'Lo guys. Updates on my other five times/drabble fic should be coming soon. I have a few hobbit things to put up soon as well. Just consider this as my return to ff after five months of being busy beyond belief.
Characters: Tony, featuring Rhodey, Obie, Phil, Pepper, and Natasha. In that order.
For Senna, who wanted to see five scenes where someone kept Tony grounded/stable. Review are, as always, appreciated! Sorry about any formatting errors; some of my dashes wouldn't keep when I tried putting it on FF . net
One
Rhodey
It only takes Rhodey a few seconds to punch in his key code and slip through the door. His words come out in a rapid babble as he first glances at Tony then moves toward the suits.
"-Tony. You got to get upstairs and get on top of the situation right now. Listen, I've been on the phone with the National Guard all day trying to talk them out of rolling tanks through your front door. They're tired of games. They're going to take your suits, Tony. You said nobody else would possess this technology for twenty years. Well, guess what? Somebody else had it yesterday. It's not theoretical anymore."
For the first time since entering the room, Rhodey turns to look at Tony. "Are you listening to me?" He's surprised he hasn't been interrupted yet, surprised Tony hasn't lashed out with a waspish remark.
Then he sees him – Tony – truly for the first time since walking into the room. He sees him for the first time in what feels like days – his friend's face is battered, bruised. Tony's quiet, a rare mood for him. It makes Rhodey pause, makes his voice drop to try to fit into a room that suddenly seems empty when not filled by Tony's ego, and Rhodey says softly, "Are you okay?"
Tony mutters something almost, but not quite, distinguishable and turns, making the movement violent. Then he staggers, falls backwards and is forced to catch himself on the table behind him.
"Hey – hey!" Rhodey says in surprise, lunging around and forward to grip Tony. His friend feels… frail. "You alright?" Rhodey helps Tony to his feet, concerned by what he can feel. Suddenly Tony's suits don't seem so important, suddenly the National Guard drops to the back of his mind.
"Yeah, I should get to my desk," Tony replies gruffly, rapidly. The words sound like a hiss of pain as they escape his lungs. Rhodey helps him move, exchanging automatic conversation. The pieces fall into place.
And then he sees it. Tony shows him, shows him raw vulnerability and weakness.
Rhodey can almost feel it then, feel the moments ticking away as his friend's life diminishes before his eyes. He compares this Tony to the one he found wandering the desert, wondering how long he's been running from his imagined death. Tony accepts the reactor meekly from Rhodey, mumbling thanks and snapping it into his chest. Tony turns away, reaching for water, avoiding Rhodey's eyes.
"What are you looking at?" Tony snaps, an automatic reflex. Tony looks cold and lonely. He looks like the world's tearing him apart and like he's going to let it happen. That scares Rhodey. Tony has always been the type to go down fighting, to always be counted on to find some way out of every fix.
"I'm looking at you," Rhodey replies thoughtfully, not wanting Tony to hear the fear in his voice. "You want to do this whole lone gunslinger act and it's unnecessary. You don't have to do this alone."
"You know, I wish I didn't," Tony says, sounding for once like his old self. "But you gotta trust me. Contrary to popular belief, I know exactly what I'm doing."
Rhodey takes in the sight of Tony, filled with defense and bristling with anticipation of Rhodey leaving him like so many others before him had, and doesn't say a word.
Tony says something halfheartedly snappish and Rhodey doesn't take offense. If this - if letting Tony test and test boundaries, always trying to find out at what point Rhodey would abandon him – is what helps, then Rhodey's perfectly content with letting his friend's barbs bounce off of him.
If this is what helps, then Rhodey will stay for as long as it takes.
Two
Obie
"You don't need to work all night," Obadiah Stane says as he walks into the door, eyes concerned as he sees Tony hunched over the desk in the same position he's been in for at least two days.
Tony isn't paying attention. He's sixteen and thinks he doesn't need sleep like the rest of the world. He thinks that if he keeps working, keeps trying to prove himself, then he might belong.
"I need to finish this," Tony mumbles, an automatic reflex. There's the stench of alcohol in the air, and Obadiah wonders if Tony's picking up his father's habits.
"Is it of cosmos-saving importance?" Obadiah tries for a joke, knowing that sometimes Tony responds best to humor. But the kid has already locked himself away, already sent his mind back into whatever project he threw himself into this time. "If it's not, it's past your bedtime."
Tony snorts at that, a sign that he's at least paying some attention.
"If your father hears-"
"This is for my father," Tony responds coolly, fingers still flying through different wires he's tweaking together. It's times like this where Obadiah sees Tony's true potential, times where Oby can easily imagine the two of them providing a formidable force against the world once Howard is gone.
