Chapter Text
Anthony Edward Stark ran through the rain-slicked streets of Gotham City, no true destination in mind rather than just having the idea of getting away on the brain.
The man was wearing a solid black sweater that was nearly three sizes too big for him with the hood pulled so far over his face it was a true miracle he could still see where he was going. His jeans were ratty, torn, and had both new and old blood stains splattered at the cuffs of them, his worn gym shoes splashing in the puddles as Lady Gotham continued her onslaught of icy rain.
The man could hear the faint sounds of grappling hooks behind him, yet he didn’t stop running even as he nearly slipped and fell onto the cold Gotham concrete. He ducked into a grimy alleyway, only to be slammed straight into a dead end, his hands shaking from the seemingly never ending freezing rain as he slammed his fists angrily against the brick wall of the back alley.
“No, No!” Tony hissed out, “Damn it! Damn it all to hell!”
A shadow quickly fell over the inventor, the silhouette infamous with the two pointed ‘ears’ on the head.
Tony grit his teeth before turning around, coming face to face with Gotham City’s notorious vigilante of Batman, with one of the many sidekicks he trained standing behind him, this particular one being Robin with a katana being held tight in his hand but not yet attacking.
Batman stepped forward cautiously almost like he was approaching a stray cat or an abandoned alley dog.
The action made Tony press his back fully against the drenched wall as he slid down to sit rather uncomfortably on the soaked ground.
“You’re sick, Anthony,” The vigilante said, his voice oddly soft for the Dark Knight, “Come home, love; we can help you. Let us help you,”
“I’m not sick,” Tony shouted, “I’m not sick! I just need to get back! I need to leave! To get out of here! I need to go back to Peter and to New York and to the Aveng—”
“Tony,” Batman knelt down beside him, “You’re not making sense, you hit your head, you're sick, you need help,”
The vigilante grasped the man’s hand tightly in his own, “Let’s go home, love,”
“I’m trying!” Tony tugged out of Batman’s grasp only to have the hero gently cusp both of the mechanic’s shaking, freezing hands. “You don’t understand! My kid needs me! Peter needs me! I need to go back!”
“Anthony Edward Stark,” Batman leaned forward, his voice serious as he placed a gloved hand on Tony’s cheek, “Listen to me, there’s no such thing as the Avengers, you haven’t lived in New York since you were a child, there’s no such people as Steve Rogers or Natasha Romanoff or Bruce Banner, and there never has been. You have never built anything called the Iron Man, and you’ve never met anyone named Peter Parker before and he’s certainly not your child,”
“You're lying,” Tony insisted, nearly hissing out the words, “You’re lying and I’m not sick and I need to get back home—”
A prick of a needle made the man jolt slightly, staring down at the tranquilizer dart embedded into his upper chest.
“I’m sorry, love,” Batman whispered, “We’ll figure this out together and you’ll get better soon, I promise, Anthony,”
Then the world went dark.
......ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ......
It was bright. Too bright, a glaring white sterilness that was blinding. Why was it so bright? Where was he? Was this Titan? Titan wasn’t bright. It was bloody and dusty and filled with the corpses of loved ones that he would bring back because he had to and that was his job no matter the sacrifice.
“His hand twitched!”
“—ony? Can you hear me—?”
“–ake up, please—”
Everything hurt, his limbs were heavy and his muscles ached and his head was pounding viciously. It hurts, it hurts, hurts! Where was he? Why was he in so much pain?
“He’s waking up—!”
“—get the doctor!”
“—Leslie—!”
Thanos. Thanos was why he hurt. Where was Thanos? Where was the Mad Titan? Did they win? Did it work? Why was he here then? He should be dead. Did it fail? It can’t fail, it can’t, because then he failed Peter and he can’t fail the kiddo again, he can’t.
“Tony! Sweetheart, wake up. Open your eyes, please,”
Who was that? Why do they sound like that? Tony can’t wake up. He’s dead. He’s supposed to be dead because he snapped and the gauntlet killed him and everyone was safe now because of it. They had to be.
“Love, please,”
Love? No, he didn’t have a love. He wasn’t married, he didn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend or any kind of lover, he was all alone before the Avengers and before Peter Parker and where is Peter? Where is his kid? His underoos? Is he okay? He has to be okay, he snapped. He snapped and now his kid has to be back and safe now.
“—Tony—!”
“—please—”
“Come on, just a bit more—”
“—wake up!”
“—wake up, wake up, wake up!”
“Wake up, Anthony, and live for your universe.”
Tony Stark’s eyes snapped open and immediately he was under attack by white lights, beeping machines, shouting and talking, and the sounds of a hospital flooding his ears.
