Hi guys! I know it's been a long time. I have been busy with midterms and shit in school, and outside of school. It sucked, and I lost motivation for a while. During this month, I dug through many other fanfics about the Avengers or the MCU, then realised how much this fic sucked. Think I might be starting a new fic after I end this one. This fic will probably end in 5 chapters, or less than 5. Like always, excuse my poor English and grammar and the abysmal content. Constructive criticisms are always welcome. Please do not hesitate to leave comments.
Tony found Peter endearing and adorable, the way he acted and bossed him around as if he was his commanding officer. Had it been under a different circumstance, he would have been rolling on the floor, his stomach convulsing from laughing too hard.
But Peter was completely serious, a grave expression on his face.
Tony was, of course, extremely reluctant, due to reasons such as A) he did not want to burden a child with his personal issues, B) he didn't want his negativity to somehow influence the child that had just embarked the superhero journey and was just beginning to discover it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows and C) he didn't believe he deserved the help.
But again, having been in the limelight considering he was practically born a celebrity, he had long since mastered the art of deception and trickery. His skills were to rival those of Loki's, without the crazy magic and super strength and all that.
So, Tony opened his mouth and spun stories the way he spun them to the press. Natural, and plausible. Half of the time he wasn't even aware of what he was saying. He just said them for the sake of saying them.
He turned horror stories into fairy tales, haunting nightmares into beautiful dreams.
Peter just nodded along, smiling and occasionally, patting his mentor's kneecap as a gesture of encouragement.
When Tony finally finished his recount of 'the tales of Tony Stark', Peter clapped and let out a cheerful cry.
"The truth, Tony. I'm not a child, and it's 'bout time you stop treating me like one."
One sentence, short of any concealment or embellishment. Straightforward, direct, penetrating through all the lies the billionaire had fed the press.
Tony absolutely admired the child's ability and freedom to just spit out what he wanted to. And frankly, Tony was impressed. This boy, albeit only a mere age of what, was it 15? 16? Saw through the mask he hid behind for years, one even the press couldn't begin to decipher.
But again, he couldn't tell Peter the truth.
They say knowing the truth was better than being fed lies, no matter how hideous it might be.
Tony respectfully disagrees.
Of course it had been Captain and company that barrelled through the door a moment later, because of course.
"Tony! You're...awake!" the Captain exclaimed, relief scrawled all over his features.
"That I am. I applaud you for your astute observation, Captain Rogers. And if you're done coddling me with needles buried deep into my flesh, I would very much like to return to my workshop and my tinkering. This expedition has been fun, folks, but I'm afraid the ennui just won't do my genius brain justice. So, if you'll excuse me, Avengers, I would take my leave now."
He stood up, brushed the invisible dust off his shirt the way he stroke his ego. Striding towards the door in 2 large steps, he reached, once again, for the ridiculously shiny door knob, only to be obstructed, again. This time by the toned physique of the Captain.
"Sure Tony. I'll have you know, though, your permittance to your lab and the bar have been revoked. You're more than welcome to try, I doubt Friday will allow your entrance."
Great.
Just. Fucking. Great.
Now they had forbade him from his goddamn lab?! His one and only sanctuary where he could work in peace? Do they not understand the significance of his lab?
He felt hands on his chest, pushing him firmly, but gently, backwards, and onto the disgustingly white bed.
"We're not going anywhere Mr Stark, and neither are you." Peter chirped from his side of the bed, twinkling innocence evident in his childish voice.
"You're not alone, not anymore. Please, talk to us, man of iron. Give us a second chance, you are part of the Avengers, part of this team, our brother. We care for your health. You do not have to succumb to your demons." the God boomed, placing his hammer on the chair Peter napped on a while ago.
The chair did not crash under the heavy weight of Mjolnir.
Even a goddamn chair was worthier than Tony Stark.
But of course, why wouldn't it be? How many agitated family members or friends had it served?
How many deaths had Tony Stark caused by his stupid weapons? How many families have been broken just because he was a Stark? How many beings had he erased from existence because his company was double dealing under the table and he remained completely oblivious to this as he was busy partying and having meaningless sex with countless women? He might as well be a terrorist member of the Ten Rings, his body count exceeding and surpassing even those of the volatile gang. And let's not forget the entire Ultron debacle.
How much pain had he caused just because he existed?
To his mom? His dad? Jarvis? Rhodey? His bots? The Avengers? Civilians in general? People around him?
He wasn't even an official member of the Avengers remember? Iron man yes, Tony Stark not recommended? He was nothing but a petty consultant. He was worthless.
He did not deserve life.
He deserved prolonged and excruciating torture for all the lives he had taken out of ignorance.
It was like what Howard had said, he was a worthless piece of shit.
And his colleagues wanted to share the heavy and massive burden on his shoulders that was weighing him down?
Not a chance.
It was not their responsibility.
He had already caused them enough pain and created enough messes for them. They did not deserve this cruel treatment.
"Incorrect, Thor. I am not a member of the Avengers. I am merely a consultant, an inconspicuous character lurking behind the scenes. At least that was what I was supposed to be. But then, you see, my genius decided it would be a great idea to take the liberty of making reckless decisions in the field and creating a murder bot which hurt all of you, just like all the other supervillains did. Supervillains which then went through the criminal justice system and were given a fair and just sentence, atoning for their crimes by rotting in a cell or whatever they were made to do. Me? No, I was not incarcerated just because I was a fucking Stark! So really, big guy, not an Avenger, don't deserve that title either. Just another ordinary, or not so ordinary considering an ordinary being wouldn't have brought mass destruction upon their city, person. Definitely not a superhero. So not your brother, point break, really not."
Tony gesticulated wildly, overcome with a sudden bout of emotion while he raged about during his tirade.
