L for Lies: Part 1


TW: kind of suicidalish and self-punishing, self loathing!Tony.

VERY ANGSTY. A chapter in which Tony Stark behaves like a stubborn and injured Tony Stark and waits until the last minute to tell anyone that something is wrong because he is ashamed of himself. ENJOY AND PLEASE REVIEW.


Tony was so close he could goddamn taste it.

The team had been fighting this beast now for almost an hour, ducking and weaving and firing to no avail. Nobody could line up a square shot – it was just too fast, too good. Its razor-sharp claws were each the size of a U-Haul truck. The serrated pincers were not only massive, but could clamp through a human body like it was a twig – they had found that out the hard way when the monster had gotten a hold of one very unfortunate SHIELD cadet.

Shaped almost like a giant scorpion, this fine fellow had been terrorizing Southern Arizona and the Mexican Border for a month now, but it had evaded SHIELD at every turn – not something Coulson was particularly happy about. Until this afternoon, the agency had almost given up all hope of ever catching this thing. That was, until the blip.

Ah, yes, the beautiful blip. Finally, a blip had appeared on the Doppler. Without wasting any time, the Avengers were called in.

The fight was fast and dirty. The moment the quinjet had landed, they were off like horses at a race. Natasha and Steve were walking through fireballs on the street without flinching. Clint was firing from every angle at once, and Tony was unleashing everything (and he means EVERYTHING) he had: old weapons and new weapons and not-even-tested-yet weapons. This tussle should have been over in time for lunch.

That was, until the damn thing disappeared.

It literally disappeared. Vanished. Went completely undetectable at every level: heat, radiation, motion sensor, seismograph…everything was coming up blank. There was a giant scorpion, oozing and snapping, wreaking havoc in the southwest – oh, but if that wasn't enough, it was also invisible.

Needless to say, everyone had been caught completely by surprise. Steve was mid-throw with his shield but had kind of just let it putter pathetically to the ground as his mouth gaped open.

They felt instantly vulnerable. The order came to fall back to the perimeter. As soon as the retreat had been realized, and Tony had counted each of his teammates on the ground by the SHIELD armored base, he landed. They were on him in seconds.

"Stark, where is it n-"

"- heat scanning sh-"

"- the hell is it, Tony, and-"

"Anything? Anything at-"

"-near me? Can-"

"-should have been im-"

"GUYS!" Tony had shouted, just as frustrated as all of them. "I HAVE NOTHING. Nothing. Zilch, nada, negative - So stop asking." He cursed loudly, itching to blast something to pieces. "This thing literally just dropped off every map known to man. For all we know, it could have teleported to Australia." He huffed again, kicking an innocent trashcan halfway across the sidewalk. His face was contorted in thought - the perpetual problem solving glare of an engineer. "Just…just give me a minute." The team waited patiently, despite their keen need to have a directive. Tony would have laughed if he wasn't so preoccupied. That's the problem with a group of disciplined soldiers – they aren't comfortable unless they have a plan.

Suddenly, Tony's eyebrows shot through his forehead and his jaw set firmly in a self-satisfied smirk. "I can reconfigure my photon scanner. Nothing can hide from that – even this slimy bastard."

Everyone seemed to take a breath. The group had regained their footing.

"What exactly does that mean, Mr. Stark?" Coulson was standing easily to the side.

"My dear Phil, what it means is that I will be detecting our beautiful beastie on its molecular level. If it's here, and hasn't teleported, it has to show up." Tony was busy removing his helmet and gauntlet and shouting orders to JARVIS over comm. He broke for a second to address the team, a small Alan wrench between his lips. "I just have to do a fly-by, sweep some lasers, take a selfie, pick the right filter, and fly back." He was keeping his tone lighthearted, and for those SHIELD agents who didn't know any better, they believed it. The Coulson and his team began the fifty yard stroll back to the SHIELD mobile HQ, discussing attack strategies. The Avengers resigned to plant themselves in the dirt next to Tony, studying him only as friends are wont to do.

"Tony." Clint's voice was unusually small. "Man, I don't like this. Something feels off." He cast a suspicious and uneasy look to the empty streets of the town. The perimeter was over three hundred yards away from the fight, but even Tony couldn't deny that the hairs on his neck were at full attention.

