Tony had been through some shit in his life to put it simply enough. He had endured pain pertaining to both emotional and physical extremes. He had his heart almost ripped to shreds and a car battery attached to his chest in the heat of Afghanistan. He had lived his life in the shadow of his father, had been betrayed by so many people that all his fingers and toes didn't cover anything close to a fourth of that sum. Tony had gone through a wormhole, civil wars, evil killer robots, blood poisoning, self esteem issues, and just overall mental health issues (in abundance, he would add); so yes, Tony thought it fitting enough to slap the nice, clean label on himself and call it "been through shit."
And he was fine with it. Fine with throwing life's lemons out the window with a few choice expletives and working on his cars and suits instead. Fine with substituting sleep with coffee and meals for alcohol (although he was working on that one, he had promised Pepper). He was fine with the way he lived, and the way he dealt with the twist and turns. It was how he functioned, and he had lived long enough already, so something was obviously working for him.
He knew he would break one day of course, he wasn't naive or fancied himself invincible. A man could only handle so much, and Tony's method of ignoring the problem until it went away would one day fail him.
And yet, out of all the things that could have broken the figurative camel's back, out of all the things that could have caused the inevitable tip over the edge, Tony had not expected this.
It had started out as a nice morning. He had woken up from his two-hour power nap with his cheek stuck to the metal workshop desk and the Avengers alarm shrilling in his ear. A quick shuffle with Doctor Doom's latest bots, and they were back by six in the morning. Just in time for Cap's morning run, Clint's peanut gallery hour on the couch while watching TLC, and Tony's usual breakfast. And if Capsicle wasn't there to see him pour a shot of whiskey into his highly caffeinated coffee, well, that was just an added bonus.
It had started out as a nice morning. Pepper had only called nine times, and he had made a breakthrough with JARVIS before eleven o'clock, and the fact that Tony even knew what time it was proved that today was going to be better than most.
It had started out as a nice morning.
Started.
Tony was humming to himself as AC/DC graced his workshop with guitar riffs that shook the glass paneled walls, when JARVIS suddenly interrupted his peaceful morning.
"Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting your assistance on the communal floor." JARVIS informed.
"I'm in the middle of something, J. Tell him to get someone else." Tony mumbled, eyes glued to the screens before him, hands manipulating the virtual model of a new, more flexible cloth that would hopefully leave Bruce with some decency the next time Hulk decided to tap out.
AC/DC began again, and Tony smiled slightly, just starting to hum once more before the music cut off abruptly, interrupted once again by the AI.
"Captain Rogers is insisting you join him."
"Well, tell him to fuck off or something, I'm busy."
"Sir." JARVIS responded, and Tony swore he could hear some cool amusement slipping into the AI's tone.
A few moments passed of silence, and when the music did not return, Tony Stark huffed in defeat, mind successfully distracted and no longer able to focus on the work at hand. With a frown, he swiped at the screens, begrudgingly saving the projects for later. For when he didn't have people rudely breaking the Saturday morning bliss.
"Captain Rogers would like to inform you that this is a team matter, and that this was not something to ignore. Sir." JARVIS announced.
"Did you really tell him to fuck off?" Tony asked with a grin, only imagining the shocked look that only Cap could pull off in the face of foul language, staring up at the ceiling as he always did when talking to Tony's AI.
"I relayed that you respectively declined his request." JARVIS definitely sounded amused now.
"Course you did." Tony snorted, before hopping off of his workshop stool and headed for the door, turning off the workshop lights behind him.
It was a short elevator ride up to the communal floor from his workshop. Each of the Avengers had their respective floors, with their own kitchens, bathrooms, and beds. So as to why they all liked to cook and spend most of their time on the communal floor, Tony didn't really know. He could dream that maybe it could be because the team enjoyed each other and liked spending time together. But Tony wasn't one to get hopeful or attached.
The Avengers had been living in Stark tower for a few months. It would've made sense for them to have moved in years ago, seeing as how they seemed to keep coming together at the beck and call of world-scale problems.
However, the individuals that made up the Avengers really couldn't seem to stay in one place for very long. Cap enjoyed living in run down apartments with no air conditioning in the heart of Brooklyn, Clint apparently enjoyed the farm life, and Tony wasn't sure if Natasha had ever settled down anywhere. Bruce was the only one out of their band of thrown-together heros that had somewhat lived at Stark tower in the past couple of years. And Thor lived in a different realm, so it was safe to say that although they were a team, they didn't stay around each other for very long after they had won the day.
And so, until a couple of months ago, Tony lived alone in his big, beautiful tower.
It hadn't been so lonely when Pepper was still around (and she had been around for a while, for some reason Tony had never been able to fathom). But they had split right before Ultron, and it was mutual, of course it was, except it wasn't, and maybe an empty tower hadn't been the best thing for him then. He had moved to the compound to escape the ghostly memories of Pepper walking in the hallways with her favorite heels. And then Cap had been a right douche, ruining his now second home with bitter feelings, and Tony had quickly moved back to the Tower without a second thought.
Tony was still dealing with everything that had happened in what was now labeled their "Civil War". Cap and him were on friendly enough terms, enough to share his tower without burning it down, so it was safe to say things were getting better.