He felt fury, inexplicable wrath, building up inside him.
For a brief moment, he was bewildered as to why he felt such anger.
Then he realised they were directed at himself.
He let out a mirthless chuckle.
"It's time you all see me as who I am. Tony Stark, a murderer, builder of weapons of mass destruction, the Merchant of Death."
His statement effectively silenced the occupants of the room. They stood silent, whether it was due to acceptance or shock Tony did not know.
He roughly pushed away the Captain's hand on his chest, once again stalking towards the steel door knob glinting a silvery hue under the fluorescent lights of the hospital room.
He saw his reflection, warped and twisted on the small piece of metal.
He had always hated mirrors, glass, generally anything with a reflective surface, because they were always able to tell the truth behind him. The truth that everybody neglected. The undeniable fact that no matter what he did, he would never, ever, be able to repay all his debts and atone for all his sins for they came in such tremendous amounts. The cruel reality that he was never good enough because he just wasn't perfect. He had to be perfect, flawless, unblemished; why wasn't he just perfect? He had tried, couldn't everybody see that he had tried?
A tree was an accurate depiction of his life.
Correction.
More like a cactus in a desert.
Growing in such a barren climate, without sufficient water and nutrients; having to adapt to the turbulent weather - scorching heat during the day, chilling wind during the night, with the gleeful addition of the occasional sandstorm, swirling and conjuring up wave after wave of the yellow particles - isn't it just incredible how such harmless these sand molecules seem, only to be morphed into raging creatures a second later?
They chipped away pieces of him, a small fraction, another small fraction, gradually increasing in size and portion. They never cared for how it faired later on - it wasn't any of their goddamn business.
So the young cactus learned to construct his defenses, however weak they might be. It learned from each assault, adjusting and improving its barriers for the better until eventually, its defenses became impenetrable.
But by then, it started to seem hostile to the courageous travellers that dared to cross the desert. They stayed far, far away from it, avoiding contact and darting away even when they only caught sight of it. They will not hesitate to take the long route if the shortcut meant having to encounter the threatening thorns of the cactus.
No matter what it did, the cactus wasn't perfect.
It never was, and it never would be. Either way, the world was unsatisfied.
The cactus wondered if it was worth the arduous hard work and diligence it took to survive every passing moment.
The cactus decided that it was a coward, and that it feared death, having experienced close confrontations with it before.
He felt warm hands steer him away from the exit, once again ushering him in the room.
"Tony, we are sorry."
Huh?
Sorry for what?
"I am sorry, at least. For wronging you so severely, for always expecting Howard in you, for being inconsiderate. I never once thought to consider things from your perspective, and just berated you time after time. Please, forgive me." The Captain spoke in a barely audible volume. If it wasn't for the pin-drop silence, Tony would have missed it.
The Captain lifted his head to stare straight into Tony's eyes. Tony averted his gaze because he couldn't bear the intensity of the stare as well as the streams of salty tears trickling down his face.
The Captain looked… guilty. For what Tony didn't understand. He couldn't even begin to fathom why the Captain would apologise to a sorry excuse of a life like him.
"What are you apologising for? You didn't do anything wrong. I know you're all for morals and goodwill and justice, but nothing here fits the bill. Chill out Capsicle. Still, I would highly appreciate you unlocking my lab, considering it is my tower and my lab after all."
"You just don't get it do you?"
Dr Banner spoke calmly, alerting Tony of his presence. He was too serious for Tony's liking, his brows dipping deeply, forcing a noticeable crease on his forehead. His soft chestnut eyes conveyed annoyance and frustration, to whom Tony did not know, but was pretty certain they were directed towards him.
"Your thinking that you are not a part of this team is already fundamentally wrong, and there is only us to blame for your misguided belief. The countless times we berated you, yelled at you with scathing remarks with complete disregard of how you might feel. Our neglect and avoidance of even encountering you despite living in your tower and spending your funds. For everything we have done that might have upset you, yet took no notice because we could not be bothered to, we apologise."
Tony was taken aback by the speech the doctor just gave. Gradually, he let the words sink in.
Never in his life had he been given that much wanted attention that radiated with concern and genuinity. The words implied behind those heavy sentences the doctor spoke with contrition made Tony doubt repeatedly whether or not what he said was the truth.
Tony started laughing. A legitimate, loud guffaw.
He looked hysterical, and delirious, but believe me when I said he was thinking with perfect clarity.
The Avengers stared at him, bemused. They looked at each other, then turned their gazes back to Tony.
"To...ny?" Natasha prodded gently, trying to coax a reaction other than maniacal laughter out of the genius.
"You cannot possibly think that I believe you, right? Though I have to admit, your deceptive skills have improved miles. Congrats! Now if you don't mind, I have an armor to fix and weapons to upgrade… Thanks for at least taking the effort to pretend that you care though. Adios!"
With that, the genius stalked out of the room, this time unimpeded. A cab was called, with the rest of the team watching in stunned silence from the window of his hospital room as the yellow car pulled away from the driveway.
They just stood there like fools, staring at each other as if a solution would magically appear right in front of them.
Sure the Avengers might be superheroes that fight and blast their way through battles, but when it came to psychological wounds that left gaping holes in people, ones that were secreting pus due to improper attendance, they were left utterly helpless.
Especially when it occurred to one of their own, and when they had been the ones to inflict multiple lacerations on their own comrade.
Was it too late?
That's it for this chapter. Please rate this story/chapter out of 10, and leave constructive criticisms so I can produce works with higher quality in the future. I sincerely apologise if this abysmal writing offended anybody at all. Don't know when next chapter will be up, but maybe in 2 or 3 weeks. Currently running out of ideas, so I will appreciate any suggested content or anything you want me to write about/ write in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!