2nd avengers work of the week. This is an extremely crappy piece. Let's see if you can catch the intended message to be conveyed. Please review, please do. So I can improve my writing and grammar. My English is very bad, like shit level bad, so any suggestions are more than welcome. And here goes...
Why do I constantly feel like I'm thrust back into primary school ages? Ya know, with all the backstabbing and betraying and shit like that within the avengers, it almost seems comical.
The "Hey, don't play with him. He's a loser!" is getting old.
The whole mess about weapon manufacturing, manipulated and betrayed by people who I trust dearly, Loki, Ultron, and now Civil war.
Dr Banner flew off to God knows where, Steve and his teammates, aka the "I Hate Stark team" went completely off radar. Honestly, I didn't know that many people, that many heroes hated me. Perhaps I am unfit to be a hero after all. Not like I ever thought of myself as one.
Why did I ever trust anyone? Ever?
God, I miss Jarvis.
In light of the new threat Thanos, the Avengers have re-assembled in the tower, along with some newbies. Still, it feels as though there were 2 teams: me, against everyone else.
I know, I know. My personality isn't exactly charming. People say a lot about me: rude, insensitive, inconsiderate, snarky are just some of them out of the bunch. If you are looking for adjectives that describe me, go to a desert and count the vast amounts of sand. That might give you a better idea of how widely despised my character is.
The tension within the room is palpable. Glares of disgust, revulsion, loathe and contempt were evident everytime I pass by the team. Snide remarks and scornful comments were spat my way.
Which is why, I seek refuge in my workshop as much as I can, considering drowning my sorrows in alcohol and sex were no longer effective.
I don't blame them. Frankly, I hate myself as much as they do.
Pathetic, I know. Stark men are made of iron and they never show weakness. This lesson has been ingrained in my mind ever since I was a little child.
It is ironic really, how people selectively remember the good you have done, but possess a complete collection of the myriad of different versions of the single time you have screwed up or failed. Your incompetence in even a microscopic incident will be seared into everybody's minds perpetually, the rest of the good long forgotten.
It is onerous, living in this society in which being perfect is expected, no exceptions made.
Show your weakness, automatically you are undeserving.
Why?
Because you are a puny being and a pathetic excuse for life. Besides, nobody truly cares about you.
I cannot seem to remember the last time I laid down properly on my bed. The thought of sleep seemed incredibly terrifying ever since Afghanistan. I feel my eyelids drooping and my head feeling incredibly heavy.
"No…" I mumbled, efforts in trying to remain awake completely in vain.
"Friday, initiate lockdown protocol of the workshop…"
Then, the blackness welcomed me in its embrace.
Torture. My head being dunked and plunged into the unforgiving murky waters over and over and over again. Air seemed like a luxury item. Maniacs with a malicious glint in their eyes were laughing malevolently.
Pain. Being operated on to install the arc reactor. My lungs desperately yearning for oxygen. My heart.
The realization dawning on me - countless innocent civilians I have killed using my destructive weapons.
Yinsen.
YINSEN. NO. YINSEN.
Stupid and selfish Stark. A genius like you shouldn't have made a blunder like this. Why didn't you make Yinsen a shield? Or a weapon to protect himself?
You don't deserve to die. Death will be a delight, too kind for scums like you. Struggle, feeling the agony of surviving everyday. That seemed too light of a punishment, but it will have to make do.
I woke to a loud scream. It took me a moment to realise it was me who was screaming.
My breathing was laboured and my chest ached. Occasionally, I let out squeaks in bold attempt to take in air greedily.
"Mr. Stark! Hey, Mr. Stark. It's alright okay, er, whatever you are thinking of, just stop and breathe okay?"
Right. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
My eyes were closed. The haunted face Yinsen wore when death claimed his life was projected behind shut lids.
I opened my eyes, and still I saw Yinsen. Distantly, I felt my knees impacting the cement on the ground. My hands blindly reached out in futile attempt to shake Yinsen awake. Please, don't let him die. He didn't deserve it.
I made a promise, and I couldn't keep it.
There was blood, a lot of blood. I felt blood entering my lungs and oh God, I cannot breathe. Why can't I breathe?
"Tony!"
Harshly, I was shoved back into reality. My vision cleared up gradually.
There crouched a figure, holding up a glass of water. No. Not water. No water. I don't want water. I'll make it, I'll make the weapon just please, no more water-
"Okay! Calm down, please, Mr. Stark."
Is that Peter? What is he doing here? Didn't I initiate lockdown protocol before sleep dragged me under?
"Pe-Peter?"
"Yeah, hey Mr Stark. Welcome back. How're you feeling? Actually, scrap that question. Erm, uh-"
"Why are we on the floor?" I rasped. I presume my throat was raw from the screaming.
"You, uh, fell off the stool, and, uh, hurt your knees. Are they okay?" Peter enquired, voice sincere and genuine. I can't remember the last time anybody spoke to me like that.
I grabbed onto the corner of the nearest table in endeavor to pull myself up. Instead, a bunch of paper designs scattered onto the ground, landing in different places on the floor, making the unorganized lab even more chaotic.
Dammit, why can't I do a single thing correctly?
I tried again, finally succeeding in the fundamental task.
"Thanks, Pete, I appreciate your help, but what are you doing here? How did you even get in? Friday?"
