Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The dial tone rang…and rang.

“Please, pick up,” he begged beneath his breath. The tears trailing down his cheeks had hardly been able to dry before a fresh deluge dampened them anew. His fingers clenched the phone currently lodged between them tightly while his lips trembled in desperate, little hitches.

It had been several months since he and Colt spoke. Six, to be exact. His brother was still dealing with his horrific back injury following an accident on set, a fifteen story plunge gone wrong.

Ryland remembered where he was when he got the call from that hospital – in the middle of a biochemistry lecture. He barely recalls purchasing the next flight out, barely remembers the ride from the airport, but what he can recall clearly is the way his brother’s hand unconsciously clenched in his own trembling grip. In the beginning, Colt was weakened and the assistance was born out of necessity. But as his strength returned, so too did his fight. The arguments and the resistance and the beatings were beginning to grow too much for Ryland. For months, he’d tried so desperately to take care of a man who did nothing but berate him for it, a man who couldn’t bear to take care of himself, who couldn’t stand to even try.

Ryland knew this was a defense mechanism. Colt had always pushed away his problems instead of facing them head on, but something about his tone cut deep. Colt called him a coward, Colt called him weak, Colt called him worthless and finally instructed him to walk out of his life. After exhausting nearly every alternative, Ryland listened, returning back to his research and pretending that his twin never even existed.

Now, he wanted nothing more than to hear his brother’s voice, if anything but for one last time.

The swell of the bay below was loud, almost drowning out the sound of his sobs. There was not a car on the roadway behind him, not a soul around for miles. He was completely and utterly alone. 

“Please,” he sniffled weakly, pleading with the universe to grant him this one final mercy. “Please, Colt.”

The ringing stopped and for a moment, he felt hope. Any minute now, he’d be hearing Colt’s grumble about the late call. Colt would tell him he’s safe, Colt would tell him how much he’s sorry for the things he’d said, Colt would-

“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voicemail. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Ryland hung up in frustration, a painful exclamation of grief tearing itself from his lungs. It echoed throughout the empty expanse of the highway behind him. The metal beneath him was cold, oh so cold, and the waves continued to crash, ignorant of his turmoil above. 

Like a siren’s call, it lured him in. The normally deep blue water of the bay appeared to him as ink, a dark ocean for him to dive into. He wondered how it would feel to sink down into the depths of the deep and simply cease.

Colt had given up on him. And Ryland was mere moments away from giving up on himself.

It would be so easy. One step is all it would take. He was already balancing precariously on the edge, it would only take an ushered prayer and a strategic lean to conclude his life. From this height, the impact on the water below would feel like concrete. It would be more than twice the height that broke his brother’s back, and if he landed on his head, it would be goodnight once and for all. He wouldn’t reach terminal velocity, but for a few blissful seconds, the world around him would vanish and he would fly.

“Nice evening, ain’t it? Though I suppose it’s morning now.”

Ryland nearly jumped out of his skin. The shriek he let out was piercing, and he whipped his head around to locate the source of the sudden interruption to his quiet mulling.

To his immense surprise, it was none other than…Iron Man?

He must be dreaming. Or hallucinating.

Ryland blinked again. Iron Man was still there.

Well, okay then. Maybe he wasn’t hallucinating.

What’s an Avenger doing in San Francisco, interacting with him of all people? Weren’t they supposed to be helping the rebuilding efforts in Sokovia? It has been a good minute since he paid any meaningful attention to news outside of his field of study, let alone caught up with recent Avengers drama. Last he knew, Stark and the rest of the team were in troubled water from their actions regarding Ultron.

“It’s…fine,” he finally replied after catching his breath. Ryland’s eyes were unable to tear themselves away from the hot rod red and gold suit hovering above him. The repulsors did their job in keeping the man levitating above his eyeline, a mesmerizing burst of orange-white and the occasional flashes of combustion.

Stark didn’t believe his words for a second. He didn’t even pretend to. Despite the Iron Man suit having an emotionless helmet, Ryland could just feel the suspicious leer from within.

“Just fine, huh? So there’s no reason to be sitting on the ledge of the Golden Gate bridge at this hour?”

Ryland glanced down at where his feet were dangling down, his untied shoelaces practically in free fall far below his beat up converse. He knew how bad it looked because yeah, it was that bad. He couldn’t lie about the tumultuous thoughts that were soaring through his mind nor the impulses that thrummed in his veins.

“It could be better,” Ryland admitted, looking down at his phone again. He bit the inside of his cheek as he turned it off, shoving it in his pocket, trying and failing not to let his despair show on his face.

Colt never picked up. 