And it had actually been pretty calm having the team live in his home. The friendly banter seemed to not only exist on coms, and meals shared became something of a tradition. Tony could even possibly say he was making friends. But that was a dangerous thing to think on.
He didn't expect much when the elevator doors slid open. At the worst, he would be met with one of Roger's infamous "Family Meetings." Maybe someone had found the alcohol cabinet lock broken and left to perish on the carpeted floor? Although Tony had done that a week ago by now, so obviously it was their own fault for not being very perceptive.
There weren't many things Tony had expected to greet him in the living room. Had Natasha tried to cook again? Clint gone on a rampage after a riveting episode of "Flip That House"? Had Thor come back from Asgard?
None of these questions held the answer as to what met him, however. And certainly, none of the possibilities he had considered included the squeal of a small boy to meet him when the elevator doors inevitably opened.
A child. A goddamn child.
Panic rose tightly in his throat as the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened.
Tony didn't feel his legs jerk him out of the elevator, and didn't realise he had officially entered the living room until he heard the familiar sound of the elevator doors closing.
Of course, everyone else heard, and heads snapped up from something in Steve Rogers' arms to all look at him.
Including the stare of the something in the Captain's arms.
Warm brown eyes widened as they fell upon Tony, little pink lips forming into a small, awed "o", as if something the small creature saw was amazing. It was sitting in Cap's lap, with some small kid's toy clutched in it's meaty hands. The creature's cheeks were flushed red, as if the small thing had just endured a taxing bout of tickling.
Tony's gaze slid up to the creature's captor, who had the most incriminating grimace of guilt he had ever seen.
"Please tell me you didn't pick a child off the streets like some stray kitten." Tony croaked, throat working around the words dryly. Cap chewed his lip, as if he was trying to find something to convince Tony that this was, in fact, not what happened.
"He wasn't on the street?" Cap managed, and Tony suddenly really wished he had stayed in space and the wormhole had closed behind him.
For some people, this sentiment would be considered dramatic. A few would say this feeling would not be warranted. But Tony hated kids. Really hated kids. With their grabby hands, and needy whines and very fragile limbs that Tony knew from experience that adults with too much alcohol could easily break; kids were not something Tony knew how to do. His parents certainly hadn't taught him how.
Howard hadn't been the best of fathers, though nobody tended to know this information. Howard Stark had been looked up to by all, and Tony had been his disappointing successor. He had taught Tony that the best way to deal with a kid was to not have one. Or to ignore it as if he didn't have one. And yell at it when it wanted to be praised or recognized.
"Nope. No. I want him out." Tony announced, avoiding looking at the small thing still sitting happily in the Captain's lap.
"You can't kick him out, he's a child." Bruce said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes until they fell back on the boy with something sympathetic.
"Yeah. A child. Exactly. It needs to go. This is the last thing we need. World saving is our job, not babysitting…" Tony scowled and waved his hand flippantly towards the creature, trying to find the right title for the thing, the "... It."
"'It' has a name, Stark." Rogers responded, with the all-american, disappointed look that the man always seemed to reserve for Tony specifically.
"Tell the man what your name is, sweetie." Natasha hummed next to Cap, eyes locked onto the boy, running a gentle hand through the mousy brown hair. Natasha didn't do "gentle", and this whole experience was really throwing Tony for a panic-inducing loop of not okay.
"Peter!" The boy exclaimed, hoisting the toy up over his head as he announced his name, almost nailing Captain America in the eye with the fist clenched around the toy's leg. And only then did Tony realize that the leg the small boy was clutching to belonged to none other than a scarlet-and-gold plastic action figure with glowing eyes and a circle in his chest.
Tony froze, staring at the figure in "Peter's" hands. Mark 46, he recognized, in all its plastic toy glory. The same suit that was stuffed in some corner in his workshop, waiting to be brought back to a functioning state. With any other suit, Tony would have fixed it by now, caring for it as if it were his own child. But for some reason, every time Tony tried to get to work on Mark 46, the gash across the chestplate that sliced across the cavity for the arc reactor would glare back at him. Something about that shield-edged slash stopped him from fixing any further, as if he would feel the pain all over again in his attempts to heal the suit. Feel the arc reactor sputter in his chest, feel the cold of Siberia seep into his bones as the fear of being left to die alone became more and more realistic-
Tony shocked himself back into the present, finding himself rubbing at the arc reactor as he did whenever he was nervous, or in this case, remembering something that he could be better off not remembering.
The silence that had spread throughout the room, left in the wake of the group watching as Tony left the present for a few moments, was interrupted with a delighted sequel and a soft "oof."
Peter had kicked and squirmed off of Captain Roger's lap, causing the man to let go of the child. Natasha reached to try and catch him as he slipped off the couch, but Peter took the fall with ease, getting right back up on his two feet and barreling over to Tony as if his life depended on getting to him.
It was silly how frozen Tony was, how his jaw clenched as it did when a dangerous threat turned its attention on him. Except this child was not a threat. Peter was just a young kid, loving life and grasping his Iron Man toy, unknowing that the man he was now fastly approaching had scars that ran by the name of PTSD and Anxiety.
