Hi! I know it's been a while since I posted here, but I wanted to start up a fic that I planned a year ago. It's different from my other fics, as it's for Marvel, but I still do plan to get back to Chicago Fire at some point. I've also posted this on my AO3 account, MarvelousMoose. Hope you guys enjoy!
Twisting the cap off of the newly opened bottle of Vodka, Tony took a large gulp before slamming it back down onto his worktop below. He savoured the burn as it slid down his throat, gathering in his stomach in a burst of hot fire that made him feel warm; it was a mask for the cold he actually felt, as if his bones were made of ice, as he sunk further into the murky depths of grief.
He didn't blame anyone for how he felt because there was no one to blame. He, Tony Stark, had done this to himself. He had ruined the world. He had murdered a 16 year old kid.
The violent thought caused burning rage to flow through him like lightning. He looked at the picture sitting in his lap, him and Peter the day the kid had "graduated" from his Stark internship. It had been the day he proposed to Pepper in front of all those reporters. And while the memory once was one he cherished often, it only served as salt in the wound. Every time he looked at it his heart clenched in pain. Tony knew in his heart and soul that he had killed Peter.
It was his failings that had led to the Snap. Half of the Universe had disappeared, leaving nothing but scattered ash in the wind that suffocated Tony every time he left the house. Not because it has stuck around, but from the guilt that he had been so close to stopping Thanos and he had let everyone down.
Peter's final words as he slowly dematerialized, the feeling of his nails tearing Tony's flesh as he desperately tried to hang on, would never leave his mind. Every time he closed his eyes the scene would play again and again.
Mr. Stark? I don't feel so good…
Tony picked the vodka bottle back up with a shaking hand, spilling the contents as he tried to bring it up to his lips.
I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go, Mr. Stark, please.
He took a couple large swigs, desperately trying to get the voice to stop, but it only seems to get louder, more persistent.
Please, I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go… I'm s-
Unable to stand it anymore, he picked up the picture and threw it across the room where it hit the ground with a large crash, causing glass to scatter like snow in the wind as it dusted the floor.
Gripping the bottle in his hand tight, feeling like it was his only lifeline to the world, his mind suddenly wandered in a different direction. Whether it was to get away from the topic at hand or just another step down his guilt-ridden journey, Tony wasn't sure, but the Sokovia Accords and everything that had happened back then filled his mind.
He had messed up then too. Caused a rift to open up in the Avengers as he fought for what he thought was right. His decision to hold firm on the signing of the Accords plagued his mind often; if he had just found another way to introduce it, to convince his fellow Avengers, convince Steve, that it was the right thing to do, then maybe things would have gone a lot differently.
We could have won against Thanos if I hadn't tore the team apart…
It didn't end there either. When he had been rescued by Danvers, Steve had been the first one to greet him. He had even seemed concerned and apologetic. But after that, the only thing he saw in Steve's eyes was hatred. Steve had lost Bucky in the snap and Tony knew how hard he was taking that. He had failed. Tony Stark was a teen-murderer who doomed the world and everyone left in it.
A bitter laugh escaped his throat. Maybe this was some sick form of karma for the life he had lived before trying to do good.
Tony brought the vodka in his lap back to his lips, care for the world fading with each sip. All he wanted to feel was the burn of the alcohol as it numbed the pain.
In the midst of his self-punishment, Friday suddenly spoke up, and he jumped. Tony hadn't expected to hear another voice.
"Boss, you should take it easy. You're getting dangerously close to alcohol poisoning."
Tony scoffed into the bottle.
"Friday, I never have an issue holding my liquor, you know that."
Except it didn't come out like that. To his ears it was just a garbled mess, barely distinguishable with how much he was slurring.
Alarm bells rang in his ears and he looked at the bottle, hazy eyes barely able to bring it into focus. Even through the fog of drunkenness he was able to tell that he had messed up. The bottle was almost empty and it hadn't been the first one he cracked open that night either.
Friday was probably right.
Tony moved to place the bottle on the counter, but missed completely and ended up smashing it into the side, slicing his hand as the bottle shattered on impact.
Inspecting the wound as best he could in his state, all he could see was gushing blood.
Friday started to talk quickly in the background, practically yelling, something he didn't even know she was capable of even though he had built her A.I. His impaired mind ignored her though, only allowing his limited attention to focus on the fact that he couldn't feel the pain of the cut at all. With how deep it was it should be extremely painful, but his whole body just felt numb.
His heart began to thump in his chest, making his head pound in time with each thrum. The room had transformed into a carousel, spinning madly around him as he desperately tried to grip the chair to keep himself anchored. Slowly, his vision began to fade to black and his body began to tip.
The last thing he heard before he hit the ground was Friday's frantic voice and the sound of his skull smacking the hard concrete below before his world went blissfully blank.
To be continued!