories. It wasn’t the familiar melody that he associated with the instrument - not the one his mother used to play so often, intricate and elegant. Instead, it was a hopeful but straightforward tune, played by hands that were every bit as fragile yet strong as the notes produced.

He didn’t know the song, but he missed the man that had played it.

Maneuvering his chair over to the piano - the bench already conveniently moved out of the way, most likely exactly to make it easier for wheelchair users to access it - and lifted the lid, exposing the black and white keys underneath.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Lana spoke up, voice softened with a smile. She stepped forward, hanging a remote button to the arm of his chair. “I have to go back to the nurse’s station. Make sure to press this button if something’s wrong.”

“Lana-, “Tony spoke up, stopping her in her tracks as she was already halfway out the room.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She nodded and smiled before eventually leaving Tony to himself in the dark lounge.

Tony glanced down at the keys, letting his left hand hover over the primary chords. He hesitated. Surely, it was less intricate than writing, and his left hand already knew how to maneuver over the keys. Yet, he wasn’t sure how much use his right hand would be. The song would only sound incomplete, the mere baseline without the notes that made it unique. A starch reminder that the most crucial part was missing.

But once again, Stephen’s melody cut through his thoughts, a song played by the man he loved. A man who’d lost more, who’d managed to come back from a pit deeper than Tony’s. If Stephen could do it, so could Tony.

He had to try. He could get there.

He started playing.

Just using his left hand at first, he stumbled over the notes, trying to puzzle his memories back together and awaken his muscle memory from a lifetime ago. Once he felt like he had the song down, he tried to add his right hand. It was still sore, his fingers still shook with soft tremors, the movements requiring too much focus.

But at least he managed to produce sounds. A broken melody, but a melody nonetheless.

He was so focused on the notes, he didn’t realize someone had entered the room until the soft scraping of the piano bench caught his attention. Stephen pulled the seat over and sat down next to him, eyes focused on Tony’s hands. Tony couldn’t tell if he was just as mesmerized by his fingers as he seemed or if he was just using it as an excuse not to look at him. Still, Tony continued the song, stubbornly bringing it to its completion despite the many errors made.

^^^^^^^^

“I didn’t know you played.” The words left Stephen’s mouth in careful tones, after the last notes had long since faded away, like a foot slowly dipping its toe into unknown water.

“I don’t,” Tony sighed, dropping his hands into his lap. “But I had to take lessons as a kid. My tyrant of a tutor made me play this song until I could do it in my sleep.”

Stephen nodded, eyes trailing up to stare at the windows and the city beyond. It was strange how quickly redirecting his gaze had become second nature. How easily his eyes traced Tony’s shadows without once looking at him.

He could feel Tony’s eyes on him, how he allowed his eyes to linger as they ran over Stephen’s features, and wondered if Tony could count the nights of sleep Stephen had lost since he had woken up. If Tony saw him differently than he had before. If he’d finally noticed the ugly underneath.

“It sounds familiar.”

“It’s from Mary Poppins. Feed The Birds.”

Stephen glanced over at him, eyebrow raised in amusement.

Shrugging, Tony smiled, face brightening under Stephen’s attention until Stephen quickly looked away again, eyes turning to the keyboard instead. By the Vishanti, sometimes he hated how easily he was able to lose himself around Tony. How effortlessly things fell into place in his presence, like everything was and always would be alright. As if Stephen had never known a day without him.

Tonight, for the first time since Tony had regained consciousness, Stephen didn’t feel awkward. His mind felt at peace, even if his body hadn’t gotten the memo. Almost as if the darkness around him was a warm blanket muting his doubts.

Still thinking about it now, he felt like he couldn’t breathe - and not in the good way he was used to around him.

He was drowning as if every moment his bubble would pop, like the next words that would come tumbling out of Tony’s mouth could end him. Tony held that power over him, all cards his to play, and Stephen, more than ever, felt like an imposter. The last few months, he’d stolen Tony’s life from him, breaking into his space and relying on his people for comfort, and he still wasn’t sure he was allowed.

