After Tony's encounter with everyone in the kitchen, he headed back to his room, plopping down on his bed and putting the ice pack on his hip. Last month, it had taken nearly a week for the swelling to go down. He felt flushed and a little dizzy still, but he knew that would go away soon. It always took a bit to readjust to the meds after he quit them. Feeling the way he did now, he wished he hadn't stopped in the first place. It was like falling off the wagon and having to start over at day one. It felt like he was standing at the bottom of a mountain looking up at the climb ahead. It took so long to reach the point of therapeutic levels. It wasn't fair, but he only had himself to blame.
He felt tired but not at the same time. He felt antsy and agitated yet sleepy and ready for bed. He wanted to collapse, but his mind wouldn't stop. He wished he could sleep without the risk of nightmares, if just for a break from the stress around him. Having everyone back under one roof was hard. He knew his team was incredibly perceptive, and by now, they had probably noticed he wasn't entirely his old self, having instead been replaced by the icepack loving zombie he'd become.
Honestly, it was pretty much some kind of miracle that he never had an episode like this before when they'd lived together. Even with meds, he cycled a few times a year. Most had come to believe that the eccentric, crazy, no sleep needing Tony was the real man. It wasn't though. When he was like that, it was usually an episode of mania to some degree, and when he crashed after the high, he would just hide away in his workshop until it passed—people assuming he was just productive. It was rare that he couldn't manage things, but after Siberia, he had fallen deep, so deep he'd tried slicing his wrist—the scar of which still stood bright on his left arm.
Truthfully, he thought he'd been doing better, but now looking back, Tony could see how he'd been slipping, cracking from lack of sleep, withering from the lack of nutrients because he couldn't stomach food—eating felt like a waste of time some days. He'd been going and going, but part of him knew that what goes up, must come down, and now he was crashing hard.
He pulled a pillow from beside him and stuffed it under his head. He sighed, closing his eyes and hoping to get some kind of rest—even if it wasn't real sleep. His mind wouldn't shut up, though, supplying a million and one scenarios about how his old team would react to finding out the truth about him. He thought of their pitying looks and their faux concern. He cringed as he thought of Steve and how he would probably try apologizing like it was somehow his fault.
"Friday, can you call Pepper's personal for me," he asked, rolling onto his back.
"Of course, Boss," Friday replied.
A moment later, Pepper's voice came over the speaker. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't panic. I just"—Tony struggled for what he wanted to say—"I don't know. I guess I was just feeling alone and wanted to hear a friendly voice."
"You know you can always talk to me, Tony, but isn't Rhodey there?" she asked.
"Yeah, he's here." Tony rubbed his eyes. "I talked to him earlier. He thinks I should tell the team."
"Oh, wow. That's a big step. Are you thinking of doing it?"
"I don't know. The more I think about it, the more stressed I get. I doubt they'll ever trust me in the field again if they know the truth."
"Stop. You're getting ahead of yourself," Pepper said. "You know I'm not their biggest fan, but I'd like to think they're better than that. They used to be your friends." He heard her sigh. "Maybe Rhodey is right. It might not hurt to open up a little, and if it does go wrong, they'll have me to face."
Tony sighed. "I don't know. I'll think about it. It's just everything is a mess. I'm starting to crash, and I can't seem to pull myself together." He paused. "They're already noticing something's off about me."
"No matter what happens, it's gonna be okay."
"It's not, though. They look at me like I'm gonna fall apart, and honestly, I can't blame them," Tony said. "I look like shit. I haven't showered. I haven't even changed in two days. I feel like everything is just too much to deal with. I can't even seem to put on a happy face and fake it this time."
"Tony." Her voice was gentle yet firm. "You're stressing yourself out—making this a bigger deal than it has to be. It doesn't matter what they think, and it's okay to have bad days. The only thing you need to do right now is to take care of yourself. I know you hate putting yourself first, but that's what you need to do right now. It doesn't make you weak."
It didn't feel that way, though. He could still remember Howard, shouting at him to snap out of it and be a man. He could remember him shouting that he was a freak and didn't deserve the Stark name.
"I just feel so tired, Pep." Tony sighed. "I want to sleep the world away. I hate feeling like this."
"I promise, Tony. It won't last forever. If you want, I can call Dr. Cho and let her know how you're feeling. Maybe you need a little med adjustment."
