Chapter Text
“We believe Mister Stark-Wayne is suffering from the after effects of something we call coma visions along with a case of amnesia on top of it,” The chief of medicine was a rather tall, thin woman with dirty blonde hair tied up into a neat bun and piercing hazel eyes staring through her thin, square-rimmed glasses that was perched on her hooked nose,
“While it’s not uncommon for someone with the extent of a head injury such as the one he suffered from to have amnesia, it is a bit odd to see coma visions alongside it, though not impossible.”
“I can’t believe this,” Tony sat uncomfortably in the wheelchair he’d been forced into by the medical staff.
Dick—his supposed eldest son—resting his hands on the handlebars on the chair after he’d wheeled him in with the rest of the boys and Bruce Wayne in tow, “You’re telling me everything that happened for the past however many years was a dream and you expect me to believe that?”
The chief, Doctor Janice Evalyns, pursed her lips slightly, “It is a shocking discovery and can be very difficult to come to terms with, but yes. We believe that these ‘memories’ of Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, and of your life in New York were a lucid dream made up by your mind while you were comatose.”
Tony was able to talk very little about New York and the Avengers to the medical staff without the intense headache and memory flashes coming back.
He’d only really managed to mention the more “normal” lives of some of the Avengers and some events in New York, but was ultimately unable to speak anything about the superhero aspect or of Titan or of Thanos and the Infinity Gauntlet.
“There is no cure for coma visions,” Doctor Evalyns stated, “Nor is there one for amnesia, however, from what we can see on your brain scans and other tests we’ve performed is that Mister Stark-Wayne has a very good chance of regaining his memories, though how long until then is unknown,”
“What can we do to help?” Bruce placed his hand on top of Tony’s, then removed it when he caught the dirty look that the inventor was giving him.
As far as Tony was concerned, he was not married and he did not know Bruce Wayne at all—let alone intimately.
“Alongside keeping up with physical therapy for the physical injuries and taking it easy, there is very little you can do. I recommend a psychologist—”
“Not happening,” Tony interrupted, “I’m not seeing any kind of shrink,”
“—to help come to terms with everything, and perhaps just gently remind Mister Stark-Wayne of the truth if he happens to get reality switched up with his coma vision,”
Doctor Evalyns gave Tony a sympathetic look that the inventor loathed to see, “I know that all this is a lot to take in, especially after a traumatic experience such as the one you just went through; but please try and focus on what is happening now, you cannot allow yourself to be stuck in the coma vision, it will not benefit you long term,”
The man didn’t respond, instead taking to staring sightlessly into space as Dick wheeled him out of the hospital and near a fancy car out in the front parking lot.
An older gentleman wearing a suit and gloves met them at the car and opened the door.
“Would you like some assistance getting in, Master Anthony?” The man asked.
“And who are you supposed to be?” Tony frowned, his muscles still aching and his patience thin as a result.
“Ah, yes. I momentarily forgot your current predicament, I do apologize, Master Anthony,” the man said, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I was Master Wayne’s butler since before you two met and as of now I serve you both following your marriage to Master Bruce,”
“A butler?” Tony turned to look at Bruce with one eyebrow raised, “What? Big rich guy like you can’t do the dishes?”
Jason snorted as Bruce’s lips twitched a bit into a smile.
“He’s more like a father figure or mine,” Bruce said, “As well as a grandfather figure to the kids,”
“Right, the kids,” Tony pretended not to notice how Alfred helped him into his seat in the back of the car or how Dick actually buckled his seatbelt for him, he’d like to keep some semblance of his dignity, thank you very much, “The many children I somehow allowed you to get out of me, which I’m a bit confused on since I certainly don’t remember ever having the parts for that unless I hit my head harder than the doctor said I did,”
Bruce flushed a bright pink as all four boys grinned and laughed, Tim being the only one to actually answer his question, “We’re actually all adopted except for Damian, he was Bruce’s from a previous relationship,”
“Not something I was aware of!” Bruce quickly interjected before Tony could open his mouth after doing the mental math, “His mother was a rather unique figure and she took some of my DNA, we did not conceive him naturally and I didn’t know about him until later,”
“He’s a test tube baby,” Jason ruffled Damian’s hair (which the boy looked unamused with and half-tempted to bite as a result) as they both slid into the car, Dick and Tim each on one side of Tony with Damian and Jason up in the front plus Alfred in the driver’s seat and Bruce in the passenger's seat.
Tony just continued to stare at Bruce with one eyebrow raised (his signature look according to Happy) and the man rubbed the back of his neck a bit nervously.
“You gave me quite an earful when we found out about it,” Bruce chuckled, “Said I should’ve, and I quote ‘kept a better eye on my DNA around crazy woman’ unquote,”
The inventor couldn’t help but smile a bit at that, “Sounds like me,”
“You’ve always brought a sense of humor to every situation, Master Anthony,” Alfred said as he started the car, “We’re very fortunate that attribute stuck with you with this amnesia,”
Tony slumped back in his seat, a scowl tugging at his lips at the reminder of his current situation. Fortunate; he didn’t feel very lucky.