"Sir, I let Peter in. Your heart rate was spiking and it was clear that you were in distress. I-"
"I appreciate the sentiment Friday, but next time do not do anything like this without my instructions. This is irrational."
"I apologise sir."
"Friday meant well, Mr Stark."
"What are you still doing here?" I asked, trying to keep the annoyance from seeping into my voice. I just want to be alone; I just want some space. Is even that something I cannot have?
"Mr. Stark. I was going to talk to you about adding water abilities to the suit-"
"No water, no water, please. Just, not water."
Peter was startled. Apprehensively, he reached out and put his palm on my hand as a gesture of comfort.
"Mr Stark… I know you have been through some difficult times… do you want to talk about it…? I promise, I won't tell anyone."
Confiding it in a child? Stark, you really are growing more pitiful, aren't you?
"No, it's okay Peter. I can deal with it. Leave the suit here and I'll update you with the upgrades okay?" I tried, voice shaky and weak.
Peter nodded and dropped the suit down, though a frown was evident on his features. He turned around and strode to the door, eyes darting subtly to the few prescription bottles on the messy workbench.
Xanax, Prozac, Haldol, Restoril.
Three of them were full. One of them were empty.
As much as he respected his mentor's privacy, he knew he had to take matters into his own hands.
Reluctantly, he slid open the doors and stepped out of the messy workshop.
Taking out his phone, he fired a quick text to the Avengers(minus Tony). He knows that they have been ignoring or taunting Tony in their own way. He could care less, but he knew they had to fix this problem.
And that these ignoramuses couldn't see through that facade of his mentor's.
Peter's POV
Anti anxiety medication. Antidepressants. Medication for PTSD. Medication to induce sleep. The one for sleeping was empty.
Why was it empty?
This made no sense.
"Hey, kid. 'Sup?"
I put on a stoic face. Firstly, I am not a kid. Secondly, they need to know the severity of their actions.
"Woah, what's with the face? Bad day at school?"
I waited for everybody to file in the room.
"Hey, Pete, you gonna talk? Need us to help you with the bullies at school?"
I turned around with a scowl on my face.
Cap, Thor, Dr Banner, Clint, Natasha, Scott, Sam, Wanda. All here.
Let's begin.
Here goes… nothing.
"Tell me, how has Mr. Stark been doing?"
Immediately, the jovial chipper died down in the room, replaced with tense repugnance and disdain.
"Who cares about that arrogant, narcissistic bas- ass anyway?"
I sighed heavily.
Luckily, I managed to enlist Friday's help, making her promise not to tell Mr Stark. To my surprise, she readily agreed. I guess she was as concerned about Mr Stark as I am.
"Friday, show them the pills first, will ya?"
A hologram of the 4 orange bottles appeared immediately.
"In case you people don't know, they are medications to cope with anxiety, depression, PTSD and sleeping. As you might have noticed, one of them is empty. Do any of you know why?"
Looks of nonchalance swept across the room. Did they not care about their teammate? What kind of sick team is this?
"Friday? I presume that you might have the answer."
"Yes, Mr Parker. Here is the footage."
If AIs could sound spiteful, Friday sure did.
The footage showed Mr Stark throwing his pills down the drain.
"Yes, Peter. We know Stark resents sleep. Nothing new here. Now, stop meddling in adults' business will you?" Cap's snide comment left me speechless momentarily. And to think I once looked up to him. Disgusting.
"Friday, show us the reason he dumped his sleeping pills." Glaring pointedly at the Captain, I addressed the AI.
Another hologram appeared, this time showing a few clips simultaneously, all illustrating Mr Stark, screaming and waking from his nightmare, some further inducing a panic attack.
"And when were these taken, Friday?"
"This month, Mr Parker. The video on the lower left hand corner was taken 15 minutes ago."
"When was the last time Mr Stark sleeped before said footage, Friday?"
"Sir had been running on coffee for 80 hours and 13 minutes. His distress levels have been increasing dangerously ever since the Avengers have moved back for a temporary stay 2 weeks ago." The normally courteous AI informed, with a hint of abhorrence in her voice.
I stared at my audience. Thor had a look of repentance on his face, as did Dr Banner. Clint and Natasha appeared emotionless, as they always did. Wanda looked indifferent, the Captain and Scott seemed a little embarrassed.
"Do you mind telling me, what could have made Mr Stark this way?"
Clint opened his mouth, about to tell me off, but I interrupted him, discontent coursing through my veins.
"Mr Stark is your teammate whether you like it or not. Teammates are supposed to have each others' backs, even I know that. You might not have agreed with the way he does things or his ideologies. Even so, as a team, you have the obligation and responsibility to ensure each others' health, and Mr Stark is no exception. Why are you playing this inane game of backstabbing like you are 10 year olds? Why can't you see through his sarcasm? Why won't you help him?" I yelled, irate and incensed. My hands were raking through my messy chestnut locks, feet thumping the ground in lividness energy. Did they honestly see no fault in their actions?
Enraged, I stomped out of the room, not bothering to bid farewell. What sort of messed up team are they?
Alright, Ch 1 is here. Will be upadating shortly. Sorry about the crappy writing. This is just the first draft, but I was impatient so I published it. I will edit my work later. As usual, reviews are extremely welcomed, especially criticisms or advice. I really hope you liked it. Please review, thank you.