Title: Scarred Hero
Characters/Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: Soft R
Word Count: 1258
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, though I'd love a Tony!
Warnings: Trigger (aftermath self-harm), angst, hurt comfort
Summary: Steve notices Tony has scars
Tony was working hard in his lab, late at night. The heat had become unbearable, temperatures hitting 100 degrees everyday for a week. Not even the tech in his tower could keep up with keeping his lab, full of tools which melted and sparked, a temperature he could stand. His shirt lay in a crumpled heap on his stool, discarded hours ago as it soaked through with his sweat. He was thoroughly engrossed in his work, leaning over the work bench and focused intently on the intricate circuitry he was modifying, his face lit by the blue glow of his arc reactor. He didn't hear as Steve walked into the lab, carrying a plate of food. He did, however, hear Steve's sharp in take of breath.
"Jesus Tony, what happened?"
Tony jumped, noticing Steve there for the first time. He scrambled to find his shirt, facing Steve the entire time. His hand found the black material and he quickly pulled it down over his head.
"Uhh, nothing. I dunno what you're talking about. Oh, is that dinner?" he said in quick succession, obviously trying to divert Steve's attention.
Steve laid his hand on his arm as Tony began to eat his roast beef with enthusiasm.
"Tony, what happened to your shoulders?"
"Nothing," he growled in between mouthfuls, "I told you."
Steve paused for a moment before asking softly, "Is this why you won't take your shirt off even when we're sleeping?" Come to think of it, Steve couldn't think of anyone who had seen him without a shirt. He knew Pepper had to change his reactor once, years ago, but he didn't know of anything since.
Tony's arm stopped halfway to his mouth as his eyes began to water. He stood up and turned away from Steve.
"Look Steve, just drop it. I don't want to talk about it."
Steve respectfully stayed silent, but he didn't want to leave. Tony had been down here for days, he'd even missed dinner with the team. He wanted to take care of him, and he knew Tony was on the verge of either talking to him or making it extremely clear that Steve was to leave. He waited.
Tony paced, and then stopped, his back turned to Steve. Then he began to remove his shirt. Bare torsoed, he lay a hand across his shoulder with his head bowed. Steve stood and walked towards him. As he got closer he saw the multitude of raised white lines criss-crossing Tony's shoulders, standing out against the rest of his skin. As he gently touched them with his fingers, Tony flinched.
"I don't want people to think I'm weak," he said, quietly. "Especially not you."
Steve gently turned Tony around and lifted his chin.
"You're not weak," he said. "No one could think you were weak."
Tony pulled away, anger flashing across his face.
"But I am!" he shouted, banging his fist on his workbench, pacing the room. "Look at me! What am I without my suit, Steve? You picked it out straight away!" He pointed at the ring of blue light on his chest. "What am I without this? It's the only thing keeping me alive, don't you think I'm scared of how easily I can be broken?" Tears were openly running down his face.
"When I got back from Afghanistan I was broken, Steve. I was broken. A man died to save me. Why? Men were killed by what I did. It's my fault. And when I got back, I found out that the one man I trusted, who was like a dad to me, had organised the whole thing because I was nothing but a nuisance to him."
Steve moved towards Tony who sat down by his workbench, head in his hands.
"Then I find out that everything I became, the suit, was in danger because people thought I was still the man I had been. I was dying, but the only thing people cared about is that they could get a shiny new way to kill people out of me. So I did the only thing I could. I tried to self-destruct, without taking everyone with me. I had nothing left, I didn't care, and it scared me so I hurt myself because I had nothing left. I pushed away Rhodey and I pushed away Pepper. I didn't have anyone else."
Tony looked up at Steve, "You know they wouldn't even let me join the Avengers at first? They said I was too unstable. It fucking hurt to hear that, but you know what? They were right. I'm a mess. A big fucking mess."
Steve waited, he didn't want to cut Tony off while he was pouring his heart out. He knew it could be cathartic to rant everything out, to get everything in the open. He knew this meant he had moved to a new level of trust. Tony had just bared his rawest wounds, had bared his soul to him. When it became evident he had finished he began to speak.
"You're not a mess, Tony. You're a genius. Sometimes it can be hard to distinguish, but you're one of the strongest men I know."
Tony lay his head on the table, and Steve could hear him trying to swallow the sobs.
"Everything you've described, all of the things you've lived through demonstrate that. A lesser man would have crumbled, but you Tony, you made it through. You made it through a better man, a man who is helping change the world in an overwhelmingly positive way."
Tony's breathing was beginning to level out.
"You learned from your mistakes and you fixed the problems. A weak man would have given up against such odds. A weak man would have just let Stark Industries go on making weapons and removed the issues from his mind. A weak man would never have become Iron Man."
Steve sat down beside him.
"The only thing those scars say to me is that you're strong. You've made it through things where any lesser man would have failed. You've turned yourself around, and you've proven to the world a thousand times over that Tony Stark is a good man. A strong man. A man willing to sacrifice himself for others. No one could ever call that weak."
Tony lifted his head slightly and looked at him, his eyes red and puffy, his nose running.
He said in a small voice, "But they make me so ugly."
Steve lifted his head, leaning his forehead against Tony's.
"Those scars are part of you, Tony Stark, and you are beautiful. I love you, all of you."
Tony sniffed and gave a smile. Steve leaned in and touched his lips against the smaller man's softly and gently.
"Thank you," whispered Tony, "Thank you for letting me say it out loud, and thank you for not judging me for it."
"Of course I'd never judge you. You're my Tony. Now," Steve took his hand, "you have a tower full of friends who haven't seen you in days. We should at least say good night."
Tony nodded, grateful that Steve didn't feel the need to hide him away, nor to force the others upon him after such an emotional event.
That night Tony slept soundly for the first time in a long time, pulled in to Steve's chest warmly and safely, without his shirt.