If he were truly so fortunate, then he’d be waking up in New York with Peter by his side and his friends and family waiting for him to wake.
Fortunate, huh? Tony thought to himself, the Avengers have never been called that before.
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Wayne Manor had way too many stairs was the only thing Tony found himself thinking of when it came to the giant home.
Mostly because, due to his extensive injuries, Bruce Wayne decided it was a wonderful idea to carry him up the stairs, bridal style of all things.
Tony wished he had any dignity left to feel outraged, alas he had none.
Bruce gently set him down on a large bed with pillowcases and a sheet made of black silk and soft, deep velvet red blankets perfectly suited to the mattress.
“Comfortable?” Bruce asked nearly the exact moment the inventor’s head touched the pillows, “Not too soft or too firm?”
Tony didn’t have the energy to make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke, “It’s fine, I’m fine,”
His ‘husband’ looked like he wanted to say something else but instead just nodded, “I know this is…a lot, and I wish I could do something to make it easier for you,”
Bruce stared at him for a rather uncomfortably long time, “I know this might not mean much to you right now, but I love you, Anthony; and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Tony swallowed, “Uh, thanks.”
Wow. For all my IQ points that’s what I come up with? Disappointing; pull yourself together, Stark!
Eventually Bruce left the room to let Tony rest—which he did not do.
Instead, the mechanic bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to stop the pain as he lugged his very sore, burnt, and tired body to the bathroom and in front of the ridiculously large mirror above the marble sink.
The person who stared back at him couldn’t be more different despite looking virtually the same.
His skin had lost its perfect sun-kissed tan, now replaced with a sunless pale color. His goatee desperately needed a trim and his hair needed a good cut. The white cotton t-shirt he’d been given at the hospital to change into, that was supposedly his, hung off him too much; clearly having lost a decent amount of weight in his comatose state.
Bandages were wrapped around his neck and some were plastered tk the left side of his face, where the ‘burn’ wounds had reached, along with down the left side of his torso and all the way up and down his left arm.
The side he had snapped with back on Titan.
Tony shook his head (gently, as not to aggravate his burns), physically pushing out the memories of Titan and of the war.
There was no need to be stuck in the last, besides, he’d be back in New York soon. He just needed to figure out how.
A flicker of a memory from when he was in the car entered Tony’s mind. Tim had said that Bruce ran Wayne Enterprises, a multi-billion company with access to the best and newest technology.
Totally ripped me off, Tony dug through the cabinet attached behind the mirror for a razor, not cool, universe.
After a fresh shave and a self-done haircut, Alfred had come up to alert him of dinner.
Unfortunately, so did Bruce Wayne.
“This unnecessary,” Tony complained, once again being carried down the stairs like a bride on her wedding day.
“You have serious injuries, Tony,” Bruce looked a bit too pleased to have the inventor in his arms, “Injuries that you shouldn’t make worse,”
“I’ve had worse,” Tony muttered and Bruce frowned.
“I don’t think you have,”
The mechanic was silent after that—he should’ve known Bruce would think that; after all, he thought Tony belonged here.
But he didn’t.
Didn’t he?
Dinner was…different. Iron Man was used to eating dinner with at least three Avengers present, if not all. Not to mention if Peter stayed over later than he was supposed to (which happened roughly twice a week on average).
Although, the Waynes certainly shared the level of chaos that the Avengers brought to the table.
“Damian’s kicking me!” Tim shouted, glaring at the youngest boy.
Damian let out a huff, “Your feet are on my side of the table,”
“They are not!”
“They certainly are!”
“Who made you king of the table—?!”
“Boys,” Bruce sighed, “Please. One nice dinner, for me?”
Jason flung a spoonful of peas at Dick as he spoke, “Nope,”
Dick retaliated with his own pea-filled spoon.
Bruce sighed again before he looked at Tony, who was seated across from him at the second head of the table.
“I wish I could say they aren’t usually like this, but, well,” Bruce chuckled, “I would be lying,”
“It’s fine,” Tony muttered.
Sam and Bucky used to fling things at each other on the daily before Cap would have to intervene.
“So,” Dick turned to face Tony, “How are you feeling now that you’re up and home?”
This is not my home, Tony shrugged.
Damian stared at him with an intense look in his eye, “Do you truly not remember anything?”
Silence.
The mechanic anxiously tapped a finger against the table, “I don’t remember anything about you guys or this city or…well, anything about my ‘life’ here,”
A small pang of guilt entered Tony’s gut as he saw the boys’ solemn expressions.
“It’s alright,” Dick suddenly smiled, “We’ll just remind you!”
Slowly but surely the conversation started back up and everyone has seemingly forgotten about Tony’s ‘condition’.
Except for Tony, of course.
After all, how do you remind someone of a life they never lived?