When Ryland first moved away for school, his twin made him promise to assign a special ringtone for him. In return, Colt had done the same. That way they always knew when each other was calling and they could always pick up. Meaning Colt had the opportunity to speak with him and knew it was him calling and still elected to ignore it. Or maybe he’d even taken away that special ringtone, maybe he’d gone out and trashed his phone entirely, who knew? Not Ryland! He hadn’t seen his brother for almost half a year. 

It’s the longest they’ve ever been apart from each other. 

Iron Man maneuvered around to him to stand on the bridge ledge, no longer hovering in the air. The absence of the repulsor’s rhythmic hum plunged them into near silence again. Only the cadence of the water and Ryland’s steadily hitching breaths filled the misty air.

“What’s your name kid?” the Avenger asked, leaning over him curiously. 

“I’m not a kid,” Ryland grumbled.

“You’re a kid to me. You look like a golden retriever puppy. Name?”

“Ryland,” he relented, rolling his eyes.

“Ok, Ryland,” began Stark, satisfied. “What happened today? What happened for you to come out here tonight? It’s awfully cold out, that polyester sweater probably isn’t doing you much good.”

Ryland’s chest shook with the strength of his hitching breath. How does one respond to a question of that magnitude? How does he recount the events that made him climb up here, alone? At the very least, how does he do it without breaking down? 

“I just realized my life is entirely ruined,” he chuckled wetly at the absurdity of the situation. He’s lamenting about his life’s miserable choices to Iron Man of all people, trying to hold himself back from plunging into the frigid waters below.

“How so?” Iron Man asked him bluntly. “You’re contractually obligated to tell me now, sue me. I’m nosy.”

Ryland clicked his tongue, crossing his arms protectively over his chest in order to regain some feeling in his fingers. The wind was biting into the soft skin of his cheeks, the tears doing nothing but elevating the sharp, cruel sting of frost settling on the surface.

“I wrote a paper that upset some people,” he surmised, kicking his feet idly. His fingers plucked away at a few stray strands dangling from his sweater, which wasn’t staving off the cold in the slightest.

“Oh, yeah? What kind of paper?” Iron Man pondered. 

“My dissertation.”

“Dissertation? Awfully young for that, aren’t you? But then again, who am I to judge? In what?”

Alright, now Ryland was getting annoyed. There was hardly a moment to breathe before the man would fire another question towards him.

“Stop asking me for every little de–”

Ryland stopped himself before he got too frustrated because the realization had already set in. 

Stark was distracting him. Keeping his attention on anything but the distant roll of the swell below.

Yeah, he wasn’t getting out of this one with a slap on the wrist. Iron Man wasn’t going to just let him go on his merry way with a promise to do better.

“Come on, pipsqueak. Keep talking.”

Ryland sighed loudly. Tony Stark’s reputation preceded him, the man was utterly incapable of restraining himself for a single moment. It wasn’t blissful patience, it was persistence. And it was undeniably annoying.

Also pipsqueak? Really? Ryland is ninety-five percent sure he’s taller than Stark, but whatever. He tore a hand through his unkempt and wind-tossed hair with an exasperated huff. 

“My PhD is in molecular biology,” he explained with his jaw clenched. “My dissertation reflected my theory of evolutionary models for extraterrestrial life without the assumption that water was a necessary component.”

The helmet of the Iron Man suit suddenly lifted as Stark joined him in sitting on the ledge. As Ryland turned his head, he was suddenly face to face with the man who graced the front page of the news at least once a week. He hates that his first immediate thought is that Stark was a great deal more attractive in person. Up close. Close enough that Ryland could make out his chestnut eyes in the dim light of the streetlamp behind them. 

Internally, he shook himself of those infernal thoughts and sharply looked away.

“Y’know, biology was never my strong suit but it’s to my understanding that liquid water is one of the core foundational pillars of that field.”

“For the field of speculative xenobiology? Absolutely. But it’s just that – an assumption. These experts build all these models and run all these simulations with the assumption that water is required, and then when they’re confronted with the idea that perhaps life can be non-aqueous, they then use those same models to deny it! My dissertation merely calls out the backwards logic they’ve been using and purporting for decades.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say they didn’t take it well.”

Ryland laughed despite himself. “That’s putting it lightly. I just got back from the UNESCO conference where I was invited to present my findings. I know my wording in my paper is a little confrontational but I wasn't expecting to get ridiculed on the world stage like that.”

“Yeah, academia will do that to you. They’re like sharks in the water, I can’t stand it. They’ll rip your theories apart the minute they sense weakness.”

“Well, I might have dug my own grave there.”

Stark eyed him for a few moments, a smirk ripe on his face.

“Let me guess, you insulted them,” he said. “Because I’m kinda the king of digging my own grave and if you did anything close to what I would have done, there would have been a few less than savory names being thrown around.”

“I may or may not have called the leading scholar a staggering waste of carbon to his face,” he muttered dejectedly.

