Author's note:
TRIGGER WARNING: Overt and subtle references to suicide, attempts, thoughts, ideations as well as some "jokes" made around the subject. Angst angst angst (but hope?).
Recently got around to seeing CA:CW and it ruined me basically, leading to this floating to mind. I hope that this is easy enough to follow as my already shoddy writing abilities have become progressively worse. Any questions, send me a message or comment. Posted on AO3 last week.
Title from "Scars" by James Bay who's beautiful album can basically serve as inspiration for all angst necessary between Tony and Steve post-CW.
For my sins I must admit that I am Team Iron. Before you prepare your Bucky to snipe me while I sleep, know that my heart is broken. Ultimately I believe that everyone was right and wrong, but my personal philosophy and history lives on the principles of live to fight another day and not all battles can be fought on a battlefield, leading me to the sign team.
(But hot damn, too many beautiful people on both sides.)
Would love to hear your opinions (no capslock if you will). Anonymous and signed reviews welcomed.
For all the pennies in your pocket (we barely get a second just to speak)
He smiles when Rhodey opens his eyes. He does it again the first time his friend falls, landing in a heap of determined limbs and frustrated expressions. He snorts and rolls his eyes anytime the other man complains, teasingly reminding him of the lack of empathy he'd received for any of his own countless injuries. They don't talk about what happened until they do, and he smiles through certain points of the conversation, trying to hide the weary and bitter edge showing in his personality. He forgets The Avengers and focuses on his best friend. His oldest friend. He builds his confidence up with all those smiles and tears it down a little with verbal pokes and jabs, just to make sure it holds when it comes under real fire. He builds new legs too because huge egos need firm foundations, and he misses seeing Rhodes swagger with his own self-importance (they've been friends this long for a reason after all).
It takes weeks and months for the prosthetics to move from prototype to actually-fit-for-human-consumption. Vision congratulates him on his engineering and takes it upon himself to work on bringing them to a global market and he smiles at the naive enthusiasm. They go through every blueprint and edit, dissect trial models and build new ones until he is satisfied that Vision can make sufficient modifications to his product when necessary. When finished, they work together on Peter's new gear. He grins, imagining the adolescent arachnid's reaction and something tight in his chest loosens.
He leaves the equipment in the boy's room, sliding into the house when he knows no one is home. Later, he suffers through a (carefully avoided) three minute voice mail and although he winces at the fast high-pitched verbal diarrhea in his ear, he smiles.
He takes the bottle in one hand, rolling it in a small circle around his palm. He turns it around until he finds the expiration date printed on the lid. He snorts at his own automatic behaviour, smiling just a little. The date was far away in a future he wouldn't know, a fact which provided an odd sense of comfort.
He shakes the bottle, opening it with the satisfaction that its contents would be enough. He tosses a few of the pills into his hand, considering them briefly. Huffing out a long breath, he picks up his tumbler and starts swallowing each tablet, one by one.
He sits back, allowing his head to thud against the wall gently. His hands relax as his body does, releasing both bottle and glass to roll aimlessly on the ground. He hums a familiar tune that he can't name and waits patiently for the nothing to come. He feels his heart lurch in his chest as it does, yet he does not panic like he used to. He realises then that anxiety had always been his mistake, that there was no reason to fear the darkness. Death is only the beginning, his mind supplies in an amused tone.
Tony Stark embraces the fate he has finally chosen for himself, and he does so smiling.
He floated back down to earth with his eyes opened wide, watching Rhodey's face hovering above his own. He couldn't hear the words those lips were mouthing, a high pitched buzzing noise filling his ears instead as he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Tony woke up slowly, his body relaxed and comfortable in his own familiar bed. His fingers itched at the silken sheets before wandering along his wrists, pulling at the tubes taped to his skin. Hands captured his own, gently plucking them away from their inspection. His eyes followed the black ones as they twisted and turned and coaxed his whole body into turning to lie on his right side where he spotted Rhodey. With a few inches between them, memories floated into Tony's head about days long gone, of tequila and vomit and altered states of consciousness which led to snuggling in the darkness. A faintly amused thought referring to missed homosexual opportunities crossed his mind. He heard his own breathing spike on a machine in the background in response.
"I thought we were past this, Tones," said Rhodey, freeing a hand and reaching forward to push his sweaty black hair out of his eyes. Tony didn't answer, allowing his friend to stroke his temples tenderly and staring back blankly. The realisation that he's crying does not come until Rhodes' fingers trail down to his cheeks, wiping away the tears as they fall. The silent tears became racking sobs, prompting Rhodey to slide forward and curl his arms around Tony's upper body, holding him so tight his muscles could no longer shudder.