"Barton, everything's fine. If it is still here, it's invisible. To maintain that invisibility, it has to be using up a lot of energy and standing perfectly still. The scanner can detect its shape, but the only thing that will tell us where to hit it will be its movements. Eventually, we will need to draw it out…." The engineer paused, removing the Alan wrench from his lips and replacing it with a smirk. "I need to make it tick."

"Stark, No." Steve was glaring at him. "We've set up a formation, now we wait it out. If what you say is true, it will run out of energy. From there, when it's exhausted, we can take it down."

"Rogers is right, Tony." Widow wasn't usually one to chime in; but if she felt the need, it was probably serious. "This isn't the kind of monster you poke with a stick and walk away from. You said it yourself, we don't know what this thing can do. Last resort, we'll call in Banner."

Tony was getting annoyed. "As much as I love the guy, the Hulk would level this place. This isn't Manhattan – these people can't rebuild in a month." He watched both Steve and Natasha look to the ground – they knew he was right. "We have no idea how long it might take for Scorpio, here, to run out of juice – we could be stuck in Arizona for days!

Steve's voice was firm. "Then we will be here for days – but you will not get any closer to that thing, understood? That's an order."

Well, shit. Now he'd gone and done it.

"Oh… an order, is it?" Everyone saw Tony's shoulders square up.

Tony was natural defiant of Steve, despite their close friendship – his therapist blamed it on authority issues and his superiority complex. Steve blamed it on Howard, though he would never admit it.

Tony just blamed it the fact that Steve could be a tool.

Regardless, when the two men clashed, the rest of the team felt the aftershocks.

"Hey, Bucket Head, now isn't the time." Clint was calmly checking arrowhead after arrowhead. He had undoubtedly already accepted the fact that they would be setting up residence to wait it out.

"Isn't the time? Oh, on the contrary my fine, feathered friend - now is the time. We have this thing on the complete defensive, and you want to wait until it decides it's ready to fight again?" Tony was being incredibly stubborn. "Look, all I need to do is get close enough for a laser sweep – the lights will outline its profile, I'll do the rest!" He flexed his gauntlets, prepping for takeoff.

Steve stepped towards him. "Stark, I know you too well. You're going to go in there, guns blazing, and try to be a hero. I refuse to let you use yourself as bait."

"I don't try to be anything – I am a hero, watch the news, check my twitter-"

"Tony, I'm serious."

"Hey, it's a free country! Thanks in large part to you, yourself. Thank you for your service, by the w-"

"Tony, STOP." Steve was unyielding. "You know very well that could get yourself killed - you could get someone else killed! Do you want that on your conscience?"

"You damn well know that that is the last thing I want, Rogers." Flickers of hurt flashed across the engineer's features, but were quickly swallowed by the steeliness of his stubborn gaze. "But I know I'm right." And he stood to takeoff, the sounds of reconfiguration completion ringing in his helmet.

"Tony, you could get us all killed!"

In a swift second, the Tony's faceplate snapped down, and his metallic voice left no room for argument. "Then stay out of the way."

"STARK!"

But Tony was already flying into the air, holding out his wrist and letting the laser work its magic. The beams swept the ground, registering the landscape and profile of everything underneath it. The engineer could hear his teammates behind him, yelling at him to come back – there voices were muffled and tinny since he had silenced them on his comm. JARVIS had immediately voiced his own disapproval, but Tony had threatened to put him on mute as well, so the AI had resigned to helping his creator in begrudging silence.

Look, Tony figured if he could get the monster to so much as sneeze, its cover would be blown and it would come back out to play. It was hurt and tired, and if they didn't finish it now, it could slink away in the night and be gone forever. If that happened, if they failed, thousands of civilians could be in danger. Tony would not let that happen.

He rode high in the air and dive-bombed over the spot where the monster had stood mere minutes ago, before it went all DEFCON 1. His gauntlet steadily spearheaded him through the air, the lasers locking and loading, registering everything that he could and couldn't see. In seconds, the small blip on his readings turned into a bigger blip.

Gotcha.

Gotta love those fucking Blips.

