Tony's fingers feel like tree stumps.

God.

Tony hates this feeling.

His fingers feel fat and stiff and stupid and when he moves them, they move, yes, but it's like pulling teeth, they're so utterly slow and... ugh, what's the word for the opposite of nimble?... whatever that word is, and it's just so utterly...

He hates it.

Hates it with the core of his being and he feels like screaming and throwing something across the room and yes, fine, it's childish but he doesn't know what to do and it's just.

He doesn't hate it.

He can't hate things, like that, he knows, he's hated Howard for years and years (and now it leaves behind something empty and blank and confused that he should have resolved years ago but now just leaves him feeling twisted and uncertain), and this feeling, it's negativity, it's bad, it's...

Christ, he sounds like a fucking therapist.

He messes up some stupid little part and when he moves his fat stupid stumps of fingers to pull it off, it feels stuck. So Tony digs his thumb in deeper and curses himself for always cutting his nails so short before it finally pops up and smashes into the bottom of his chin.

Ow.

Great.

He lets loose a few curse words when he feels pain blossoming under his nails and realizes that when he dug his finger under the metal to pull it off, he shoved it in that little spot between his flesh and his nail and now the top third of the spot there is bleeding and it's trickling down and.

He stares at it blankly, wanting to swear but too tired to and he's just.

He.

Tony.

He can't think.

His brain, it feels sluggish, stupid, and there's this screaming urge in his chest, shouting at him to movemovemove, fuck, Tony, do you want to be a failure, are you going to burn out and become a washout so quickly and there will be YouTube videos titled "what happened to Tony Stark" with really crappy information and you'll know that it'll be because you're stupid and slow and lazy and...

No, no, wait, Fengchi said that it was fine to relax a bit and...

...that's what normal people say to make themselves feel better...

He needs to stop listening to his brain.

"Fry," He stands up, sucking on the tip of his thumb and hissing when it hurts even more. Okay. Not doing that, then. "What should I do?"

"A band-aid won't be much help for your thumb," FRIDAY says, sounding concerned but blithe. It makes his chest twist a bit, "Wash it and don't use it. It should heal within 24 hours."

"Okay," Tony closes his eyes, "I'll just get back to work and..."

"Don't use it," FRIDAY repeats, harsh and sharp, and then, continues pointedly, "Mentally, you should take the day off and socialize."

Tony shakes his head, "I'm fine, it's just my thumb..."

His voice rings out in the workshop, metal and echoes and it clangs and he has a sudden, startling awareness of the world and his feet feel fat and his hands feel useless and he feels like a tree, stuck in the ground, unable to change or go anywhere, just stand and grow and be useless but at least trees provide oxygen and stuff and...

Unhealthy brain train, Tony, stop thinking.

As though it's so easy.

"I need to do something," his voice says, desperate, fast, shaky, but his feet are glued to the ground and they won't move and.

"One moment," FRIDAY's voice's answer is dim, distant.

He stands and watches the dust, eyes mostly unfocused, staring vaguely at the space before him, and then he blinks and the kid is skidding down the stairs, taking a moment to slide down the banister before pressing a hand onto the wall and somehow flipping over to land on the ground.

Tony should probably scold FRIDAY for calling the kid, he thinks vaguely.

"I don't have time for you," Tony's voice says when Peter arrives in front of him.

The kid's eyes narrow, hands stuck to his hips, stubborn in all his scrawny little glory as he hmphs and says, "Yeah, well, I don't think so, Mr. Stark. We're going to make time for me," and something is wrong, something must be, because the kid is almost never assertive, teasing and joking, yes, he has relaxed around Tony, yes, but assertive? He's still a kid, still young, he still acts as though Tony is smarter and knows better and he's tricked and...

Tony breathes in, out, and regret washes over him for saying something as horrible as I don't have time for you because he's pretty sure sentences like that traumatize kids for life.

He wants to apologize but his tongue feels heavy and wrong and dry and maybe it's better for the kid if he just realizes how bad Tony is right now, if he cuts ties now before it gets bad and Tony is screaming and throwing beer bottles and...

No, that isn't Tony anymore, that won't be...

He can't...

A hand in his, grip firm but not tight, and Peter's quiet voice asking, "Is this okay?"

Tony nods, grateful for Peter grounding him.

"Okay," Peter smiles at Tony, and his eyes focus a bit better, "We're going to go up and have a glass of water, then we're going to stretch a bit and you're going to take a nap, okay?"

"'m not tired," Tony mumbles.

"That's okay," Peter reassures him, "I'll read a book while you lie on the bed and close your eyes, then."

Tony smiles a bit, "Trying to trick me, kid?" he asks, a bit more fire and teasing coming back.

Peter's still learning, so he turns red and sighs, "Bear with me, Mr. Stark."

"Sure, sure," Tony grins, more rogue-ish and teasing now, but Peter doesn't seem to buy it if his exasperated look is any indication. The smile drops a bit, and Tony says quietly, "I'm sorry, kid."