"I've got you, Tony," he whispered over and over again, 'I've got you."
He came to, three days later, with his arm through the decorative window of his bathroom door. His brain registered no pain, curiously examining the shard of glass embedded in his forearm and the blood that was spilling from it. Vision was there before he'd had the chance to remove himself from the door, alerted to his condition by F.R.I.D.A.Y through the heart monitor hooked up to his uninjured wrist. He gazed at the blood droplets marking the floor, cooperating subconsciously with Vision's own movements rather than the requests coming from his mouth. He didn't notice the white bandage winding around his limb, nor the woman who came later to pull the wound together with neat little stitches. He didn't answer her when she asked him questions later, after Vision had half-carried him to his bed and wrapped his sitting form in blankets. He made no complaint when she turned to speak with Rhodey instead. He couldn't understand her anyway.
Tony confined himself to his room by accident, a direct consequence of having no desire to be anywhere else but in his own space. Rhodey and Vision took alternating shifts of the watch, interrupted occasionally by the presence of the woman who checked his wiring and his arm and asked questions he did not know how to answer. Sometimes Tony had better days, where he cried for hours at Rhodes' presence (time that should be spent on rehabilitation) and Vision's poorly shielded sadness. Other days, he examined the contents of his room carefully and systematically searching for potential tools, craving items he knew Vision had pulled out of his room early on.
He lay on the floor of his personal bathroom, staring at the bare ceiling and listening to the shouting argument occurring in the hallway outside his suite. He relabelled his previous assessment of Pepper's contributions to screams in his mind, unable to decipher much more than the tone of her interaction with Rhodey. He felt a mild sense of surprise to discover that it was Vision who argued back firmly, uncharacteristically raising his voice. Rhodey's words were almost too quiet for him to pick up at all, a soothing murmur attempting to calm both of his irate friends.
Tony closed his eyes, enjoying the cool feeling of the bathroom tiles penetrating through his light t-shirt and into his bones.
"I don't know what to say," said Pepper, sniffing and dabbing a ragged tissue around her puffy eyes. It occurred to him again how pretty she could be even when distressed and unwanted memories filled his head of her refutes of that fact, her insistence that she was an ugly crier.
He smiled and patted her hand lightly. "That's ok, Pep."
She started crying again, harder than before.
"She was upset with me."
"Yes. Most people are when their friends try to kill themselves, Tony."
"I-I didn't think about her at all. I didn't think she'd notice. We haven't talked in a long time."
"Tones, come on. Even after everything you mean the world to her. You saw how sad she was just now. If you had… If it had worked out… She would have been devastated. We all would have been. All of us. I know this is difficult for you, Tony, but I need you to try. And if you can't try for yourself than at least try for us."
It was a good day when he stumbled across Rhodey, sitting on the floor of his entertainment room. He sorted through the piles of items in his lap and Tony's eyes caught the distinctive blue and red patterns of the clothing before Rhodey even noticed his presence. He avoided meeting the sad eyes watching him and picked up the mask, fingering the part of the fabric which should shield snarky smiles.
"Kid left it back here himself," announced Rhodey, huffing out a tired sigh. "Told Vision he doesn't need any of it. Says he's gotten on just fine by himself before and he'll do it again."
Something in his chest moved uncomfortably with the other man's words. He recognised the worry, itching and gnawing painfully away at his body.
Later, he has F.R.I.D.A.Y put in a standing order for The Daily Bugle along with every other tabloid released daily. He establishes a morning routine of pursuing the reports of vigilantes, reacquainting himself with just what was happening in his city.
He slipped out of the facility wearing nothing but the light pyjama pants and sweatshirt he'd been sleeping in for a while. He walked, hands folded tightly across his chest in a feeble attempt to protect himself from the cold air. He couldn't tell how long it was until he reached the river that had been designed to wrap around their property for aesthetic as well as training purposes. He continued moving parallel to it, listening to the sound of the rushing water. Finding the bridge in the darkness was a well practiced skill from late night walks with Bruce on Green evenings. He pulled himself up onto the stone wall, feet dangling over the ledge like they used to do when they laughed and shoved each other gently, discussing anything from their research to house gossip. He couldn't see the water without light but that didn't bother him.
"I thought Tony Stark prided himself on being unpredictable."