Tony pulled up, settling almost a hundred feet above the monster's head (well, at least where he figured the head was), in a controlled hover. He watched the photons configure a three-dimensional scatter plot, layering laser data in steps until the distinct outline of a giant scorpion was plastered on the screen.

It was still here.

The thousands of little green dots relayed the monster's exact location and orientation for the superhero, and he adjusted his thrusters until he was directly above the monster's skull. For the first time in a few minutes, he turned his comm back on.

"Hey, guys, rip me a new one later, will ya? But our friend has not left the building. I repeat, Scorpio is still here."

Steve, who wanted nothing more than to scream at the shorter man, ground his jaw and took a deep breath. Now was not the time. "Coordinates?" came his curt voice.

Stark knew SHIELD would be launching a pinpoint missile within minutes specially designed for powerful, but controlled, blasts. It would do the least amount of damage to its surroundings while doing maximum damage to its target. Tony would know, he designed it. He read the exact latitude and longitude of the monster over the comm. He also rattled off the general dimensions of the enemy, any spots that looked weaker than others, armored plating, etc.

Steve would never admit it, but the information Tony was supplying was vital. "Alright, Stark. Mission accomplished. Now get out of there. SHIELD is going to launch that controlled missile unit to those exact coordinates in T-minus 120 seconds, and I don't recommend a front row seat."

"Don't worry, dear, I'll be home in a minute." Tony snarled, and just as he was about to take off to return to the perimeter, a feeling in his gut told him to scan one last time to make sure the monster was still static.

The lasers would take less than thirty seconds, he figured, and it would be worth it if a giant scorpion had managed to move six feet to the left. With the armored plating, Tony doubted anything less than a direct shot would kill it.

"I'm gonna do a last sweep and make sure the coordinates haven't changed. Be out in half a minute."

"Stark…" Steve was hesitant.

Tony huffed, still slightly angry at Steve. "Despite what you might think, Stevie, I'm being thorough, not reckless." And he muted the comms once more.

Steve cast his eyes down at the mute tone. His voice was quiet, though he knew Stark couldn't hear him. "With you, Stark, it's always a bit of both."

Back in air space, Tony backtracked slightly, his scanners doing a last minute recon.

Thirty seconds later, as promised, the results popped up on his interface.

Tony sucked in a breath. "Oh shit."

It was Barton who responded. His voice came steady and even, in the background Tony could hear Steve speaking assertively with an agent. "Tony," The archer began. "What's wrong?"

"Well, Lobster Shack over here has adjusted his position. He's moving."

"Too far for missiles?"

"No, he's still well in range, it's just that-" Tony swept another time with his lasers. "The image is blurry, meaning he's moving as I'm reading. He's not going fast by any means, but it could throw off the launch coordinates by a few fractions of a degree. We can't risk the missile if we don't have a direct shot."

"I don't suppose you can ask him nicely to sit still?"

Tony brought a finger to his chin, mockingly pondering. "Clint, I'm gonna have to say no to that one."

"Well, worth a shot."

"Iron Man, status update?" Phil Coulson interrupted the chatter.

"Phil! How rude, Mr. Barton and I were having a convers-"

"Mr. Stark, you need to clear the vicinity immediately."

All work, no play.

"Phil, I would love to, believe me, but we have an issue. The target is moving." The engineer explained what he was observing.

"In what direction, Mr. Stark? Can we extrapolate the coordinates out and meet it at a location with the missile?"

"No can do, Phil. I'd need more data points. We have no idea if he's going to stop or pick up speed or veer left or veer right or do the hokey pokey or turn himself around."

Coulson's exasperation could be felt through the comm. "Mr. Stark, please give us something we can use. We need to stop the missile if we can't pinpoint its location."

"No, Coulson, fire it. I can get our friend to those coordinates. How long do I have?"

"53 seconds."

"What? That's like, 52 seconds more than I need!" He heard Barton chuckle.

"48 Seconds, Mr. Stark."

"Alright, Alright, I get it."

Tony switched his visual guards to register real-time photon mapping, like night vision inside a pixelated video game. His arms in front of him were mapped outlines of a million green dots. It was trippy, for sure, but it did allow him to see their friend.

"40 seconds, Mr. Stark."