Obadiah wanders closer, pressing into Tony's workspace as only a rare few are permitted to do. He looks curiously down at what Tony's working on, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind. "Something to do with Rogers?" he asks, just a touch scornfully. He's aware that Tony knows exactly what he thinks of Howard's fool crusade.
Tony hums assent, nimble fingers trying off two differently colored wires. The contraption sparks, and Tony's computer screen flickers, readouts soaring rapidly across the screen. Obadiah can't understand a word of it, but Tony does, and the kid begins to curse.
"You have school in the morning," Obadiah reminds him. He isn't the kid's nanny, but Howard had begun to take interest in the kid once again and Obadiah didn't want Tony's father to wreck the trust between the pair. Obadiah gave the younger of the Starks the weekend to work on whatever new project had struck his fancy, but he knows he needs to impress on Tony the importance of attending his classes. An exhausted, overstimulated sixteen year old possessing a hangover would not only harm himself; he would also harm the company Obadiah has worked so hard to nurture.
A grunt.
He can see Tony's desperate thirst to prove himself, desperate need to impress others. He knows this need to be useful can easily turn dangerous if left unculled.
"Listen, Tony," Obadiah says carefully, choosing each word like a weapon. He can see it already, can see Tony already unraveling once again on a crusade to prove himself to his father. It's always driven him, always spurred him to greater heights. But if Tony were to join Howard in his quest… Obadiah had already lived through the fall of one generation of Starks. He doesn't need to see another brilliant mind wasted. "Steve Rogers will still be gone in the morning and the morning after that. But think about what you can do if you focus on a different goal, a different cause."
That catches Tony's attention. He glances up curiously, naïve interest in his eyes as he meet's Obadiah's. "Like what?" he says, sounding years younger than he actually is.
"We can help people – people still alive, not old relics. Not folktales or outdated superheroes. We can save the world. I have some ideas, some different designs we can prototype."
Tony tilts his head curiously, and Obadiah can see that he's caught him. Later, Obadiah will reel him in with promises of money and women, of public adoration and recognition. But now, Obadiah can see Tony wavering between his father's obsessions and Obadiah's promises, carefully weighing each cause.
"Sure," he says uncertainly, still young enough to trust in Obadiah but old enough to know that the only end to his father's path was destruction. Tony glances at a nearly empty bottle of alcohol sitting at the edge of his desk and lets his eyes linger on it.
Obadiah takes that as confirmation that Tony's begun to drink, that he's already begun to spiral. He just needs to hold it off by a few years, just needs to keep Tony rooted in reality for longer enough for his plans to see completion.
Tony reaches over and drops the bottle into the trash.
"I have school tomorrow," he says almost thoughtfully. "Will you drop some plans in my backpack before I leave? I'll take a look at them between classes."
There's a hint of renewed spirit in the kid and Obadiah smiles.
Three
Phil
"No," Phil says firmly, unyielding steel in his voice as he puts a hand on top of the glass Tony was lifting to his lips and forces it down to the table. It clatters loudly as Tony lets it clang against the wood.
"Agent," Stark responds coolly.
"Stark," Phil keeps his voice even and only slightly frigid. "It was my belief alcohol and medication do not mix well."
Stark glances at his bound hand, shrugging. "I've mixed it before."
Phil simply raises an eyebrow, raising a finger to catch the bartender's attention. "One of what he's drinking," he orders before snatching Tony's glass and draining it. To his surprise, the contents of his glass don't even taste like alcohol. Stark looks mildly disappointed at Phil's nonreaction, but Phil just gives him a stoic look, trying to keep him off his beat.
"One limeade," the bartender says sourly, slamming it down onto the wood and stomping away. Phil raises an eyebrow in Tony's direction, concealing any surprise he felt that Tony had been actually attempting to follow doctor's orders.
"Today is your mother's death day," Phil says smoothly as Tony raises Phil's drink to his lips. Stark blanches slightly, but takes a sip anyway.
""Your point?" he asks as he lowers the glass, appearing almost completely nonchalant. If it his hands hadn't been shaking enough to slop some of the limeade onto the table, Phil may have almost believed his act.
"As I recall, last year's police report indicated you almost killed yourself with alcohol poisoning."
"Extenuating circumstances," Tony reported sourly, taking another drink.
Phil's lips twitch, and when Tony rises to leave the bar, he follows him. He didn't come to prevent Stark from drinking himself into a coma, but it provides a good enough cover to stick around until Fury gives him the all clear.