"Fond of my clichés, though," answered Tony, not bothering to turn to look at her. Natasha Romanoff hitched herself up beside him, resting with her ankles crossed over each other with a grace he'd once envied.
She hummed in agreement. "You could at least pick a more impressive bridge."
He snorted, nodding his head. "Don't you know you're not supposed to make fun of suicidal people? It's like a law of the universe."
"And pass on such a good opportunity to insult you? No way. You'd be disappointed in me if I didn't make fun of you."
He grinned, allowing a little chuckle to escape from his lips. She pushed her shoulder into his, gentler than he had ever known her to be. She didn't move back out of his personal space, leaving their shoulders touching. Minutes passed between them in silence.
"It was wrong of me to leave you here," she said at last, her tone neutral.
He cleared his throat upon feeling it close up. "You don't have to-"
"No. I do. I signed the Accords the same way you did. Only difference is that when I didn't like some of the consequences, I ran away. You and Rhodey and Vision, you were the only ones here to deal with the fallout that I helped you make. All of this time, you've been blaming yourself for something that was a joint decision. You know I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."
Tony picked absently at his lip his fingers. "I regret signing."
"Do you? Or do you just think that you should?"
"I'm not sure I know the difference anymore." He shrugged, wincing as her hand fell onto his and held onto his fingers tightly.
"We made the right choice."
"How can you know that? We lost everything, Nat."
"No, we didn't."
He stared at her as best he could in the darkness, seeing the faint outline of her eyes near to his, looking back steadily. He thought of Barton and Bruce and Steve, those he knew she loved fiercely although she refused to admit it. But he felt the warmth of her hand on his and realised that she was right, that there were some things he still had. Some things still worth fighting for.
"You look good today, Mr Stark," she said, letting the stethoscope fall back to rest on her shoulders. He couldn't remember ever learning her name, despite her frequent presence in his house over the past few months. In the corner of the room where he hid comically behind a large newspaper, Rhodey snorted rudely.
"Careful now, doc. You'll inflate his ego to astronomical levels."
Tony waved his fingers at his friend, resulting in shocked, spluttered laughter.
"Tony."
He froze in place, congratulating himself on not visibly cowering in reaction to his name or, more accurately, to the voice who called it. He gazed at the tablet he held in his hands, biting his lip and forbidding himself from looking up towards the source of his discomfort. He spent a moment wondering how this situation had come to be before he remembered adapting F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s admission protocols shortly before his…illness.
"Tony," repeated the voice, making him curse internally. Summoning whatever courage he had left, Tony turned towards the sound and smiled shakily at his former friend.
"I-i-if you came for your sh-shield it's not here," he managed, avoiding eye contact and wincing as he stuttered over his own words.
He caught the frown on the other man's face as his eyes scanned for a safe place to rest.
"I'm not here for the shield," said Steve Rogers from his perch in the corner of Tony's workshop. He looked larger and more out of place than Tony remembered him being any time he'd sat in the same spot, once upon a different life. The fact that he couldn't fit seamlessly back into his life was strangely reassuring.
"Ok then," he replied passively, scratching at his clean shaven chin.
"Tony," said Steve again, eyes focussing on the part of his face where his goatee used to be. His expression was a mixture that Tony couldn't fully interpret, but he saw anger there which struck against his own reserve of pent up rage.
"What?" he snapped. "Am I supposed to be saying something?"
Steve continued to stare at him expectantly.
"You can't be for real. You come into my house uninvited and you want me to explain myself? That's not just how this works."
The super solider turned super vigilante folded his arms across his broad chest, adopting a petulant facial expression. "Well I don't know how this works so why don't you tell me."
"The last time I saw you, you tried to kill me. I usually make it a point of not allowing people who attempt to kill me inside my home."
"I guess you gotta kick yourself out then because the last person that tried to kill you was you if the press is to be believed."
Tony smirked bitterly, walking over to a work bench and clamping his fingers along its edge to stop them from trembling. "Thanks, Rogers. I really needed you to remind me about that."
Neither of them speak for several seconds, and the silence is heavy and uncomfortable. "Tony, I-"
"It's ok," said Tony, avoiding looking at his former friend. "You don't have to tell me you're sorry I failed to off myself. I already know that."
"What? Of course I'm not-"
"If it's any consolation I'm sorry too but hey. Can't have been much of a surprise. I've been a failure my whole life."
Steve cut across his rambling speech before he got the chance to continue. "I don't understand."
