Hotrod RED.

TONY STARK. - - - - - > MCU & Comic friendly. > Literate & detailed. > Multi-para ll Novella ll Improv. > Crossovers welcome. > RT & Fav?

Il WHO IS IT?

<mental order to do so, and when it turns as a silent sentry in the doorway so Tomy can see his visitor, he’s brought up completely short in the face of such a stunning ghost of his past. “Dean—“ In his excitement, he forgot that he’s currently in his boxers. Oops.

<couch and ambling clumsily through his entertainment room, running into the legs of the table as he goes. You can see how smooth he’s gotten. “I swear to God, I will send you to Apple to be taken apart for parts you heap of scrap metal—“ The suit does stand down, heeding his>

<not like he hasn’t had plenty of practice in controlling his own damn creation, but his erratic behavioral impulses are throwing the system out of wack and he’s not gonna let Dean get shot in the face, /damnit/— “Stand down, Tin-Man!” He shouts, throwing himself off of the>

<idly he’s aware of his heart rate elevating, his biological levels glaring into life in the corner of his vision. Taking it as a threat, the suit standing before Dean throws its hand up, repulsed charging as it locks and targets on the hunters face. Tony knows better, it’s>

<Winchester. Age 40. Older brother to Samuel Winchester, age 36. Parents; deceased. Current residence: un— It’s all he can do to shove all of the screens save for the suits live feed out of his way, expression haunted as he stares at the man standing in front of his doorway. >

There isn’t even a click clack of keys from his non-existent keyboard to pull his attention away from his coding, Tony’s gaze set deliberately on the holographic screen in front of him. Until the data begins to filter in from the suits sync with his telekinetic databank. Dean>

Tonight definitely seems like meat lovers pizza with extra bacon and anchovies kind of night.

< then it’s pulling the door open with both of it’s hands.

The armor is silent as it assess the man, it’s findings running silently through the shared feed between man and creator.

Dean Winchester.

<figure hovering awkwardly outside of the large door separating his penthouse from the elevators lobby.

Said armor stalks up to the door as it hears the knock on the wooden door, it’s metallic mask glinting in the fluorescent lights as the measured security system runs— and>

<his oldest friend.

“You’re going to want to see this, Sir.” Comes the stifled reply.

With a sigh, and a single thought, Tony sends his most recent armor to intercept the visitor.

His gaze is solely focused on his programming, and as such doesn’t notice the flannel clad>

< possibly have his old codes, but he’s also busy. “Why the hell did you let the old codes work, anyway?”

Oh yeah, Jarvis. Of course he’s back. 

Girl Friday was great, and Vision is a giant, smarmy pain in his ass— but you can’t beat the classics. And Jarvis is possibly>

<security camera view of the elevator popping up front and center in his vision.

“So stop the ascent and send them hurtling back down to the lobby, J. What do I pay you for anyways?” Tony grumbles, annoyed at the interruption more than anything. He’s curious who could>

< you have a visitor. One who knows the very old access codes for your personal elevator to the penthouse, and who is on their way up as we speak.” Jarvis informs him curtly, all of the previous news programming he’d allowed to drone in the background muting In the face of a >

<everything from recent news articles, to Scientific Monthly, a few movies he enjoys, upgrades for his armors and their current status.

Deft fingers fly across the keys of a floating keyboard, typing at a maddening speed as he writes algorithm for a new clean energy—

“Sir,>

<subject anybody else to his fucked up, shit hole of a life? One he could die from literally at /any/ time.

Anyways.

On this late evening, Tony found himself immersed by technology in his entertainment center, a spectrum of holographic displays floating around him toting >

<anything even remotely similar to romance. An occasional one night stand here, a fake date for the paparazzi there— that was all he was willing to afford himself. Perhaps he might have been happier if he was able to find someone to share his hectic life with, but. 

Why >

< into becoming a machine. Replacing his sad, aching human parts with something so advanced he could hardly be recognized.

But— those are rumors.

He’s still him. Tony Stark. Just, sadder. More lonely.

In throwing himself into his work, he’s had very little time for >

<mind in place of his own, allowing the suit to be called to him by pure instinct and thought necessary to do so. His personal server is in his own mind; less of an available chance for hacking of any sort.

For a while, some wondered whether or not Tony was throwing himself>

< for him.

Regardless; Tony did his damn best to move on, at any cost necessary. Threw himself into his suit upgrades, threw himself into fighting the good fight. Keeping the team together.

He’s expanded upon his Extremis armor. Uploaded what is essentially an artificial >