For a moment, the thought that there was a malfunction in the Iron Man suit crossed Ryland’s mind as a hiss-like snort met his ears. He balked seconds later when he realized it was no mechanical error.

It was laughter. 

“Wow. That’s a new one,” Stark giggled, feigning wiping a tear from his eye. “I may have to add that to my extensive vocabulary of insults, that would do numbers next time Capitol Hill demands my ass in court.”

Despite the storm clouds surrounding his mind, tempting him to teeter forward and abandon ship, Ryland felt his soul lighten. There was something so human about this interaction. It didn’t feel forced, Stark seemed genuinely interested in his story and what led him here tonight. They were just two scientists at the edge of the universe. 

“So, yeah. I got fired from my research position for it. Got my notice of immediate termination today. All my funding was pulled, my membership to the association even got rescinded, and my only remaining family member hates my guts,” he finished with a shrug, as though it weren’t plaguing his every thought, as though it didn’t make him want to tear out every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

“And how do you know that?” Stark asked without hesitation.

“That he hates me?” Stark nodded, as Ryland huffed out, “I tried calling him again. He never picked up. He always picked up before.”

“Well, it's almost four in the morning,” the Avenger said, glancing at an imaginary watch. “Any chance he’s sleeping?”

In response, he shook his head sadly.

“I’ve called him this late before. We had a fight six months ago, I haven’t heard from him since. I just wanted to hear his voice again,” Ryland trailed off with a melancholic hum, watching the distant yet hazy lights of the city in the fog.

He was a sucker for the fog. Something about the marine layer made him feel safe and serene, like a blanket enveloping him in a misty embrace.

He wouldn’t mind dying in the fog.

“Give me your number,” Stark said, breaking the silence abruptly.

Ryland blinked, looking back up at the man. For a few minutes, he’d nearly forgotten who exactly he was speaking to, but at a request like that, coming from someone as famous as him? It took Ryland out of his stupor and back to reality.

“What?” he demanded, glancing at Stark’s face for any sign of deception.

“If you need to call someone at this hour, I can guarantee you it can be me. Lord knows I’ll be up, I hardly sleep as it is.”

Ryland shook his head in refusal without a moment's hesitation. 

“You don’t even know me,” he tsked, hugging his arms closer and glancing away.

“I don’t have to. We’ve been carrying this conversation as strangers. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You can talk about anything you like. The weather, the local sports team, though you don’t strike me as a sports person. Maybe what your plan is for moving on from this…speedbump?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Ryland clenched his teeth tightly as he choked the words out. “I’m basically blacklisted from every research position in the country, maybe even the world.”

“Maybe not all of them,” Stark suggested, winking with a smirk that definitely did not make Ryland flush. “Y’know, SI is always hiring cutting edge researchers, I can forward an application to you.”

On paper, it seemed perfect. Meet Tony Goddamn Stark, get a sweet research gig, pretend like he wasn’t on the brink of total emotional collapse, and move on with his life. But something about how…easy it was struck him as odd. 

Would he have been given the same grace had he walked into Stark Tower and requested an application? Was this just charity to make Stark look good? Was there a secret camera crew recording them? Either way, he refused to be a pawn in this billionaire’s game.

“I don’t need a pity position,” Ryland sneered.

“It’s not pity,” Stark refuted. “Frankly, it’s luck that I ran into you. With Bruce MIA, I’m in desperate need of a biology consultant I can trust, especially one willing to go against the grain of convention.”

Pause. Hold on, reverse, pause. 

“Dr. Banner?” Ryland whispered sharply, as though the ears of superspies were listening. “He’s missing?”

Stark’s eyes widened a fraction as he realized his blunder. Yeah, he was absolutely not supposed to tell that to a complete stranger. That data was partial to the Avengers, and maybe the U.S Government or the UN. Not a down-on-his-luck molecular biologist Stark had met on a whim. 

“Yeah, about that. We, uh, haven’t seen him since Sokovia,” Stark admitted with a cough.

“You lost the Hulk?”

“The Hulk lost himself technically. Kinda shot into the stratosphere and we haven’t quite found a way to track him down.”

That, as far as Ryland was aware, was not public knowledge. Not at all. Not in the slightest. Yet it’s not the strangest event that had occurred that night and so Ryland merely shook his head in disbelief. He wasn’t about to unravel that.

“So, the position?” Stark asked again. 

Behind them, the passing headlights of a car swung by, illuminating them briefly. The resulting whoosh reset his frantic brain, and Ryland hummed in contemplation. It was a tempting offer. But exhaustion was encroaching on his mind and it was probably not the best idea to make life altering decisions at four in the morning. Which…probably applied to more than just the job offer.