"What's not to get? It's a pretty simple process. I thought I was doing you a favour, finishing what you started."
"How could you say that?"
"It's true, isn't it? Look, Steve. I don't know what you want me to say to you, but I'm not in the mood to try to make you feel better. I'm not sure I want to anyway, or that you deserve that."
"This wasn't me." Insisted Steve, voice firm and forceful throughout the utterance but cracking on the final word. "You did this by yourself."
"Yeah, you're right. This, all of this, this is me. Always has been. The first few times I thought about killing myself, I was technical. Scientific. You know, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of different potential methods. The first time I tried was after mom…" he paused, satisfied to see Steve had paled at the mention of his mother. "Obie found me just in time to save my life, which is so hilarious considering he spent a lot of money trying to kill me a few years later. He and Rhodey got me through. Pepper too when she came along. But it never went away from me. It's like this lingering thought in the back of your head all the time that no amount of therapy or medication can get rid of. When you're standing up somewhere high and you could just step off, when you're waiting on a train or watching a truck drive past…
"The Avengers, having all of you here… It was the best distraction. I was needed and I had a purpose I really enjoyed for the first time in forever. I told myself not yet and it was fine. I could ignore the urge until it all disintegrated around us." He laughed bitterly. Steve made no further movement to contribute to the interaction.
"You took them all away with you and really, why wouldn't they go? It was not like I ever did anything for them to inspire loyalty in them. Those hours I spent building new tech or sending presents for their kids' birthdays all accounted for nothing in the end. Not even a second thought that I might actually have had a point.
"You wanna know the truth Cap'? I needed you just as much as Bucky did. Only difference between us is that there was never any doubt that you'd rush to help him. It was stupid of me to think otherwise."
"Tony," murmured Steve, looking ill. "I had no idea."
"I know." He agreed. "I guess we never knew each other as well as I thought we did."
"I don't know what I can do for you."
"Leave," said Tony simply after considering his statement for a brief moment.
"You think after what you just told me-"
"We're not Avengers anymore, Steve. You don't have any professional reason to be concerned, and we both know you don't care enough on a personal level."
"Tony."
"Now, Steve."
He stared straight back at Steve, as if daring him to talk. The captain opened and shut his mouth several times, struggling to find the right words to say. Eventually, he stood up from his seat and moved to the door of the room, placing a hand on the door handle. He hesitated, turning his head back to glance at Tony with a sad expression he had once jokingly called the 'you kicked a puppy you evil SOB' face.
"I know I don't have the right to say this now but we were friends once so I'll hope you forgive it. We might not agree but I am proud of you, Tony. And I want nothing more than for you to be healthy and happy."
With a final nod, he fled the room. Tony let out the breath he didn't realise he was holding, surprised at the strangled quality of the exhalation. His legs weakened and he collapsed backwards, gripping the work bench tight to slow down his fall. Tears flooded his eyes and he hurriedly tried to blink them away without success. He was still crying ten minutes later when Natasha sunk to her knees in front of him, murmuring something unintelligible in Russian. She grabbed his shoulders and rocked him slowly, a little rougher than what might be considered comfortable, but the action was soothing all the same.
"It's over," cried Tony, melting into her arms. "It's all over."
The warmth of the coffee in his hands was a comfort, anchoring his mind to the task ahead. He smiled at the woman in front of him, hoping she didn't notice how forced and weak the action was. She smiled back, placing a hand on his knee.
"You have to understand, Mr Stark. You meant the world to Pete, and when the news broke about what happened, well he was devastated. It's been me and him for quite some time. There aren't many men in his life left for him to look up to and you almost took away the one he respects the most."
He swallowed a mouthful of his coffee, using it to buy himself time to think about what he should say in return. "I'm working hard to make up for that," he said, shocked to realise he meant each word.
She squeezed his knee briefly before standing up, promising to bring back her nephew's recent yearbook and more cookies. He smiled again, feeling more at ease than he had a few minutes previously. His eyes fell on a photograph of a younger version of Peter, standing in front of his Uncle and beaming.
"I'm trying, Spidey," he promised, using a finger to draw a cross over the scar left by his arc reactor. "Really trying this time."
Author's note:
Please note that every person who thinks about suicide is different and that various things may help them through another difficult minute, or hour, month or year. In my experience, being a hand to hold or a warm body to hug can make a world of difference.
If you're someone who has such thoughts or plans, I send you every bit of good energy in the universe. Life might be a struggle every day, *but happiness can be found even in the darkest of times*. Just keep swimming :)