Tony closed his eyes. His throat felt tight. He wanted to cry. He didn't want more medications. That was the first thing everyone said. Have you taken your meds? Maybe you need an adjustment.
"Tony, talk to me. Don't be upset."
"I'm fine." He closed his eyes. "Call Cho. It's fine."
"Good," she said. "Now why don't you take a nap or go tinker in your shop. It might help you feel better."
Tony drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I guess I can go clean up my mess."
"Don't forget to take a break for lunch, okay?"
"Don't worry about it," Tony said. "Friday's making sure I behave. She'll tattle if I don't."
He heard her sigh. "I'm sorry, Tony. I know you don't like being watched, but we, I, can't lose you. Knowing Friday is watching helps me sleep at night, and it's not forever. It's just until you start to feel a little better."
Tony made a noncommittal noise. "I'll talk to you later, Pep," he said, pushing up from the bed. "I'm going to go clean the workshop."
He slipped out of his room and headed toward his shop. He felt like someone was watching him, and when he glanced over, he saw Bucky. Their eyes locked for a moment. The soldier was staring at him. Tony quickly looked away and ducked his head, hurrying down the hall.
He slipped inside the door to his workshop and surveyed the damage he'd done. It was still a mess, but his bots had tried their best to clean up. He walked over to where most of the nuts and bolts were strewn across the floor. He lowered himself down to sit, stretching his legs out in front of him and began sorting the odds and ends, making little piles by sizes and types. He found their containers and got them all back where they went.
He drew up his knees and leaned against the cabinet. His mind was filled with gruesome thoughts. Intrusive thoughts, his former therapist had labeled them. He tried to ignore them, but they were vivid and persistent—flashes of things he wished to forget, things he didn't want to do but his mind showed him anyway. Horrific things that made him feel wrong for thinking. He pulled his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie and curled into himself. He knew it would be pointless to try and pull up schematics to try and work on anything meaningful. His mind wouldn't let him. He was trapped in his head by his own unique brand of crazy.
He buried his face in his knees and tried to stop himself from crying.
There was a knock on the workshop door.
"Who is it, Fri?"
"It's Captain Rogers, sir."
He sighed, wondering what he had done in a past life to deserve the shit that kept getting shoveled his way. He didn't want to see Steve. The man was a reminder of what almost could have been, of what he wished he could still have. Looking at him sent simultaneous pangs of loss and fear through him. It was such a twisted feeling—to want something but fear it at the same time. Steve wasn't his to want, though. He had Bucky now, and he needed to remember that. When the shield had dug into his chest, Steve made his choice, and it wasn't him. He had to find a way to be okay with that.
"Hang on," he said, pushing himself to his feet, grimacing at the stabbing pain in his hip. Once he was standing, he spoke. "Alright, let him in."
Steve stepped inside, his hands in his pockets. His gaze flitted over Tony, assessing. "Though I'd come down and invite you up for lunch. The team ordered Thai, but I can make you something else if you want."
He didn't get Steve. He didn't understand what the soldier wanted from him. Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Unable to hold his gaze, Tony looked away. "I'm fine. I had a late breakfast."
"You barely finished it." Steve's mouth turned down in a frown.
Tony crossed his arms. "What, you're keeping track of my meals now, too?"
"Tony, it isn't like that, and you know it." Steve sounded tired. "I didn't come to fight. We all haven't had a chance to hang out since we got back. It seemed like a chance to kill two birds with one stone."
"I'm not hungry," he said. "Go hang out with the team. I'll be fine."
"You're part of the team, too," Steve said, his voice soft. "I just wish there was a way I could get you to believe it."
He scoffed. "You're better off without me. I don't come recommended."
"Can you just stop that, putting yourself down? Sure, you have some personality quirks, which one of us doesn't? But we want you around. We came back to try and make things right. We know we made mistakes. I know I did," Steve said. He was looking at him with too much concern, his eyes too soft, and it irked him. He didn't need sympathy or whatever it was Steve was trying to shove his way. "We want to do the right thing here—I want to do the right thing."
"Always the boy scout."
Steve sighed, head shaking. His voice was quiet when he spoke next. "We talked to Rhodey this morning after you left."
Tony's head snapped up, and he felt his blood run cold.
Steve must have noticed his panic because he was quick to speak again. "Don't worry, he didn't say much. Just that you could use some friends right now. Don't be too mad at him. He was only trying to help."