"Coulson, you're making me nervous. JARVIS, throw the countdown on the screen, Phil, shut up."

"Noted, Mr. Stark."

Ton sighed, diving back down to street level. He fired a ring of bullets in front of the monster's path, causing it to halt. The billions of green pinpoints shuddered as the monster changed direction.

"I've got him turning back around, he's back tracking." The engineer tried to ignore the bead of sweat falling down his neck as the timer beeped a 35 second warning.

He fired a few more rounds, taking deep breaths to keep himself steady. The monster was just fifteen feet from a direct hit. Tony just needed a few more carefully placed shots in the dirt and –

Shit.

He was out. Completely. How…Tony Stark never ran out of bullets…

"Dammit!" Tony cursed himself, realizing just how much ammunition he had unloaded when they got there. When he said he gave it everything…he accidentally gave it everything.

"Coulson, I'm out of ammunition, I'm gonna have to hit the ground."

"We'll stop the missile, Mr. Stark."

"NO, NO!" shouted. "Do not stop the missile, I can do it."

"Mr. Stark, you only have 25 seconds."

"Coulson, do NOT stop the missile. I can get him there."

There was a pause. "Understood Mr. Stark."

Tony closed his eyes for a split second, glad that Coulson could trust him. In a flash, though, a shout and kerfuffle rang through the headset, so loud that Tony winced into his earpiece. Steve Rogers' voice shouted from somewhere in the background.

"YOU LET…WHAT? WHAT…MEAN…MISSILE…STOP IT NOW…COULSON!"

"Tell Steve I don't have time to sooth his anxious old bones, right now, okay?"

Suddenly, there was the sound of someone getting pushed to the ground, and a very flustered Steve grabbed the mic. His voice was clear and pissed. "Anthony Stark, get out of there right now. Stark. STARK? STARK!"

Tony wasn't replying, he didn't have the time.

Instead, the team watched from the perimeter as he landed on the ground, takeoff clock at 10 seconds, and punched with all his might into what looked like empty air. They all jumped as his gauntlet collided into an invisible solid mass. His fists continued at a ruthless pace and force, pounding the beast as monstrous wails filled the air. In seconds, the beast flickered back into sight for all to see, and they watched it back away from Tony the last few feet before bracing itself for offense.

Tony had timed it perfectly.

The missile prepared to launch from the perimeter, locked onto the coordinates where the monster now stood completely oblivious. Tony watched the propellants on the missile ignite in its cradle, getting ready to fly through the air. The radio waves were filled with orders for Tony to run.

Tony placed one more solid punch on the hind quarters of the monster, narrowly dodging its tail as it sliced through the empty space, and bent his knees to take off. This missile would land in less than 10 seconds, and Tony needed to reach a safe altitude. He kicked off and the monster roared.

He was fifteen feet in the air when the Scorpion's right pincer locked onto his ankle. The titanium alloy immediately creased, though to its credit, didn't break. Tony let out a startled yelp and sputtered out midflight, crashing hard onto the ground. The monster wasted no time, picking him up and slamming him into the pavement so hard that Tony saw stars. Past the ringing in his ears, he could vaguely hear the shouts and cries of SHIELD agents trying to disable the missile, but Tony had designed that missile. He knew that once the propellants were ignited, it was simple physics. There were no take-backs in automated warfare.

In a split second, Tony Stark had accepted his fate. He was going to get blown to bits next to a jacked up scorpion. He shut his eyes as the scorpion wrapped its second pincer around his chest and squeezed. Tony felt his chest snapping, and let out a sickening scream. The rocket ripped through the sky, its shrill whistle drawing closer and closer.


Barton knew something was wrong the second Tony prepared for takeoff. He could feel it. When he saw the monster bringing its claw around from behind for a surprise attack, he wished he could say he was shocked - but honestly, with their luck, Barton was expecting it. However, the archer was genuinely horrified when that pincer clamped down around Tony's ankle, ripping him to the ground.

Clint didn't hesitate for another second before he was sprinting past the barricade of the perimeter. He winced only when Natasha started screaming his name.

He knew she would understand.

