A/N: Wow! Lots of positive reaction for this story! For anyone who is wondering, this is written from my own experience as an Autistic individual. No, the majority of us are not murderers; it is the same (miniscule) percentage as the whole population. I don't get much support from the people around me when describing life on the spectrum...but internet friends are wondrous! If you ever have any questions about autism, PM me or leave a review. I will provide a Q/A at the end of chapters if there are a lot.
There are a couple of stronger words coming up, but not much. Two of them are in this chapter.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A week after the first of our movie nights, Clint and Steve are in the training room when they call me to come along. I hesitate, worrying about my muscles, as the Arc Reactor can leave me even more physically exhausted than I naturally am. But Steve calls me again, insisting. "We want to know what you're like without the suit to help you move." I agree sullenly, telling JARVIS to monitor my experiments in my absence from the lab.
Taking the elevator down, I have JARVIS put the lights at optimal. As the doors open, Clint walks over. "Steve is setting something up. How bad are you?"
"Bad," I mutter. "Very bad." Clint rolls his eyes, leading me to the ropes course. "No," I say firmly as he opens the doors. "Not falling onto the concrete with my common sense intact."
"Steve's job was setting up a trampoline. Now come on." Clint gestures, and I walk in. I had Dummy set up the ropes with some help from the workers, and I've never seen the course before. It is gigantic, to say the least. Near the center, where the ropes are lowest, Steve is jumping up and down on the aforementioned trampoline, pulling himself up on the ropes each time he gets high enough.
I climb up carefully, Clint right behind me in case I fall. Once my feet are secure on the rim, Steve helps me walk to the center. "Let's get your balance first, alright, Tony?" he asks calmly. He can obviously see my wide eyes and hear my rapid breathing. Slowly, he and Clint get the trampoline moving slightly beneath me. I fall over many times in the next half an hour.
"Didn't you ever get help for this in school?" Clint asks me as Steve goes upstairs to get us snacks.
"No," I respond, shaking my head. "I was too smart, and they refused to give me any help. I still can't swim or run very well, either." Clint grunts as Steve tosses him a water bottle. I try to catch mine, but I miss and it hits my chest. "Damn."
"List all of the things we could help you with, Tony," Steve says as he hands me a granola bar.
"Throwing, catching, running, swimming, kicking..." I trail off, unable to speak while chewing.
"We'll start with some more trampoline in ten minutes," Clint says quietly. I smile in response.
Over the next few days, both of them are spending at least an hour each day teaching me. I slowly gain strength, and my sore muscles at the end of the day are incredible. Steve also comes down into my lab so I can teach him in return, and I make Clint a new quiver with plenty of arrows.
Slowly, my muscles begin to strengthen enough to do physical tasks without the suit. Twice, Steve gets trapped as the trampoline collapses from his impact. Clint has to get Natasha to help him the first time, but a week later, I am capable enough to assist.
The practice I get in ends up being of the utmost importance.
As always, New York is a busy place. One extra visitor in the tower makes no difference...unless that visitor hacks JARVIS and triggers the Apocalypse (well, in my lab, anyway) and some other things while Bruce and I are working inside.
"No," I hear as Bruce goes to see what happened. "No, no, no."
"Deep breaths," I suggest, trying to keep him calm.
"Bad idea, Tony. We're in lockdown." I freeze, calculating how much air we have as the power goes out. "Shit," Bruce mutters unhappily.
"Give me a boost," I say as I look up at the closed vent.
"What?" Bruce looks at me as if I were insane-which I sort of am-before helping me hang from it and pull it open.
The moment I let go, it closes once more.
Bruce can only stare at me as I pull my shirt off, not worrying about the scars. "Now, just like the yearly trade," I mutter. "Out, move, in. Two minutes. Tops." My fingers remove the Arc Reactor from its housing as Bruce yells.
"You'll kill yourself, Tony! What are you doing?"
I grimace, handing it to him. "A minute and a half, Bruce. Give me a boost , plug this in and counter-hack him."
"I'm giving you a physical after this," he insists as he complies.
My muscles strain as I hang. I hear scuffling in the vent, and suspect rats before hearing a familiar voice.
"It'll be alright, Tony. I can't remove the grate, but you're doing an awesome job," Clint mutters. My eyes are closed in tension, so he tells me of Bruce's progress. "He's chasing the guy out. Shh, Tony. He's done." The vent relaxes, and I drop to the floor, gasping. My muscles ache as footsteps approach.
"I'm putting it back in, Tony," Bruce warns me. I nod, taking comfort from his calm touch and the cold metal. I hear the grate clatter, and Clint drops in.
"You okay, Tony, Bruce? What was that?"
"Hacker," I mutter as Bruce hands me my shirt. "Good one, too. I should hire him." Bruce smiles, and the archer snorts in laughter.
"But how didn't you need the Arc Reactor? The pain-" I cut Bruce off.
"I can ignore it. I have too many sensory neurons, too few pain ones. My body compensates by intensifying touch." I look over at Clint, meeting his eyes. "And I could never have stayed up there if you and Capsicle hadn't taught me." Embarrassed, I look down. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, Tony. You're very welcome."
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