Tony clenched his jaw. He didn't like being discussed. He didn't need pity. "I think we're done here." He left no room for argument. He was finished with the conversation. He just wanted to be left alone.
Steve let a breath, shaking his head. "Come on, Tony. Don't be like that. Come eat at least. I know you must be hungry. You barely touched your cereal."
"Why do you care?" Tony snapped, maybe a bit too harshly. He could see the way his words hurt Steve, causing him to flinch back, but part of him didn't care. The pain and loss were still too fresh. "I told you not to bother."
"I care because you're important to me, and I'm not going to stop. Leaving you in the bunker, hurting you, I wish every day that I could take it back. We all screwed up. We made mistakes. I know you say it's fine now, but it's not. I've seen the fear in your eyes. You're not fooling anyone."
Tony cringed back from his words. Subconsciously, he brought a hand up to the scar on his chest and pressed against it, feeling the spot the shield cut, remembering the pain. It felt like everything was starting to close in, his vision getting dark around the edges. It was like he could feel the shield slamming into him all over again. He tried to settle his nerves, to keep breathing. He was not going to fall apart in front of Steve—he needed to be stronger than that.
"Why do you do that?" Steve asked, pulling him from his attempts to calm himself.
Tony snapped his gaze to him. "What?"
Steve gestured to where Tony was pressing a hand to his chest. "That, holding your chest. Does it hurt?"
Tony dropped his hand, flexing it at his side. He swallowed dryly. "Just a habit. It's nothing."
Steve frowned. "It's not nothing, though, is it? That's where my … That's where my shield ..."
Tony drew a breath, running a hand through his hair. He needed space. Why was his workshop so small? Why couldn't he breathe? He began to pace, counting his steps—anything to distract himself.
"It is, isn't it? I really hurt you."
Tony turned to face him. "Yeah, so what? You want a gold star for figuring it out?"
"Tony, please—"
"Don't you have food to go eat or something? Have people waiting for you?"
Steve sighed, looking defeated. "I can say I'm sorry a thousand times, and it'll still mean nothing, but just give me a chance to prove to you I care—that we all care. Let us, let me, show you."
Tony didn't know what to say. He was so fucking tired, and to make his life worse, there was a war raging inside him. Part of him wanted to rage at Steve, hurt him like he'd been hurt, make him feel his pain, but another missed their friendship, missed what almost had been, craving the comfort that used to be there. Fighting him took so much strength, made him feel so much worse. It took energy he didn't have. He knew he was playing with fire, letting himself crave what they had. It wasn't going to end well for him if he did, yet he found himself wanting to believe it could happen—that something could be salvaged.
He took a breath to steady himself, staring into Steve's eyes. "You want the truth?"
Steve nodded. "Of course, I do."
A part of him was screaming to turn heel and run, to stop before he made a mistake that would change everything, but another part of him was just so exhausted from it all. If he told Steve the truth, maybe he'd get it—maybe he'd understand that he wasn't worth it. Maybe it would scare him away enough that he would leave him alone and he wouldn't have to look at him anymore—save him from the constant reminder of what he didn't have. Or maybe, just maybe, it could be a beginning.
"I don't know where to start," Tony said, taking a breath. "I've thought this over a thousand times, and I still don't know how to say it—put it into words that make sense."
Steve nodded. "Sometimes it's easier to just let yourself talk—try not to overthink it too much."
Tony rubbed at the scar on his chest, looking anywhere but at Steve. He couldn't look into his eyes right now. "I'm a mess. I'm screwed up—more than the average person. I have issues. I don't know how to say it. This is stupid." He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Tony, look at me," Steve said firmly. Tony glanced up. The soldier's face was open and understanding. He didn't feel like he deserved it. "It's gonna be okay."
He felt like he should back out—stop himself before he said too much. It was a bad idea, and he knew it. He had always played his cards close to his chest for a reason. It kept him safe. Revealing them to Steve had the potential to break him.
He swallowed, his mouth dry. "I'm fucked up, alright? I have this thing." He averted his gaze, feeling shame wash over him. "People always joke about how crazy I am, but no one knows how true it is. My head's a scary place. There are times I don't even understand myself."
"What are you saying?"