Stark looks… tired, Phil notices. The man's almost tripping over his own feet as he makes his way to the door. Or perhaps he simply doesn't know how to walk sober, Phil reflects wryly.
And then the incident Phil was waiting for happened – a figure slipped in the door and began making its way to Tony. The stranger blends in well enough, but the camera in hand tells all. Phil smoothly moves to intercept, picking up a glass of something clear from a table he passes. He stumbles deliberately, careening into the man and dumping the contents of the glass over the camera.
"Sorry, mate," he slurs, stumbling back and raising his hands high. Phil keeps moving back, checking to make sure the man is just a nosy reporter and not a hitman. "Accidents happen, y'know?'
Phil blended back into the crowd before making his way to Tony's side. The man is just leaving the other exit, doing his best to appear that he hasn't noticed Phil's disappearance.
When Phil appears back by his side, Tony raises an eyebrow. "Are you my babysitter for tonight?" he asks sourly. "Here to make sure that I don't ruin SHIELD's good image by getting plastered?"
"If that's what you want to think," Phil replies. "Or, if you prefer, I have a good stock of liquor at my house I've been intending to sample."
Phil catches Tony by surprise – the man raises an eyebrow before gesturing to his bound hand. "I thought you were against mixing alcohol with medication."
"I've done it before," Phil replies, lips twitching.
"Why the change of heart?" Tony accuses suspiciously, but he's beginning to relax.
Phil thinks about the reporter and about how he's seen his own agents wounded too deeply to heal. He doesn't need to tell Tony about watching Romanov and Barton try to out drink each other until one of them ends up in the medbay or about the time Fury half-killed himself when left unsupervised. Phil doesn't need to mention to start the calendar of drinking days in his office or the neatly stenciled in date that simply said Tony in Pepper's hand.
"Extenuating circumstances," Phil states.
Tony looks at him in disbelief, then laughs, shaking his head.
That night, Phil and Tony end up on his sofa, chasing down shots into the wee hours of the morning. Tony falls asleep almost despite himself, but neither man say a word when he jerks awake after just fifteen minutes of rest.
He wonders if this is why Potts and Rhodes have stayed by his side year after year, if they've sat through his pain and helped Stark drink himself into oblivion.
"You okay?" Phil asks as Stark takes three rapid shots in succession.
Stark isn't drunk enough to admit weakness; he simply takes another draught and replies: "Never better."
There's a faint edge of annoyance in his voice, and Phil isn't surprised when Stark adds, "Wish everyone would stop asking that."
If you didn't look like a strong wind would blow you over, maybe they wouldn't, Phil thinks sourly. Tony doesn't quite look like the living dead anymore – his cure has seen to that – but the stress of the past few days and the events of the Expo have obviously caught up to him.
Stark's body language is clear - why are you here? Why are you doing this? - but Phil isn't quite sure of the answer himself. He's read Stark's file and he's read Hammer's file and Romanov's and Fury's and Hill's and a million others as well. Phil never quite knows why he chooses one over the other.
Maybe it's because Stark's the key to the future or maybe it's because Phil isn't quite ready to stop believing that Stark wants to be a hero, but he tries to communicate with a roll of shoulders and another poured glass that he thinks Stark's worth it, even if Stark doesn't.
Four
Pepper
Pepper finds him standing on the balcony, staring down at the concrete. There's a hole in the glass behind him and she carefully steps through it, knowing exactly what caused the massive break in the glass. His eyes are shadowed, looking at something only he can see. She can see the raw hurt in the slope of his shoulders, the feeling of defeat in the slight downward tilt of his head. He's not moving, not right now, but it's only a matter of time before his hatred turns inward.
"Tony," she whispers softly, the word falling gently from her lips.
He doesn't react, and Pepper wonders if he can hear her at all. Their relationship is almost defined by moments like this – moments where she desperately tries to reach him, but can only feel him slipping further and further behind his walls.
Be careful, Rhodey's voice reminded her. I've seen this happen to my men before – I've seen them lash out in response.
She doesn't ask him if he's okay (they all know he isn't, all know he is being torn apart) but simply approaches him. Pepper doesn't crowd him, but instead leans against the railing, carefully remaining within his line of sight.
His body twitches when he registers her presence, but it takes him a few moments to compose his thoughts. Pepper doesn't give him time to speak, instead moving into his personal space. She sees the muscles in his neck flex briefly then relax, and his eyes simply slide past her to stare at some distant place in the sky that only he can see.
Pepper draws him closer, gently circling her arms around his waist but not quite letting their weight rest on him. She hovers at the boundary between touching and almost touching, waiting for him to break it.
