Hey, everyone! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a Wonderful New Year (almost)!
This chapter is very personal for me. It's one of the reasons that Iron Man is my favorite superhero. I struggle with anxiety and panic attacks, so it was inspiring for me to see Tony struggle with some of the same things in Iron Man 3. The panic attack that I write in this chapter is based on my personal experience. To anyone out there that's dealing with panic and anxiety, you're another one of my favorite superheroes! Always keep fighting!
"Tony! Hey, Tony!" Bruce's voice came into focus as Tony blinked open bleary eyes. The scientist was right over him, hands shaking his shoulders.
"Get off," Tony grumbled, sitting up on the couch and pushing the other man away. His heart was racing and he could feel the galloping pulse against the casing of the arc reactor. He resisted pressing his hand to the cool metal. He knew it was there.
Bruce was looking at him like he was missing an eye or something.
"What's up, doc?" Tony mocked, trying to push away the feel that something was terribly wrong.
"You were yelling," Bruce said. "I thought you were in trouble. When I came in here, I saw you were having a nightmare and I tried to wake you."
"Yeah, just another nightmare about someone shaving my magnificent facial hair while I slept," Tony said, trying his hand at a laugh. It came out a little shaky.
Bruce raised an eyebrow and gave him a disapproving look, but his eyes were alight with concern.
"You know you can talk to me," Bruce said hesitantly, looking down at his hands. "You know, just if you…want to talk."
"Right," Tony said.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them before Tony stood up abruptly. "I told our distinguished captain that I would meet him downstairs for some training after lunch. I'd better hurry before he decides to court martial me for being late or something."
Bruce snorted and reached for a book on nuclear physics he had nearly finished.
Just some light reading, Tony thought.
When he stepped into the elevator and heard the doors whoosh shut, he let out a breath and leaned his back against the paneling. The muscles in his jaw were clenched so hard that he felt his teeth grinding together. He let his head fall back, eyes squeezed shut. Tremors raced along his arms and legs, nausea churned in his stomach, and a horrible tightness squeezed his chest.
I will not have a panic attack, he repeated to himself over and over.
His parting words to Bruce hadn't just been a means of escape, he had told Cap that he would be down to the training room to work on some hand-to-hand methods. He couldn't show this broken side of himself to Steve—he was actually pretty fucking pissed that Bruce had caught him in a nightmare. Pepper was really the only who knew about the anxiety, about the panic attacks, about the PTSD. She knew that his dreams often featured scenes from New York, dead, empty space, and Sokovia floating into the clouds. She smoothed his hair and held him close when nothing else worked. She placed her hand over his heart and didn't mind that the arc reactor was in the way. Tony found himself yearning for her touch right now—but no, she had a business to run.
I'm not some helpless child that needs comfort. I'm a grown-ass man, and I can handle a little emotional distress. Okay, a lot. Dammit, don't focus on it.
He pulled his focus intentionally to his fingernails, picking absently at his cuticles as the elevator doors slid open. Steve was already there, in his grey t-shirt—does that man have any idea how to buy clothes in his size?—and black athletic shorts, slamming his fists against the patched punching bag in the corner.
Steve raised a hand in greeting as Tony walked toward him. He grabbed the bag to steady it and started to unwrap his hands.
"Tony," Steve said, placing his hand wraps on the bench along the wall. "You here for our sparring? I've been thinking of some new hand-to-hand methods that may work well for you in the suit. You know…"
Steve's voice became fuzzy as Tony's attention went to the sound of his heart beating in his ears. His breathing became a little hitched and he felt the tightness in his chest increase. It was like a heavy weight was settling onto him, slowly crushing his breath. Every time he felt his attention creep back to the sound of his heart, the heavier the weight became.
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. Mind over matter, right?
He dragged his attention back to the man in front of him.
"…hey are you okay?" Steve was saying, brows furrowing in his classic "momma hen" expression.
"I'm fine, Cap," Tony snapped. "Just a little bored by all of the talky-talk. Less talky-talk, more punchy-punch. Come on."
He stepped onto the mat and they started to warm up with a familiar sequence.
Once Tony was starting to breathe a little harder, Steve cranked the intensity up a little bit. He showed Tony the new moves that he had created for Iron Man, going through them slowly at first to teach the engineer.