"Um, hi, what- what are you doing?" Tony stuttered as Peter grabbed onto the leg of his pants, tugging as any child would do when wanting attention. But Tony could only remember doing the same to his own father, and always being met with a scowl and an aggressive shake so Tony would let go of the material.
Tony felt his heart stutter as he attempted to do anything but what his father had done. He crouched down to the floor cautiously, now closely at Peter's level, and held out a slightly shaking hand. God, this child was so small, so fragile, and Tony didn't know what to do. He was absolute shit when it came to kids, and what was he supposed to say? How much of the english language did Peter know anyway? Was he potty trained yet?
"Hi. Peter. Uh, my name is-"
"Iron Man!" The kid shouted with a delighted squeal, ignoring the outstretched hand, and poking the circular light, lying underneath one of very many band shirts, none-too-gently.
Obviously, the kid had recognized the arc reactor, like any other kid who owned an Iron Man toy, and of course Peter didn't understand that the arc reactor was a big fat no-no. And of course Peter was not Obidah Stone, or a wormhole, or a vibranium shield, but damn it if his body didn't know the difference anymore.
The whole room burst into sudden movement, the tension breaking into panic. It felt as though the air had been knocked out him, a heavy hit to his lungs, and Tony was rocketing out of the crouch, backing away quickly as though Peter had burned him. The child stumbled back and fell on his butt, brown eyes wide in shock and welling up with tears, Tony's sudden movement frightening to the boy.
Tony was shaking something awful as he shuffled back, chest heaving and eyes franticly flickering from object to object, hyper aware of all the people moving and all the things surrounding him.
Peter's crying drew some of the hero's attentions. Natasha and Cap rushed to the rescue, and he watched through bleary eyes as Peter reached his small arms up to the super soldier, the universal sign for "up" in child language.
But he was barely paying attention to this as his lungs compressed and his throat closed up, and Tony swore he could feel the arc reactor failing, swear he could feel the shrapnel piecing his heart, swore he could feel the slice of a shield-
"Shit shit shit shit." Tony hissed like a mantra, grasping at the glowing blue device carved into his chest, not enough oxygen getting to his bloodstream, and god did he have Pallidum poisoning again? Because he felt weak and heavy and scared and something was really, really wrong.
Somehow, Tony found the button for the elevator, and somehow, Tony must have gotten in the elevator, because suddenly he found himself descending down to his workshop, clutching the elevator walls as if they were his only chance of survival.
The doors slid open and Tony stumbled out into the hallway, clutching the reactor as he made his way to the workshop.
"JARVIS," he managed through labored breathing, "Lock access to my workshop. Activate override code 'Fuck Off.' Blackout."
"Sir-"
But Tony wasn't listening to whatever advice his AI had to impart. He was too focused on making his way to the workshop desk, where the sensors for his vitals lay waiting. They were always out, always ready to access at a moments notice when something like this occurred. Of course, they were usually within a moments reach when this type of thing started, able to starve off the panic attack once Tony knew that the arc reactor was still, in fact, functional.
He fumbled with the stool, pushing it out of the way as he quickly taped the sensors to his arms, which was harder than normal due to Tony's horrible shaking.
"Vitals JARVIS. Now." Tony gasped, clutching the table with a force that, if Tony had super strength, he would have pulverized the table into dust.
"Heart rate is elevated. It is recommended to take action, in forms of deep breathing and techniques in which calm you. May I suggest-"
"Arc reactor, JARVIS! Arc reactor!" Tony managed, starting to feel lightheaded as his breathing only got worse. There were a few horrifying moments where JARVIS did not respond, and those few moments could have simply been seconds, but it felt like some of the longest few seconds in Tony's life.
"Arc reactor is fully functional." JARVIS responded, something eerily close to sadness laced in the words.
"But- but… Shrapnel, shrapnel, something-" Tony sputtered, the phantom pain piercing his chest.
"Sir. You are experiencing an acute panic attack. Activating Protocol-"
"Override!" Tony shot back, ripping off the sensors before slumping to the ground, putting his head in his hands. The last thing he needed was for JARVIS to summon someone to come keep him company through his attack. The presence of another person had never helped him out of these episodes, and Tony really didn't want to be seen at the moment.
He had thought maybe the panic attacks were all over by now. He hadn't had one in months, really ever since the Avengers had started living in the tower. He thought he had been cured. And he knew that slapping some alcohol on and calling himself "healed" really wasn't how it worked, and he couldn't do that to himself anymore. He was sober for a while now (if he didn't count that really small lapse that included breaking into the liquor cabinet a week ago). He swore he was past this.
"Sir. A friend could be of use to aid your current-," JARVIS began, before Tony quickly interrupted.
"JARVIS, pull up the schematics for Bruce's pants."
"Sir."
"J. It's either this or hitting the bar."
There was a silent pause, and Tony could imagine JARVIS weighing the two distractions, deciding which to be the lesser evil.
"Schematics downloaded." JARVIS announced, and the designs flew up onto multiple holographic blue screens. And if Tony detected slight disappointment in Jarvis's tone, he ignored it.