"Don't apologize," Peter's voice is sharp as glass, "Don't you dare apologize for this."

Tony wonders what Peter will accept, and his voice says, oddly humble, "Thank you."

Peter leads him up the stairs, away from his workshop, and does not answer, but Tony thinks that's his acceptance. (Or maybe the kid's too embarrassed. Ha. Tony would tease him but his brain is still a bit foggy and... maybe eventually. When he wakes up from his not-nap, maybe.)

It's the stupidest thing ever, Tony thinks, because he's pretty sure he's not supposed to let the kid parent him like this, but he knows that this is good for his mental health or whatever and the kid is helping and maybe he should be able to do it by himself but he can't and Fengchi would probably think this is a good thing, so that'll have to do for Tony.

The water clears up his head, and when he wakes from his nap, the kid beams and they end up watching Tangled: The Series' second season and it isn't perfect but it's getting better and Tony likes the thought of that.


"Going all out for me?" Bruce's voice is dry, teasing all the same, "You shouldn't have."

"Oh, darling," Tony swings forward, loops an arm over Bruce's shoulders and smiles sweetly, fingers smoothing down his neat ironed button down, a bit of a nervous tic as he sees the glow of the arc reactor through the white of his shirt, "Everything is worth it for you."

Bruce rolls his eyes, and taps two fingers against the back of Tony's hand, a sign that he's alright with contact, "You're ridiculous."

Tony pouts, lower lip sticking out, nose scrunching a bit, "I'm adorable."

"Keep telling yourself that," Bruce raises an eyebrow, "With luck, a serial killer will find you and decide you're too pretty to live."

"Augh, Brucey, darling, you're killing me," Tony presses a hand to his chest.

"Wonderful," Bruce bites down a smile, "Don't worry, I'll go to your funeral to keep my cover."

Tony sighs, but doesn't continue the banter. Bruce has a dry, morbid sense of humor that mostly insults others, and Tony adores it, but he's a bit rusty when it comes to this sort of teasing. Most people are too worried about his mental state to joke about his death, and thus Tony isn't quite as sarcastic or witty as he'd like to be in this area.

Bruce's expression flickers with a trace of concern, moving to the kitchen, and Tony's arm drops from Bruce's shoulder to link their arms. "So, what's the fancy clothing for?"

"Got a charity ball earlier today," Tony grimaces, "Haven't had the time to change."

"Well, you look dashing," Bruce smiles a bit, amused at Tony's pain because he is that horrible friend. "I'm sure you were the envy of all the women."

Tony doesn't clarify the women? because he's pretty sure Bruce would make some comment about the stunt he pulled at Pride last month and he does not need more ribbing about The Pride Stunt. (Capital because... well. He doesn't regret it. Well. Maybe he regrets the execution. A bit. A lot. Pepper had shoved so much paperwork at him and he had to do so many press conferences and. Ugh. So much work. Nope. But he refuses to regret it, because that means giving in and Tony is Not Giving In. But. Er. He's just going to move on and stop thinking about this now.)

"Not my fault that I look better in an old tux than they do in Marie St. Pierre," Tony huffs.

Bruce offers him a slightly blank but mostly amused look, "Any plans for the evening?"

Tony brightens, "Workshop!"

The look that Bruce offers him is distinctly scolding this time, and Tony tries his best not to shrivel up. "Tony, no."

Tony pouts, knowing better than to try and say Tony, yes. "Why do you hate me, babe?" he asks, tracing a finger down his cheek.

Bruce looks horribly unimpressed, "This was an unhappy marriage," he plays along, "I've been cheating on you all along."

"Cold," Tony grins, sharp and wide, even as Bruce laughs at him. "But seriously. Why."

"You've been trapped in that workshop for the past six days, Tony," Bruce frowns at Tony, scolding, "I'm not going to let you go back in that easily."

"I've been working on a side project," Tony answers dismissively, "It needs attention."

Bruce hops onto the kitchen counter, "Six days, Tony. How much sleep did you get?"

Tony vaguely recalls falling asleep for a moment and startling up when his cheek hit the burning soldering iron, "Um."

"Pepper says that you burned yourself," Bruce frowns.

"Set me back a few hours," Tony sighs.

Bruce narrows his eyes.

"Fine, fine," Tony holds his hands up, "You got any ideas?"

"A few," Bruce smiles, a twitch smugly, "Scott is having another one of those shrunken movie nights."

"Oh, the ones where you turn small and the laptop screen looks really big?" Tony lights up, "I love those. Something always tries to eat me."

Bruce snorts, "You're ridiculous."

"You love me."

"Maybe," Bruce hums.

Tony laughs, and Bruce laughs a little, and then they end up in a shrunken car in front of a laptop screen. Well, they are there, but then Tony needs to go to the bathroom and forgets that he's shrunken at the moment and one of the ants tries to eat him (though Scott claims they're just being friendly, ha, right, Tony knows when something wants him for dinner) and it's quite the adventure.