Orders came in the form of panicked shouts in his hearing aids – the aids had been presents from Stark, he remembered. Convenient when he wanted to hear the radio transmissions, but not right now. Mid sprint, he flung both of his hearing aids to the side and was enveloped in immediate, familiar silence.

At the top of his lungs, he shouted for Stark to get down, but based on the way the monster was flinging him into the concrete, he doubted Stark was incredibly aware of much of anything else.

Even without his hearing aids, he felt the static and hum of the missile in the air. Clint was a highly intelligent man, despite his shenanigans. Even he knew that a direct hit from a missile, coupled with monster-induced damage, would be unsurvivable for Tony – even in the suit. The missile couldn't be stopped at the launch pad, so it needed to be stopped in the air.

He ran as close to the monster as he dared, turned, and notched his most powerful exploding arrowhead. He stood, poised - like the statue of Artemis the Hunter that Tash had loved so much when they toured the Louvre. (Sure, they had spent the next twenty minutes lightheartedly playing "how would you steal it", but it had been one of the best afternoons of his life.)

He watched the missile coming closer and closer, and he lined up his shot. He needed to detonate the missile close enough to distract the monster so Tony could get free, but not close enough that Tony would be killed.

Clint had no delusions about his own miniscule chances of survival.

This was it. He knew in another second, his small window would open. With one fleeting thought, he turned his head slightly to look at Tony. The man's faceplate had been ripped off and blood streamed from a gash in his hairline. He was screaming at Barton, begging him. Hawkeye didn't have time to read his lips, but there was no need. The message was clear enough.

His pleading expression almost broke Clint's heart.

Taking one last bracing breath, the archer pulled back on his bow and released the arrow, immediately turning and ducking, curling into a ball on the pavement as the strike found home. There was a moment of weightlessness, as if the earth was taking a great breath in - and then the planet shook, threatening to fall apart as a fireball blanketed the street, raining down upon them.

True to Barton's prediction, the beast startled, releasing Tony long enough for the battered engineer to kick its pincers away and propel himself along the ground, sparks flying, until he was a safe forty feet away, breathing heavily and choking on dust and ash.

The percussion of the explosion had been devastating, shattering windows and doors, ripping street signs from the ground, and mutilating a few stray cars. It was a miracle that Tony's glazed eyes even found the crumpled form of the archer, motionless, blown from the street to the side of a building.

Tony didn't stop to evaluate Barton – he didn't even stop to see if he was alive, because he had to be. Barton had to be alive. Barton couldn't die for him. He wasn't allowed.

Tony scooped him in his arms, refusing to even look at him, and flew almost drunkenly to the bounds of the perimeter, where he used every ounce of his remaining strength to deposit his best friend soft as a feather onto the dusty ground. In a second, they were swarmed.

For Tony, everything was a faint humming. There were voices everywhere, some pushing past him, some poking and prodding him, some threatening him, some just breathing heavily. He couldn't hear any of them, didn't recognize a single voice- and didn't care to recognize them, either.

He didn't need to hear about how wrong he'd been. Tony didn't need to see the "I Told You So" look from Rogers. He didn't need to the see the hatred and blame in Natasha's glare. He didn't want Coulson's indifferent disdain. He didn't need Bruce's agonizingly empathetic pat on the shoulder because he, too, knew what it felt like to be a monster.

Tony didn't want to be that monster – he had never wanted to be. Yet here he was, standing alone in bloody battle armor, his teammate lying in the cold dirt, and it was all his fault.

Tony knew it was his fault – and he didn't need anybody else reminding him of it. Nor did he want their pity. As tears stung at the engineer's eyes, he swiveled his head away from the crowds, shaking off the hands that checked him over. He didn't give a fuck who they were, he shoved away, probably using more force than was necessary.

One pair of hands held on, stronger than the rest, and Tony tried to spin away, still not really hearing and not really present in his surroundings. The grip held fast, and the humming in his ears rose and fell with familiar agitation and stress – a fuzzy image of Steve crept into Tony's mind, but he knew that that was impossible – this worried voice couldn't belong to Steve. Tony had just ruined everything – the mission, the team, their friendship. Steve hated him now. They all did.

Tony heard his name – once, then twice - muffled as it was, and then…something about him being okay.

Tony snapped.