Tony laughed; it held no warmth. "I'm saying that I need to take pills every day and I get a shot once a month just to keep me from flying myself straight into the ocean or becoming so manic I start thinking I'm the messiah."
He glanced back at Steve—not sure what he expected to see. The man was just standing there, just fucking standing there, looking at him like someone had just shot a puppy two feet in front of him. Tony couldn't look at him. It was too much. Whatever Steve was thinking, he didn't want to know. This was why he never wanted to tell people. He didn't want to face their reactions.
After a minute, Steve finally seemed to break from his thoughts as his brows pinched together. "Does it have a name? What you have?"
Tony hated saying it. It made his stomach twist. He knew he shouldn't feel ashamed of something beyond his control, but it was built into him by his father—it was in his coding.
"Bipolar," Tony said just above a whisper. "With an extra helping of PTSD on the side."
Steve nodded. "So, this bipolar is why you—"
"Look like shit?" Tony guessed, interrupting him. "Yeah, pretty much. I have episodes—some easier to hide than others. I got sloppy with my meds, and now I'm paying the price. Things are kind of rough at the moment."
Steve looked thoughtful. "Are you back on them now, the medication? Are those the pills I saw you taking?"
"Yeah, and that's why Dr. Cho was here," Tony said. "The shot she gave me helps quiet my mind and settle my moods. It also leaves a huge welt and makes me tired as hell for days. She's got Friday watching me, making sure I take them, making sure I eat, reporting back to her. They don't trust me when I get depressed. I don't blame them after what I did."
Apparently, he was experiencing a case of verbal diarrhea because he was spilling all his secrets in rapid succession. Something about the way Steve seemed to genuinely care had made him lower his guard.
"What did you do?"
Tony sighed. "Something impulsive and stupid—something I should have never done. It hurt the people I care about."
Steve closed his eyes, drawing a breath. He opened them to meet his gaze. The man looked so fucking hurt—so devastated, and it was Tony's fault. Steve wasn't stupid. He was very perceptive. He knew what Tony had done, and it was only confirmed when he spoke. "You tried to take your life, didn't you?"
He looked away, the shame of what he'd done too much. He didn't want to see Steve's reaction. He knew what kind of person it made him. He felt tears brimming in his eyes, and when he blinked, they fell, rolling down his cheeks. He didn't want to fall apart, yet there he was doing just that.
The silence was all the confirmation Steve needed to decide his next move. The man took the two steps forward until he was fully in Tony's personal space and then wrapped his arms around him in a hug. It was unexpected, awkward, and caught Tony off guard. He stiffened at the contact. He hadn't been that close to Steve in over a year. He could smell the man's aftershave, and he would be lying if he said it didn't hurt a little to be so close. It was bittersweet, bringing back memories of how they used to be.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Steve said, pulling back and studying his face. "Why didn't you reach out?"
"Because what was I going to say?" Tony took a step back, putting space between them. "Things changed. For all I knew, you would have told me to cut deeper."
He knew he'd gone too far as soon as he said it. Steve sucked in a breath like he'd been punched in the gut. "Jesus, Tony! How could you say that? Is that really what you think? That I wouldn't care?"
Tony scoffed. "You made it pretty clear when you drove your shield into my chest."
Steve shook his head. "I never meant—"
"Don't," Tony said. "I don't need to hear it. You chose who you wanted, and it wasn't me. I had no reason to call you. What's done is done."
Steve stepped forward, a little closer than Tony was comfortable with. He was already on edge, and the conversation was derailing quickly. "Just because I got Bucky back, doesn't mean I stopped caring about you. As I recall, you were the one who pulled away when we first found him—not me."
His chest ached, but it wasn't the scar. He remembered the look on Steve's face when they found Bucky. He knew that it was over then. He didn't need to be told. What Steve and Bucky shared was something you just didn't stand between. What happened in Siberia was simply the final nail in the coffin.
"And my instincts were right." Tony shrugged. "Look at you now. Two peas in a pod."
"That's not fair."
Tony raised a brow. "Isn't it? Just calling it like I see it."
Steve sighed, shoulders sagging. "Do you have a comeback for everything? Why do you have to be so hostile? I don't want to fight with you. Because despite what you seem to believe, I do actually give a damn about you."
Like it or not, he felt some of his anger leave him. Steve was doing a good job of pulling off his hurt puppy dog face, and it was hard to stay mad at that. He was pretty sure the asshole did it on purpose. No one could look that innocent without practice.