After all, he’d bargained those very same people away when giving up the time stone.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Tony’s voice sounded small and worn-out, but - ironically - they were enough to snap Stephen’s eyes up to meet his. He looked as despondent as Stephen felt; the lines in his face were heavy with exhaustion, his eyes clouded as they took Stephen in with as much quiet fervor as the other way around. Something clicked into place once their gazes were locked for what felt like the first time since Tony had woken up from his coma.

Stephen wanted to answer, his mouth falling open as the words scratched against the walls of his larynx, refusing to come out. That Tony was asking surely meant -

Then again, hope was a dangerous thing, and he’d already gotten one miracle this month. His eyes stung as he closed his mouth and swallowed, eyes drifting away from Tony’s and towards the window. He took in the orange halos surrounding the skyscrapers, the cities’ muted lights, and the starless sky beyond. Listened to the noises of the street wafting up through the window. It seemed strange that it would still be heard this high off the ground or this late at night, but Stephen had lived in New York for too long to be surprised by it.

Stephen knew exactly what he wanted to say - what he was wondering, what Stephen needed to hear - but he couldn’t get it over his lips. His mind just kept drifting and drifting. Every other thought that wandered close scrambled away as quickly as Stephen tried to reach for it - too paralyzed by the panic coursing through his veins.

“Stephen?”

“I’m -,” His instinct was to look away again, but he caught himself at the last moment, forcing his eyes to stay true.

“I’m not ready to lose you.” He managed eventually, observing Tony’s eyes carefully, allowing them to anchor him in his body. They clouded with confusion, head tilting in question like it wasn’t obvious that Tony was supposed to hate him.

“Stephen - that doesn’t make any sense,” Tony argued, voice so unbearably kind. Stephen’s eyes stung, staring down at his hands where they were painfully clutching each other in his lap. He released them with a shudder, tried to take a deep breath as he squared his shoulders.

“Tony, I did the one thing you counted on me not to do. Made the one choice you begged me not to make.” He looked back up, meeting Tony’s eyes again. It was his punishment. “The last thing I did before you - before you could have died - was let you down.”

Tony glanced down at the piano, but his right hand shifted to rest on Stephen’s thigh. Stephen swallowed, knowing he didn’t deserve the comfort but too weak to shake it off. “I didn’t- It was wrong of me to expect you to- “

Stephen wanted to interrupt him, but he couldn’t find the words, too focused on the burning in his throat.

“Stephen, I made the same mistake when I saved Sophia.”

“It wasn’t a mistake-“

“I know,” Tony assured him. His hand reached between them, grabbing Stephen’s softly and linking their fingers together. Stephen looked at them, baffling at the warmth of Tony’s skin against his and the willingness of the gesture. He wasn’t angry, Stephen had to convince himself, the weight slowly but surely fading off his back. “But I acted for one person rather than the universe, just like you did when it came down to it.”

“I love you.”

The world didn’t end. Stephen didn’t implode. The dull pain in his chest didn’t sharpen, didn’t cut deeper than it had before. Tony was still here, no bolt of lightning cutting him down.

Tony was still here, still looking at him with his dark, loving, and, most importantly, alive eyes.

The words had been burning his throat for way too long, weighed down by the belief it wasn’t forever. But now he could say them, for once in their relationship, nothing was dictating he couldn’t. They weren’t enemies, they weren’t doomed, they were just them.

And apparently, Tony still wanted them to be.

Tony smiled.

An honest to God grin, wide and full.

It basked the dark lounge in a bright glow and warmed Stephen from the inside out, uncurling every molecule that made up his body.

“Who doesn’t?”

Stephen didn’t respond, didn’t even roll his eyes. He simply leaned in, his grin melting with Tony’s.

Title Song

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