Me? Okay? Are they really asking me if I'm fucking okay? Barton is on the ground, blown to hell, and it's all my fault but no, they can't outwardly show just how much they hate me now – they have to ask if I'm okay. They have to pretend as if I'm not a piece of shit. They have to pretend that they give a damn.

It disgusted him.

One final glance down at the archer's blood dripping from his gauntlets and Tony had had enough.

Tony wanted to scream. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to drink until his liver retired and pump every poison known to man through his veins. He wanted to throw himself off the tallest building he could find, but not in Manhattan – he couldn't go back there, not now, probably not ever. SHIELD could keep his skyscraper, for all he cared, just as long as Tony was allowed to live the rest of his miserable life without ever making eye contact with any of them ever again.

Tony needed to go.

He opened his mouth to shout some excuse for leaving but all that came out were non-coherent gasps and half choked apologies. He screamed that he was fine, that he didn't need help, yet all the while tears streaked white trails down his ashen cheeks. Tony didn't realize that he had been crying until he unclenched his eyelids and everything was misty. When had he even closed his eyes? His voice was raw and his face was blistered from the heat of the explosion, and he was so, so dizzy, and all he wanted was to lie down in the sand and never get up; but he just…he needed to leave.

He must have sounded like a dying animal because the hands that had held him so firmly to this point released him as if they had touched a hot stove top. The moment Tony was free, he took off, the suit shooting off at a terrible angle because Tony's whole body was shaking to the point where he had to put the Mark IV on autopilot to gain any real altitude or direction. He clamped his damaged faceplate back into place and choked orders to JARVIS. After five minutes, the AI actually did get muted after insisting so many times that Sir turn around and get medically cleared.

Tony didn't need any help, it was Barton who needed it. Tony wouldn't sit there and waste everyone's time with his bumps and bruises while his best friend was a comatose pile of broken bones and burns and – and – and….and he was probably dead.

Tony let go. The sobs wracked his chest and guilt weighed so heavily on him he thought his bones would snap underneath it all. He cried at cruising altitude and he cried when the California coastline came into view. He was dizzy with tears and his face was flushed. He landed in the Malibu House garage and fell straight to the floor, his whole body tingling with pain and weak beyond belief.

Tony didn't even bother to crawl to his couch, nor did he make the effort to get out of the suit. The beach house didn't have a landing system to strip him of the gear the way the Avenger's building did – Tony was on his own.

Sevres him right anyway, He didn't deserve help. He deserved to sleep on the cement in a cold metal suit, his own blood crusting up half his face. He hoped nobody ever found him.

He deserved this.

Tony shut his eyes, dreading sleep but welcoming its release from reality.

He should have known that all he would see behind his eyelids was Barton's dead stare.

Accusing him.

Hating him.

Blaming him.


Tony awoke in a sweat. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping, but he couldn't stomach another second of his brain being allowed to run free. His body was aflame with aches and a possible fever, and his throat felt like sandpaper.

Tony glanced groggily at a wall mounted clock. It read 4 am.

Gingerly, his sore bones protesting the six hours spent on the shop floor in a titanium cocoon, Tony Stark rose from the floor, grinding his teeth as his injuries announced themselves. With a lot of cursing and yelping, he managed to strip himself of his armor, casting it all into an unceremonious pile in the corner, as if it were nothing better than scrap.

He flexed his extremities, glad to find nothing broken, just royally fucked up. The ankle that had found its way into the Scorpion King's jaws back in Arizona was the size of a balloon, but thankfully just sprained and ripped to shit.

Tony limped his way to the elevator in the basement and hazily recalled what floor his bedroom was on – it had been years since he had stayed in his Malibu house. Back before the Avengers, back before he convinced himself he could be a hero.

The elevator gave an annoyingly cheery ding when the fourth floor doors slid open. He clapped twice, wincing again, and watched as his familiar apartment settings whirred to life. The holographic display rose onto the window, the fireplace came roaring to life, the lights adjusted to fit his alertness levels, and JARVIS (now graciously unmuted) greeted Tony with a quiet Good Morning, Sir. The AI said nothing else. Smart AI.

