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Atlas Gym, Sunday Evening

Well. This week had been a particularly illuminating for Tony.

Which would be why he wasn't sure if he wanted to go to the dorms just yet. He'd have to go back to China soon enough, but for now...

Yeah, he was a little lost. Which was why he somehow ended up in the town gym, looking around for someone who had been possibly more screwed up in that universe than him. Congrats on that, Clint. You win a prize!

"Hello?"

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Clint wasn't really ready to face anyone tonight, not even Natasha, so instead of going back to his place, he'd headed for the gym, and ended up just sitting in the back office, trying to get past the numb feeling that thinking about the last week brought on. When he heard the hello, he figured he was hearing things, but he got up and came out of the office anyway. "Oh. Hey Tony," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm... not really sure," Tony admitted, looking just as young as he actually was for a moment.

Clint remembered doing some horrible things, but he'd also been under mind control. You know, again. Tony, on the other hand, hadn't been as far as Clint could remember. He was still piecing together if any of it had been real, and he imagined Tony might be doing the same. "How are you? All in one piece?"

"In one piece." For all that counted for. "I think Mr. Rogers' world was right about me."

"Oh yeah?" Clint asked, leaning against the front desk. "What does his version of the world say about you?"

"I'm the person who killed Captain America there."

Yeah. That's. Normal.

Oh god, Clint. Clint, abort. ABORT, CLINT. CRYING TEENAGE TONY STARK IS INCOMING. ABOOOOOORT.

Clint winced at that, completely unable to believe that any Tony Stark in any universe could kill Captain America. ~~Oops.~~ "Hey, you didn't kill anyone here. That was my job, remember?" he said, trying to tease but ending up with a lump in his throat instead.

DAMN IT, TONY. DAMN YOU AND YOUR CONTAGIOUS TEARS.

LOOK, FEELS LIKE THIS JUST HAPPEN. OKAY? THEY JUST HAPPEN.

"I did everything there without being forced to. I helped them. You were--you couldn't stop it."

Clint laughed shortly. "Yes I could have. I should have been able to break out of the curse. I shouldn't have gotten cursed in the first place," he said. "The things I did... none of them had to happen." He stared down at the desk for a moment, trying to keep himself collected. "That wasn't real, right? All those people... they're okay?"

Aaaaall the feels. All of 'em.

"Everyone seems to be okay. Other than, you know, knowing all this stuff about themselves."

All this evil stuff.

"...I need a drink."

And people are surprised he grows up to be an alcoholic. Honestly now.

"I already knew what I was capable of," Clint said bitterly, watching Tony for a moment. "Don't go anywhere." He pushed himself away from the desk, went back into the office, and came back out a few moments later with a bottle of vodka and two plastic cups. "If anyone asks, I didn't do this," he said, pouring some vodka into each cup and offering one to Tony.

"I own a bar," Tony assured him, already lowering himself down to sit on the floor, back against the desk. SERIOUSLY, PEOPLE. WARNING SIGNS.

That cup of vodka? Went down pretty quick for someone his age. Without a single hack at the burn in his throat.

"Nice."

Natasha was looking for Clint when she went to the gym, having already checked every likely high spot. She was not expecting to find Clint and a teenager, but stranger things had probably happened.

Edited 2012-07-30 01:21 (UTC)

"Gun lady!" Tony called, holding his plastic cup up in a salute. Why yes, yes he was on his way to being trashed. Why do you ask?

Clint downed his cup as well, and went around to sit on the floor next to Tony. "Natasha knows what the good kinds are," he said, pouring himself a little more, and setting the bottle down for Tony. "For what it's worth, I don't think you could ever hurt Steve. You were... well, okay, honestly, I'm not sure what you were thinking."

"Hey Natasha. Look who I found," Clint said, motioning to Tony. "Or, actually, I guess he found me. And now you found us! Awesome."

"This should not be surprising," Natasha said wryly. And, to be fair, it wasn't, although the venue and company maybe were.

"Clint," Natasha said, trying to sound disapproving and not like she was about to laugh, "are you giving a teenage Tony Stark alcohol?"

Tony took that time to pour himself some more. "But I did. Some... me did. It's weird. I don't want to be an adult if that's what I turn into."

"I'll pay you back for the vodka," Tony promised her solemnly. "Wait--you're not here to kill me, right?"

"No," Natasha said, looking mildly offended. "If I was gonna kill you you wouldn't see me first. And yes, you will."

"Good." He patted the floor and offered over the bottle. He was a sharer. "We--" he waved at himself and Clint. "--are terrible people. Who do terrible things."

"You can't tell me that whatever the hell this last week was doesn't warrant alcohol," Clint said. "It might have seemed like a better idea before I started drinking too."

"Then don't turn into that," Clint said with a shrug. "It seems like everyone is from some different version of our world and they're all messed up in different ways. Remember when I told you about my Tony? The one who helped save the world? Just grow up and be that guy instead. That's as much of an option as anything else."

You just want him to grow up hot, Clint. Don't you lie.

"Killed Steve," Tony emphasized, taking another sip. "Steve Rogers. Captain America. He's, like, everything good about the world ever."

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Atlas Gym, Sunday Evening

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