He does it by shuddering, the motion rippling through his entire body. She rests her head briefly against his shoulder, comforting herself by drawing in his scent. When he doesn't respond, she moves back so she can gaze up at his face.
What are you thinking about? she wants to ask, but doesn't.
He's clearly afraid, tension running through his body like electricity ran through wires. The lack of movement is almost frightening, but Pepper takes it in stride. She looks behind her, back to where Tony had focused his gaze.
The dark night sky yawns back at her, unmoving. It's impossible to see the stars in New York City, impossible to see beyond the brilliant lights of civilization to the sky above.
Pepper wonders if Tony can see the stars, wonders if they've been branded into his memory from when he flew into the portal.
"Are you thinking about it?" she asks softly. His body grows tenser still, and she takes that as the confirmation it is. Sometimes she wonders what he left behind in the abyss and wonders what came back from it. Some days, it feels as if Tony never came back at all.
"I can't stop," he whispers. It's a hoarse noise, one that makes Pepper realize that Tony isn't afraid. He's terrified.
Pepper is also afraid. She's afraid that she's losing him. This eventuality is one she never was able to plan for.
Pepper makes a decision. "Did you talk to Thor?" she asks resolutely, knowing the pair of them can't keep ignoring this for as long as they have. What Thor could possibly do, she didn't know. What Pepper did know was that after the invasion, they'd both tried to pretend that something hadn't been changed and it only made things worse.
"No," he responds to her grip then, relaxes slightly into it. "What could he do?" What could anyone do?
Pepper knows it isn't a curse and it doesn't have an easy fix. She knows better than to suggest Tony discuss it with someone or try to forget it.
"I'm fine, Pepper," Tony tries to reassure her even as he begins to attempt to build his walls once again. Pepper knows that Tony isn't trying to lie – he thinks that eventually, he will be fine. He'll make himself fine with alcohol, and if that fails, he'll move on to more extreme methods of self-medication.
"No, you're not," Pepper tears down his wall, storming through it with as little finesse as possible. She can't let him lie and she can't stand by as he self-destructs. "But you will be."
It's a promise, one Pepper will keep as best as she can.
Five
Natasha
Her hands are covered with blood and Natasha doesn't need years of experience in the field to tell her that it's bad.
Stark's hyperventilating, the breath rattling out of his lungs in what sounds like a painful wheeze. His blood still surges up under her hands and she presses harder, ignoring his cry of pain.
"Come on, Stark," she growls. "Don't you dare do this to me."
Stark laughs but it becomes a sob as his ribs move. Then he's choking, trying desperately to breathe and not breathe at the same time. Broken glass cuts into Natasha's knees as she kneels by Tony, trying desperately to keep the worst of his wounds from spouting blood. It had only taken seconds for her to reach her side and she desperately hopes she wasn't too late.
The artery under her fingers continues to send blood running from his body and she presses the fabric of her shirt harder into his neck, ignoring his scream of pain.
"Stay with me, Stark," she snarls, pressing harder. "It's only a nicked artery, you've had worse."
He's moving further away, eyes growing distant. Natasha doesn't know how to keep him focused.
"You fell through glass," she accuses him harshly. "You weren't even drunk. How did you do it?" she didn't see the fall, but she had been keeping him carefully away from the alcohol before he'd gone into the other room to get some wiring.
"You tripped over the wiring," she surmises flatly after a moment, and snorts a laugh. "Really Stark? You couldn't have done better?"
He's drifting, eyes slipping shut. She presses harder into his wound and his eyes snap open ."Awake," she orders in her most threatening voice.
Her phones lies beside her, and she slides it closer with a foot. She keeps one hand pressed firmly onto Stark and dials with the other. "Airlift, Stark's place. Now," she orders when the line picks up. Stark's trying to meet her eyes, looking confused.
"Can't see," he tells her, speech slurred. "All fuzzy around the edges."
"Stay awake, Stark," she tells him fiercely. "I'll tell you a fucking story if I have to."
"No thanks," he whispers. "Bet it would… be about dead puppies."
She scowls half-heartedly with him, but continues to curse him and speak to him until she can hear the sound of the chopper filling the air.
Natasha follows Stark and the medics into the chopper and continues to talk to him the entire flight, ignoring his hisses of pain as the medics probe his wounds. She continues to speak when the doctor says, "he's lost too much blood for anesthesia" and begins stitching his cuts back together. She stays there, keeping him awake as they pick glass shard out of glass shard from his bloody cuts.
("Dead puppies?" she asks him later, looking severely unimpressed as he scratches one of the stitches on his hand.
"That doesn't work on me anymore," he tells her cheerfully in the face of her glare. "I knew you actually cared.")