When the autopilot course had been set back in Arizona, JARVIS had run his protocol and had the house prepared for inhabitance. Maids and robots alike had worked to clear dust and vacuum rugs, setting out food and clean clothing - all to please Mr. Stark.

Tony almost wished they hadn't – he deserved some dusty coffin of a house. No matter- he wouldn't be here long. He would shower, sleep 'til noon, pack a bag, grab his least flashy car, and try to drop off the face of the planet. He would save the Avengers the trouble of kicking him out.

Tony limped his way through his room into his master bath. He stripped himself off his remaining, tattered and bloodied clothes, a colorful slew of expletives leaving his mouth with every wrong twist of his torso.

He studied himself in the mirror, half horrified and half pleased with how absolutely terrible he looked.

His face was haggard – unshaven, at the least, but also covered in dust, cracked blisters from the explosion, and specks of dried blood. The left side of his hairline was caked in deep burgundy from the nasty gash he had received when his face had been slammed three feet down into concrete. His chest was a mess of splotches and deep black bruises. He turned to see his back, moved too quickly, and held onto the sink for dear life as his vision blacked out in searing pain. More careful inspection proved that he had initially been wrong – something was broken. About three ribs on his right side were completely popped out and were proudly sporting a palette of vibrant colors.

"Shit…" Tony mumbled. He carefully removed his pants, minding his ankle, and stepped into the shower, careful not to slip.

He stood underneath his showerhead and turned the spout, not bothering to let it warm up first. He was naked, shivering in the belligerent cold of the water. Completely vulnerable. Freezing. In pain. Exhausted. Disoriented. Filthy. Bloody. Miserable.

And he deserved all of it.

When he couldn't take the cold any longer, Tony let out a cry and cranked the temperature up as hot as he could stand, letting the scalding hot water pink his skin and leave his shoulders a bright red. His shivering turned to groans as he roughly soaped his mop of brown hair and accidentally reopened the gash on his forehead. Red flowed down his body and swirled tauntingly around the drain.

The responsible thing to do would be to get stitches.

The Tony think to do would be to stick his cleanest dishtowel on it, grab a bottle of Grey Goose, and hope for the best.

The engineer ran soap over his body, cleaning his cuts and scrapes, and grinding his teeth in agony when he pulled too hard on his ribs. He soaped and sponged and soaped again, long after the dirt and blood were gone. He was desperately cleaning himself – ridding his body of its filth. The filth on the outside and the inside.

The shower was cathartic and refreshing, and soon Tony was in his bedroom, pulling on loose sweatpants. His fatigue struck him again with a vengeance, and with a last look at the clock, Tony set an alarm for noon. That would give him a good 6 hours of rest for his body to recover enough to allow for a hard day and night of driving. He didn't know where he would go, but he knew it would be far away.

Tony shut his eyes, his head sinking deep into the Egyptian pillows of his King Size bed, and he felt a familiar lump in his throat. All thoughts returned to the moment Tony had seen Clint – Standing there, so brave and poised, so ready to fucking die. The bastardjust turned and fired at a missile with a damn arrow. Simple as that. That's easy for Barton to do – to be a hero. Did he even think about what it would mean for Tony? Did he ever stop and think that maybe – JUST MAYBE, everyone on the team would rather that Barton lived and Tony died, and that he had doomed the wonderful Iron Man to a future where nobody could stand to look at him, let alone work alongside him? The Avengers were over. Done. Finished.

Tony sighed. He really shouldn't be so surprised that it ended like this.

After all, he had just been playing at a dream. He knew it would never last.

Tony tossed in his bed, wincing at the pain, but refusing to take anything for it. He needed to suffer. He needed every little bit of penitence he could get.

He lay back in the bed, kicking restlessly at his covers. They were too warm.

The cool pillow felt crisp against his hot forehead. A stray bead of sweat rolled down Tony's neck and he realized… wow, he actually was quite piqued. Quite feverish actually. He groggily brought a hand up to feel his forehead and was startled to see how badly his arm was shaking.

No, no, no, he couldn't be seriously injured. He had to leave – he had to get out of here. If he stayed, they would send a quinjet with SHIELD agents to take him back to Manhattan. Then he would have to see his friends. They would have to see him. Tony didn't want to do that to them.