The truth was, he didn't want to fight either. The little energy he had was already waning. He felt raw and vulnerable and wanted nothing more than to curl up and forget the conversation had ever happened, but he doubted the super soldier in the room was going to let him. Steve's eyes were cutting through him like he was trying to see the broken parts inside. Why did he have to care? It made it so much harder to keep his walls together when he could see the lines of worry on Steve's face.
Tony sighed, head shaking. "I'm too tired for this—too screwed up for this. I never should have told you—never should have dragged you into this mess."
"But I'm glad you did," Steve said. "I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me. I know we have a long way to go, but I hope it's a sign that maybe things could get better."
He thought back to his therapist and her words on forgiveness—forgiveness doesn't change the past; it allows for the future. He finally understood the meaning. He had done various things, grand gestures, trying to prove to the team he'd forgiven them, when really, he needed to look a little deeper. He needed to accept what had happened, but not forget. He needed to forgive so the wound could heal—so the infection could be cleansed. He was tired of being angry. He didn't need to do it for them. He had to do it for himself.
Tony rubbed at the back of his neck. "This whole thing went sideways. I didn't want to fight either. It's not easy to talk about this stuff for me but thank you for not calling me a freak or bolting out of the room. Believe it or not, I haven't told that many people."
"Who else knows about this?" Steve asked.
"Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, Dr. Cho," Tony answered. "And now you."
Steve nodded. "I have to admit. I know I'm out of my depth. I don't really know anything about this, but I'm willing to learn. I want to learn. You shouldn't have to carry this by yourself."
Tony played with the hem of his sleeve, pulling on a loose thread. "I can have Friday supply you with some info if you want." He shrugged. "Basically, it's a mood disorder. I have trouble staying in the middle like everyone else—especially since I take terrible care of myself as Pepper likes to put it. The medication helps me stay in the middle—if I take it." The last part was mumbled, and he wasn't sure why he included it. Steve caught it, though.
"Do you? Take them, I mean."
Tony shrugged again. "I try, but it's hard sometimes."
Steve leaned back against the counter, drawing in a breath that he let out in a huff. "Have you thought about telling the others?"
He stiffened at the suggestion. It was one thing telling Steve. It was another for the whole team to find out. "I can't. They won't trust me out there. It's better no one else knows."
"It doesn't change who you are. You've always been this way, right?" Steve asked, looking to him for confirmation. Tony nodded. "See? And look at what you've managed to accomplish. This won't change how they see you. You're still the same man they fought beside. We all have your six, Tony. Let us help you."
Tony drew a shaky breath, turning to hide his face as he wiped at the tears from his face. It did nothing to stop them, though. He growled in frustration as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes like it could stop the flow. "I just don't want to be treated differently."
"You won't be," Steve said, stepping over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard but try to trust us."
Tony rubbed the scar on his chest, swallowing hard. "I don't even know where to start—how to tell them. It's not something I know how to talk about."
"Maybe start small," Steve suggested. "One person at a time. I know you don't know Bucky well, but he worries about you. He's always talking about you. He can see something's wrong and wants to help. He feels like he owes you."
He hadn't thought about Bucky in the storm of other feelings. He'd managed to move past his baggage about the Winter Soldier killing his parents, but it hurt when he thought of Steve and Bucky sharing a bed. Steve and Tony had been so close to being more, and then it all fell apart. He couldn't hold it against Steve though. Bucky had his heart long before Tony was even born. They were meant for each other. He wished there was a place for him between them, but he knew there wasn't. His heart broke a little more.
"Tony?" Steve said, snapping him back from his thoughts.
"Yeah, Bucky, that's fine. Maybe you could just tell him? I'm feeling tired. I'm gonna go lay on the couch and take a nap."
Steve squeezed his shoulder. "Wait, what's wrong? You're shutting down."
"It's nothing," Tony lied. "Like I said, just tired. Go see Bucky."
Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Tony, this is about him, isn't it?"
"Dammit, why can you just leave things alone? Yes, okay? It's about him. It's about him and you and the fact I let myself get too caught up with something that never could be mine. It's my problem, not yours. I think Bucky is great. I like him, okay? But could you please go before I have a fucking aneurysm."
"Tony—"
"Go, please!"
Steve nodded and made his way out of the workshop.