This fic is really angsty! But there well be a happy ending!
DISCLAIMER: graphic self harm, eating disorders, suicide attempts, language, just all around triggering! Please don't read if any of this triggers you!
Enjoy!
After a tiring mission, everyone was relieved when they finally returned to the tower. Tony in particular however, because he knew that the mission had failed because of him. Loki had come to play with them, and Clint ended up injured after Tony had disobeyed orders. Or at least, that's what everyone else thought.
Tony himself knew that he hadn't disobeyed orders just to be annoying. While Loki was busy annoying the rest of the team, he spotted a child no older than 5 walking alone on the sidewalk. But, that's not what made his heart stop. Behind the child about three feet away was a very angry man with a gun in his hand, pointing at the child head. Tony immediately went into action.
He quickly flew towards the child, ignoring the team's yelling behind him, picked the kid up, and flew him towards safety. After landing in a nice park, a middle aged woman came running yelling, "My baby!"
The woman grabbed her child and stared dumbfounded at Tony, or rather, Iron Man. Then she gasped, "T-thank you so much!"
Tony gave a salute and flew back to the sidewalk, trying to spot the villain. He was no where to be found. Jarvis was frantically yelling at Tony to turn his coms on and when Tony did, all hell broke loose.
Steve was shouting and asking him why he left, Clint was moaning in pain, Natasha was whispering obscenities, Thor was desperately trying to comfort Clint, and Bruce was nowhere to be seen, or rather, heard. Tony quickly flew back to the Avengers where he noticed Loki was gone. Steve ran up to him, fury on his face. Tony lowered himself to the ground and pushed up his face plate, just when Steve had caught up to him. "Where the hell did you go? If you had been there, Clint wouldn't be injured right now! Loki put something on his leg and you weren't there to stop him!" Steve growled out.
"And none of you guys could?" Tony snapped.
Steve's expression became menacing and he shouted, "You only care about yourself! Now, thanks to you, a team mate is injured, but I'm sure that doesn't even matter to you!"
Tony scowled and yelled back, "I had to save a kid-"
Clint, who was still holding his leg but no longer moaning in pain. shouted, "That's a load of bullshit and you know it, Stark!"
Tony was furious. They thought he was lying? "What! Didn't you- didn't you see me? I literally only went like a few feet away from you!"
Steve only shook his head and in his Captain America voice said to the rest of the team, "Everyone back to the Quinjet. Clint we'll get you to medical as soon as possible."
Everyone nodded and started off to the Quinjet. Tony sighed and followed.
And yeah, that was how they ended up like how they were now. Everyone was pissed at Tony and they weren't afraid to show it either. Even Bruce, who showed up later, was giving him disappointed looks. Tony didn't bother to say anything, he just got up when they reached the tower and left. He heard Steve shouting from behind him but he didn't care. He was starting to get a little anxious, and he knew that if he didn't do something about it quickly, he'd go into a full on panic attack.
He quickly ran into the lab, stripped off his suit, and collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. Jarvis was desperately trying to communicate to him but in his haze he heard himself say, "Mute."
He stayed on the floor for a few more minutes, until he felt himself begin to stand and walk into the bathroom. He turned on the light, and looked at himself in the mirror. He felt ashamed at what he saw staring back at him. Tony had heavy bags under his eyes, his face was very pale, his eyes red and wide, and his hair disheveled and matted with sweat. He felt his hand reach out to the cabinet and pull out something sharp. He stared at what he has pulled out. A knife, new and never used was sitting in his hand, waiting to cut something. And suddenly, he got a crazy idea.
Now, Tony would argue that he wasn't depressed. And, he definitely wasn't suicidal. This was just an experiment. He just wanted to know how to feel again. His hand shaking, he slowly brought the knife down to his arm, rolled up his sleeve, and pressed it into his skin. It burned and he couldn't help but cry out at the pain. But, it also felt good in a way, and for once, he could really feel something. He quickly sliced another line into his arm and admired his work.
The line was sloppy and oozing blood very quickly. He was fascinated as he watched his skin open up and the blood come out of it, dripping onto the floor and causing a puddle to form. He didn't even care about that, he just wanted to do it again. And so he did. He pressed the knife into his skin and again, but deeper this time. What happens if he goes deeper? He was keen to find out, so he pressed hard, and the pain was almost unbearable. But, he quickly told himself to man up. He decided that he didn't only want to do his arm. He bent down and rolled up his jeans, looking at his bare legs.
This was punishment, he decided. Punishment for letting Clint get hurt, punishment for disobeying, and punishment for existing at all. He pressed the knife into his leg multiple times, until the blood dripped onto the floor, causing the puddle that formed to get bigger. He began to feel himself get dizzy and he dropped the knife, the smell of copper becoming strong.
He tried to stand up, but his arms were unable to support his weight, and he fell back down. Was he getting fatter?
He groaned. Yet another problem he needed to fix. But nothing a little diet and exercise couldn't do. And as he finally closed his eyes, letting sleep take over, a small part of him realized that he hadn't locked the doors the lab, and that anyone could come in at any time if they wanted to. But what did it matter, anyway? He was too tired to care.