"If no course of action is taken, then, you have three months to live."
Mary screamed.
Tony spent the next two weeks uncomfortably cooped up in the hospital, confined to his bed. It was infuriating: the same four walls painted a plain white; never-ending beeping sounds everywhere; constant nurses, doctors, and visitors streaming in and out of his room; needles poking and prodding him every hour of the day; and of course, not having anything to do.
His way of dealing with the maddening boredom was to play games with his visitors (Peter was always willing to play Go Fish or I Spy with his uncle), watch the news or anything on TV (the first three days on the news channel had been covering the crash but it died down quickly. Afterwards he found a new British show where the main character looked exactly like John, but the doctor refused to confirm nor deny the coincidence to be true) talk to himself, or doodle little plans for different projects on small pieces of paper he was given every so often.
Other times, Mary would come alone and she and Tony would spend long hours talking about his future. Mary wanted him to get the transplant but Tony refused. He refused because, well, he had struggled with major depression ever since he was a child and had tried to take his own life many times. Now, he was offered an easy way out, one that didn't involve much pain. So then, what was the point? Mary didn't see it that way. After the third argument on the topic occurred in front of little Peter, Mary dropped the subject.
"Uncle Tony!" Peter had yelled on his first visit. A week of not seeing his uncle had been way too long.
"Peter!" Tony yelled back, matching the eight-year-old's energy as he scooped Peter into his arms, careful not to injure himself further.
Peter smiled up at him, poking at his 'mouth mullet' as his nephew had named it. "It's spiky." Peter giggled.
Tony laughed. "Yeah, it is spiky, isn't it?"
Peter then moved his hand to Tony's chest, right above the spot the arc reactor was embedded.
"Does it hurt?" Peter asked, his eyes wide with a childish innocence.
Tony's face fell, but he quickly pushed a small smile back on his face. "Not really. Not anymore, at least."
Peter frowned slightly. "Mamma said that you got a big owie and it hurts you sometimes. She also said that you might die. Are you gonna die, Zio?" Peter asked, small tears forming at the corner of his eyes.
Tony grimaced. He could either brush it off and forget about it, but he knew Peter would pester him until he got an answer. Or he could just tell Peter a portion of the truth.
"Yeah, Zio got a big ouchie but it's all better now. See?" Tony took Peter's small hand in his own and pressed it against the reactor, smiling softly despite the spike of pain the action sent through his body.
"You're going to be okay?"
Tony let a long breath. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. I might have to go away in a few months, but I'll visit, okay?"
Peter gave a firm nod making Tony grin. "Okay."
In an instant, Peter's sullen mood morphed into his usual energetic and curious self as he started squirming. "Tony! Tony, lemme go!"
Tony laughed, letting Peter's hand out of his grasp and watched the young boy wriggle off Tony's hospital bed and grab his backpack. "I got a new action figure!"
When the day finally came for Tony to be released, he planned to go straight to his own room and take a nice warm shower with a plastic bag over his stupid cast. Before he could, however, Steve insisted that Tony have someone stay with him for the foreseeable future. Tony only agreed after being threatened by Mary but stubbornly refused to let anyone except his sister watch over him.
At his demands, Steve had just sighed and said, "fine. Do whatever you want as long as you have someone there."
Mary moved in a day later, Peter following close behind with his War Machine mask and Captain America themed backpack.
Tony helped them move all their boxes inside, despite Mary's constant protests and reminders that Tony had a broken leg and shouldn't be walking around as much as he was. As always, Tony ignored his little sister, but eventually did sit down with Peter and spent the rest of the day watching movies, drinking hot chocolate, and playing games with his family.
When night came, however, and Peter and Mary were fast asleep, Tony found that he couldn't sleep. As a result, he ended up sneaking into his garage lab to do what he knew best. He tinkered. After an all nighter and chugging enough coffee to kill a horse, Tony discovered a way that he could forget what he had been through. Forget the pain, forget the crash, forget everything.
After this discovery, Tony found himself sneaking into his lab more and more often. Three nights a week turned to every night, then parts of the day. His lab kept him sane, kept him focused on his work instead of his supposed death date looming over him. Yes, he knew there was a chance he would survive longer or die earlier, but when you're depressed and looking forward to death your whole life, it changed everything: he had even circled the three month mark on his calendar with bright red ink.
September thirteenth
That was the day Tony Stark was going to die.
Days of locking himself in his lab turned into weeks. He refused to leave for days on end and when he finally did leave, it was in the dead of night when no one was awake and he could be alone. Mary was concerned, obviously, but her worry only grew when the weeks turned to months.
