He is a failure.
A malfunction. A mistake.
Yeah, a mistake. After all, that's what mistakes do.
Make even more.
His throat burns as he stumbles inside. The pressure in his head triples, and he feels sick.
"Jarvis-" He stops, dry lips pausing. No, not Jarvis. No Jarvis. Not anymore. Never again. But that voice -those eyes, looking at him for one, singular moment like he was everything, absolutely everything- not here.
"I am not Jarvis."
He heard nothing else.
Him. Growling but dulcet tones, so sweet and sharp like a malevolent rose that wrapped around his throat.
His fault, all his fault.
He needs alcohol.
Stumbling to the bar -empty- washing down shot after shot -fucking forget already- waiting and waiting and waiting.
Words swim through his empty head.
-monster-merchant-him-language-blue-red-shield-dead-space-failure-mistake-
The bottle crashes to the ground. He does not care. Money doesn't fucking matter.
His head hurts.
Their pupils are full.
Of what, he cannot see.
His fault, his fault.
Those -red- eyes, hatred and scorn, he is not like that monster, do not compare me to him
He always hides.
They look at him with hatred burning in their eyes. They always will.
Alwaysalwaysalways
Bile and stomach acid burn at his throat. Regret and misery spill from his mouth to the floor and he is smiling-
Green. Calm voices and quiet whispers and support and glasses of water-
Gone.
God, he is such an idiot.
He didn't bother to give a shit about him, too caught up in bright decisions that would help everything and make up for the sins crawling on his back. He did not notice, he made a mistake. He has made so, so many mistakes.
He won't be talking to him for a while.
It is what he deserves.
They look at him with blame and scorn, he did it why did he do it why oh why oh-
Tony Stark lies in his bed late at night and feels the silence drown out his thoughts.
Then he sees the shield again.
It has failed him.
Science and money and power and iron, everything he knows and loves and lives by has failed- no.
He has failed them he has failed and they have paid they have always paid his fault his fault
His death looms above as the demons fly through. They do not kill him, no matter that he wishes it. They want him to suffer.
He suffers.
The worries slip in so slowly and take hold and he is brain-dead he has no mind he will not fail no not this time
He always has failed.
an oil-stained cloth, wet with salty tears and screams left on the ground alone stepped on worth nothing absolutely nothing
They look upon him with hatred that he knows he deserves.
They are gone and he has destroyed them.
She is coming tomorrow.
No.
He will fail her too.
It was is will be his fault, always his fault.
He will destroy her like everything else.
He is a mistake that makes more.
His father was right.