“I’ll think about it,” Ryland sighed, swinging his feet back towards the bridge and sliding back down. Landing in front of his worn bike, he heaved it up and swung his legs around it, straddling the seat. “I will. I swear.”

“You rode here?” Stark observed from his perch atop of the railing.

“Mhm,” Ryland nodded, stifling a yawn between his fingers. If anything it helped warm his fingers enough to grip around the handles of his bike, staving off the numbness anew.

“Get home safe, Ryland. That’s an order,” the man instructed, the helmet of the Iron Man suited flipping back over his head. The repulsors in his hands began to light as Stark prepared to depart, though he waited until Ryland’s bike was in motion to do so. 

“I will,” he replied earnestly, tipping his head to Stark in appreciation. The Iron Man suit followed him overhead until he made it off the bridge, before darting in the opposite direction, disappearing far above him into the marine layer. Ryland paused in his pedaling, waiting for the spark of light from the repulsors to fade away before speeding home.

This would go down, without a doubt, as the weirdest night of his life.

──── ⋆˚࿔ ────

Ryland woke up later with a terrible headache, which he attributed to the hours upon hours of crying he’d done last night. His legs ached from the exertion of the ride home and he especially felt it as he climbed to his feet to begin his day, despite it being well past noon.

Colt still hadn’t returned his calls, he hadn’t even left an “Are you okay?” text. There was just nothing. Absolute radio silence. 

It was at this point that Ryland had all but accepted that his brother had left him behind. Twenty-four years side-by-side suddenly vanishing into thin air. If he thought about it too hard, he was liable to collapse on the ground and start sobbing again, so all that could be done was to move on.

After quickly brushing his teeth, because it was the least he could to combat the need for dental care, he shuffled his way out of his bedroom to make an attempt at breakfast. An omelet sounded good. Of course, he’s out of sriracha. And eggs. Well, he needs to go to the store anyway, his kitchen is as sad and depressed as he was.

So much for breakfast.

He sighed as he gathered his reusable grocery bags, slinging them around his shoulder, plucking his helmet from where he kept it by the door. Upon opening the door, however, Ryland stopped dead in his tracks.

A bouquet of gardenias sat on his door step, intricately woven around a small box. On top of the box was a note card, which he picked up to read instantly.

╔═.✾. ══════════════════╗

A mind like yours deserves more.

-TS

╚══════════════════.✾. ═╝

It’s as much as a confirmation as ever that Ryland had not hallucinated the events of the previous night. He had an actual, fully-fledged conversation with Tony Stark, with Iron Man. And now the man was sending him gifts?

The backside of the card had nothing but a phone number, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out whose number it was. Guess Stark was really dead set on providing him with a person to call in the off chance he felt like did last night. Ryland can’t help but feel…oddly touched. This was a billionaire, someone so far beyond his station, recognizing his struggle and actively acknowledging it. Either Stark was far more generous than anyone gave him credit for or Ryland possessed something of key interest for him.

Inside the box, though, was yet another doozy.

Twenty-five hundred dollars. In cash.

Ryland gasped, hastily pulling the basket and flowers inside his apartment and shutting the door behind him. He tossed his grocery bags and helmet aside, grasping the money with fascination and shock and worry and oh goodness, how long had that just been sitting outside of his door?

This was an obscene amount of money. Yes, it was mere pennies to a man as rich as Stark, but to Ryland? This was more than a month's worth of rent. He could afford to purchase name brand groceries, maybe even cook a decent meal for once, not live off microwavable garbage.

…the flowers smelled lovely.

Biting his lip and knocking his head back against the door, Ryland pulled out his phone and began to type in the number, though not before saving the contact. (What led him down the path to having Tony Stark’s personal phone number in his contacts? Beats him)

“Alright, Stark,” he whispered aloud to no one in particular. “Let’s see what you want.”

──── ⋆˚࿔ ────

Tony: Oh, good. I got the right address.
That wasn’t the only thing in there
by the way.

Ryland: I told you I didn’t want your pity.

Tony: And I told you it wasn’t pity.

Tony: Take the flowers at least. Picked
them out myself

Ryland: Then what exactly is this? There
has to be an ulterior motive at play
here.

Ryland: but yes, the flowers are lovely.

Tony: I don’t want to see a man of your
talents waste away. I read your
dissertation last night. Or this morning.
Idk it was when I got back to the hotel.
Fascinating read.

Tony: The world just wasn’t ready for that
level of thinking. It was absurd, but brilliant.
Huge fan of the way you personally insulted
specific idiots you’re a man after my own
heart.

Ryland: Flattery will get you nowhere.

Tony: It’s gotten me everywhere, sweet thing.
And there’s a lot more coming your way.

Tony: Clear your schedule for Wednesday.
Get yourself something nice to wear, on me.