Two months passed without much trouble aside from Mary constantly pounding on Tony's door, pleading with JARVIS and Tony alike to open the door or let her talk with her brother. He and Peter were her only family ever since her husband and her best friend, May, had died and she couldn't loose Tony, not while Peter was still a child, still scarred from the death of his father.
However much Mary didn't want to loose her brother, she knew it was going to happen someday. She knew she couldn't stop it, but she had tried so hard to convince her brother to take one of the courses of action Dr. Watson had mentioned. Tony repeatedly refused and Mary eventually gave up, bitter and snappy towards her brother. Now, with one month left in his short life, Mary began to regret how she treated Tony after he refused treatment. She realized that maybe she was part of the reason Tony hid himself, but she wasn't sure.
She was sure, however, that she wanted Tony to come out and play with her like they used to when they were children back in Italy. She wanted to have movie nights with her family, go on walks with Peter and Tony. But Tony refused. He always refused.
It was August twentieth when Mary passed Tony's room, the door closed and locked, like usual. Mary wanted to help, she really did, but she didn't know how to. Sighing, she walked up to the door and raised a fist to knock when as idea popped into his gear.
A grin made it's way onto her face and she turned away. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Hey, JARVIS, what's Steve Rodgers' phone number?"
Tony sighed, setting down a wrench and rubbed his eyes. Wincing in pain, he realized he hadn't slept in three days. Not that that mattered anyways.
Dr. John Watson had later filled him in on what to expect for the next few months, explaining that if he chose to live out his life with no treatment, the pain would only grow worse as his heart slowly failed him. John had told him that while the reactor may help, it would only continue keeping the shrapnel away from his heart and not the substantial damage he'd received from ruining his body. Without proper treatment, the only thing they could do was prescribe him some over-the-counter pain killers and sent him along on his way.
It had been hard to swallow, but Tony just said "okay" and left with a bit more instructions and his medicine. The medicine had to be refilled every five days, but Tony had started taking larger doses as the pain grew worse each day: they could only do so much.
And it really did hurt. It occasionally hurt to move, it hurt to take deep breaths. It wasn't too bad, every few hours he'd take a strong dose of pain-killers and that would usually ease the pain. For a few hours, at least.
Mary would constant come knocking on his door, asking in he was okay and begging to talk to him. Tony would refuse, then lie and say he was fine. He just wanted to be left alone.
For the most part, Mary tended to respect him, but he could tell she was worried and wouldn't be quitting anytime soon.
He didn't know how worried his sister was until, a day after her last 'check-in' she knocked again and the annoying voice of Steven Grant Rodgers flooded the room, although slightly muffled.
Tony sighed, turning away from the door. Dejectedly, he called out in a flat voice, "Go away, Steve. I don't want to talk to you."
"Tony-"
"Please just leave, Captain."
Silence. Tony could almost see Steve on the other side of the door, his fist raised to knock, eyes filled with too many emotions: regret, sadness, fear..
Tony shook his head to clear the image and continued to tinker with a little star-wars themed robot he was building Peter as a Christmas gift he would instruct Mary to give after he, well, died. Tightrope from The Greatest Showman played in his head and he huffed. He wasn't that sappy, was he?
Tony heard Steve's footsteps fade and his shoulders sagged in relief. He really didn't want to talk to anyone, much less Steve Rodgers.
Someone else knocked on the door and Tony set the small robot down on his workbench, rubbing a hand over his face. "I already told you, Steve, I don't want to talk to you! Just leave me alone, already!"
"Its not Steve. Tones, can I come in?" Colonel James Rhodes asked in a soft voice.
Tony stood there is silence. He didn't want to talk, but this was his best friend. He deserved a chance. Exhaling slowly, he lowered his gaze. "JARVIS, unlock the door for honey bear but keep everyone else out." JARVIS didn't respond, but the garage door leading to the house opened with a click and in stepped the dark-skinned man.
Tony froze when his friend walked into the room, only looking up when Rhodey put his hand on Tony's shoulder. "Hey, Tones, can you look at me?" Tony nodded slightly and looked up, meeting the colonels gaze. He could see himself reflected in Rhodey's dark brown eyes. Unshaven, disheveled hair, dark bags under his eyes from not sleeping in days. To top it off, small lines were etched into his face from constantly grimacing or frowning in pain.
Rhodey, who had apparently been studying him as well, opened his mouth in a silent gasp. "Oh, Tony... why?"
Tony leaned towards Rhodey, resting his head on the dark man's shoulder as he began to cry. "Rhodey, I'm dying. I want to go, I've wanted it so bad since I was a teen but now that it's here-" he took a shuddering breath. "I just don't know anymore except that I have four weeks to live."