He tried to raise his hand and cover his eyes, only for his arm to get tangled in a mess of wires and IVs.
“What…?” He turned his head, hissing at the sharp pain that ran down his neck and left side of his body.
“It’s the lights,” a man’s voice said, “Turn them down, he can’t see,”
A second later the brightness dimmed and Tony blinked until black spots left his vision and was met with a peculiar sight.
He looked to be in a hospital room in a bed, a nice room at that. There were bouquets and cards to the side on an empty chair, some of the flowers fresh and others wilted.
There were two doctors in the room, a tall older woman and a shorter, thicker man. Alongside them, standing just beside Tony’s bed was a tall, buff man wearing an expensive pair of pants and a black turtleneck. His hair was dark black and his bright blue eyes were fixed on Tony.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mister Stark-Wayne,” the male doctor grinned, adjusting his thin, square shaped glasses as he did so, “I’m Doctor Dallas, how are you feeling right now?”
Tony didn’t answer, instead he forced himself upwards despite the pain and continued to take in his bearings.
“Tony, wait,” the black haired man placed a hand gently on his chest, trying to carefully lay Tony back down, “You’re still hurt, Firefly really did do a number on you—”
“Firefly?” The inventor muttered to himself before he turned back to face the doctors, “Where am I?”
“You’re at Gotham City’s Central Hospital,” The female doctor said, “Long term inpatient wing, to be precise,”
“Gotham?” Tony frowned, “Where the hell is Goth—”
The door to the hospital room suddenly burst open, a group of four barging their way in and to his side, opposite to the black haired man.
“Tony!” a young man looking around early to mid twenties and a near carbon copy of the black haired man gave him a blinding smile, “You’re awake! How are you feeling? Are you cold? I keep telling B it’s too cold in here—”
“Give him a second to breath, dickhead,” a tall, broad shouldered man stepped forward as he rolled his green eyes, a single white streak prominent in his black hair, “He just got up,”
“What Jason and Dick mean to say,” A thin, pale teen boy interrupted, “Is that we’re glad you’re alright,”
“Your absence has made things noticeably different,” The youngest boy spoke, with tanned skin with green eyes but also with black hair like the rest, “it’s relieving that you are awake now,”
“Boys,” The man by Tony’s side stood, “Give him a moment to breath, he’s just woken up from a coma,”
“Coma?” Tony parroted.
“For roughly six weeks,” Doctor Dallas explained, “You were caught in one of Firefly’s burning buildings, you sustained some major burns to your left arm, neck, and down your torso, a broken ankle, three dislocated ribs, a sprained wrist, plus a concussion along with some other minor injuries. You gave us quite the scare when you wouldn’t wake up there for a moment,”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony’s brows furrowed, “What fire? I wasn’t in a fire. And where the hell is Gotham? There’s no Gotham City in New York and,”
He pointed between both the black haired man and the boys, “Who the hell are these people? Plus you got my name wrong, it’s Stark. Tony Stark, no Wayne,”
The room suddenly fell silent and it even felt as though the temperature had gotten lower.
“Tony,” The man by his side suddenly took Tony’s hand into his, “It’s me? Bruce, your husband? We’ve been married for almost twenty years now, we live here in New Jersey. These are our kids; Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. Plus Cass and Duke at home, do you not remember?"
“I don’t know what kind of con artist trick you're trying to pull here,” Tony yanked his hand away despite the pain it caused to do so, “But you’re not getting any money out of this. I’ve never been married and I don’t have kids and I certainly do not live in New Jersey of all places,”
Before the man, Bruce, could open his mouth again the female doctor stepped forward.
“Doctor Leslie Thompkins,” She introduced herself, “Mister Stark-Wayne, can you tell me where exactly you think you are and who you think you are?”
“I don’t think, I know!” Tony snapped, “My name is Tony Stark, I’m somewhere in New York in a hospital because of—”
Suddenly his mind was assaulted with flashes of memories, of the corpses of his friends and of Titan and blood and ash. It all came so quickly, a high pitched ringing sound echoing in his ears and a static, cotton filled sensation filled his mind.
He clutched the sides of his head quickly, groaning at the pain.
Bruce immediately went into action, “Anthony–!”
“I’m fine!” The mechanic snapped, “I’m fine! Just…just…just fine. I’m just fine, completely and utterly fine,”
The words died instantly in his throat, anytime he tried to speak or tell the doctors about Titan and ask about the rest of the Avengers his head protested greatly against it, nearly knocking himself unconscious.
Tony looked up at the doctors and then at the group of boys and then to Bruce.
“What happened to me?” He whispered; and for the first time in a very, very long time he didn’t long to hear an answer.