"Does that one make sense?" Steve asked, having Tony go through the hold with him.
"Yup," Tony grunted.
Steve gave him a strange look, but continued to the next set. As they worked through the movements, Steve's arm snaked around Tony's neck. The whole point was to learn the countermeasure for this hold, but something clicked in Tony's brain.
Adrenaline flooded his stomach, shutting off his body's rational response. He flailed against Steve, using every ounce of strength he possessed to free himself from the larger man's hold. He heard Steve yelp as his elbow made contact with something, but he wasn't thinking about his captain.
He had to get away.
Tony darted away from Steve, tripping over his own feet. He sprawled on the mat, scrambling back to him feet as quickly as he could. He sprinted to the locker room, oblivious to the fact that Nat and Clint had just arrived in the training room.
Safely in the locker room, Tony fell to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to the floor. He let out a whimper as he struggled to breathe. Somewhere in his brain, he knew that there was nothing obstructing his lungs. Everything worked, but he didn't work. He fought back a sob that triggered his gag reflex. He retched, but nothing came up. His breaths came shakily and uneven. He clenched his hands together under his forehead, trying to still the trembling.
Tony didn't hear the door open, but suddenly there was a warm hand on his shoulder. He started and scooted away until his back hit the cold lockers. Wild-eyed and out of breath, Tony stared up at Steve. His lips and his hands tingled with unused adrenaline.
Steve didn't touch him again. He scooted next to Tony, leaning against the same wall of lockers. Tony knew that their captain could be silent on a mission, but his breathing was audible in the quiet locker room. It was comforting. Something to focus on as Tony brought his body back under control.
The door swung open quietly. Clint didn't say anything, but he placed a glass of cool water next to Tony's right hand. Then he left.
Minutes passed, but Steve showed no sign of impatience. He didn't shift around. His gaze occasionally lifted to Tony's face, but he mostly stared at a piece of floor past their feet.
As the irrational, uncontrollable fear began to abate, Tony began to feel a burning shame. His teammates were never supposed to see this side of him. He was supposed to be the super-genius asshole of the group, always ready to pour a drink or cuss out a villain. He wanted to apologize to Steve, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, he reached for the glass of water, bringing it to his lips with shaky hands.
Before he could say anything, maybe make a joke and escape as quickly as possible, Steve started to speak.
"You know, war was a nightmare," he said. "I saw men blown to pieces, I saw guys lose arms, legs on the battlefield. I looked men in the eye and said, 'you'll be okay, you're going to make it,' when I knew they weren't going home."
Tony stared at him, but Steve was looking down at his shorts with single-minded focus, picking at the logo absently.
"I saw all of that happen," Steve continued. "I pushed it down and locked it up in my mind. I had the serum, right? Nothing was supposed to be able to touch me."
He smiled ruefully then, pausing for a moment. Tony could see that he was lost in a memory.
"Anyway," Steve said, shaking his head. "During one mission I lost a soldier named Charlie. He was young, but he had a dame—sorry, lady—back home. I held it together until we got back to camp, this vise tightening around my chest the whole way. Bucky found me later that night."
He sighed. "The point is, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing you need to hide. I'm not going to pity you, I'm certainly not going to bench you."
Tony finally found his voice again. "Cap, I'm a liability. What if this happens during a battle?"
Tony felt shock rush through him as he realized what he had just said. Those were deep, dark fears that he had just shone a spotlight on.
Steve levered himself to his feet, brushed his hands against his shorts, and offered Tony a hand.
"You're not going to freeze in the field, Tony," he said, pulling the smaller man to his feet. "You're out there handling things every other day. And if you did? JARVIS would take over and probably actually follow my orders for once."
A smile crinkled the skin around the Captain's blue eyes.
Tony felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Nah, I have JARVIS programmed to be just as ornery as I am."
He walked on shaky legs back to the training room. Clint and Nat greeted them as though nothing had happened, inviting Steve and Tony to join them in the shooting range.
Shooting the shit out of stuff sounds fun, Tony thought to himself. Maybe Tony Stark wasn't perfect—God forbid the general masses find that out—but his team rocked, and they didn't mind his flaws.