The engineer had to try three times to make any sound come from his throat at all, but when it finally did, he had to wince at the grating sound of it. "J?" His voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

"Yes, Sir?"

"J, run…run a diagnostics on me, fix me, do whatever. Just have DUM-E bring me up a Tylenol and a glass of water, ok?"

"Right away, Sir."

"Hmmm." Tony nodded his approval and hummed in his throat, closing his eyes. He could hear JARVIS' scanners whirring quietly, using lasers to take his temperature, measure tissue density, look for inflammation, all that jazz. Modern medicine and stuff - watch the Discovery Channel, kids.

Several minutes went by, and Tony admittedly almost drifted off to sleep, but then his door was nudged open, and the familiar sound of Servo motors and silicate treads on hardwood floors almost made him smile.

"BurrrrrRR?" The whine of the robot and a twist of its head made Tony's lips twitch upwards.

"Hey, pal." He whispered.

The robot extended its actuator and dropped two Tylenol tablets into his creator's clammy hand and held up a glass of water for him to take when he was ready. Tony threw back the pills into his mouth and shakily sipped on his beverage, thanking his robot quietly.

As softly as he had arrived, DUM-E wheeled himself out of Tony's room, but beeped a few times without moving to let Tony know he would stay camped for the night in the hallway – just in case he was needed.

"Good boy." Tony licked his lips a few more times; the water had been a welcome relief from his parchedness. The room fell comfortably silent.

"Sir?" JARVIS spoke up softly.

"Hm? Are the diagnostics done, J?"

"Not quite yet, sir, but I am obligated to inform you that you have twenty-seven missed calls to your cellular phone – the majority of which are from Captain Rog-"

"No thanks, JARVIS. If I wanted to speak to them I would call back, I don't need the details."

"Sir, perhaps if you listened to one of the voicemails, your mind may be changed."

"No, J. Absolutely not. Erase my inbox."

"Sir, perhaps-"

"I said no, J."

"But it might lift your spirits to hear from-"

"JARVIS, I'm not kidding."

"Sir, if I may-"

"NO, JARVIS. YOU MAY NOT." Tony shot up in bed, fury and frustration scrawled over his features, too late remembering his broken ribs. "FUCK!" He screamed, throwing himself back down into the sheets, his chest crunching and popping. "Dammit…just…JARVIS, just finish diagnostics and get me the hell out of here. I'm going to bed. If anyone calls again, send them a text that says I don't need their help, that I'm fine, and that they can leave me alone, it's ok, they never have to see me again." Tony paused, letting it sink in to the AI that he wasn't kidding. "Kapeesh?"

"Understood, Sir."

"Good."

Tony felt the hairs stand up across his body as the final lasers swept his form. He could picture the charts and analyses, and he found small comforts within his world of numbers.

Soon after, JARVIS was done and listing off his general assessments.

"Sir, based on the extent of you ribcage damage, as well as your multitude of traumatic injuries, coupled with your climbing fever, I would strongly recommend visiting a health professional or contacting a member of your team to come retrieve you. SHIELD medical would be much better equipped to treat you than DUM-E and I."

"Absolutely not, JARVIS, but thanks for the sentiment."

There was a slight pause as the AI recalled what had transpired in his last attempts at persuading his creator, and the computer settled for a concession.

"Very well, Sir. Have a good rest. I shall wake you at midday."


Six hours later, and a gentle chime alarm resonated in Tony Stark's private Malibu beach house master bedroom.

The alarm was neither deactivated nor stalled, so it continued.

After three minutes, it shut off, resorting to an automatic snooze.

After fifteen minutes, the alarm sounded again, this time resorting to a traditional beeping sound, foregoing the gentle wake up call.

Nothing in the house stirred to stop it. Nobody grumbled from the bedroom, demanding that a cappuccino be brought to the bedside before that person would even consider getting out of bed.

There was just a heavy silence.

After 30 minutes, the alarm ceased its self-snoozing and deactivated, leaving an AI to keep the house running smoothly and on schedule.

"Sir? Sir, if you wish to avoid the worst highway traffic, you should get on the road inexactly 14 minutes. Get up now, or you will be late."

There was nothing.

"Sir?

Silence from the master bedroom.

JARVIS, being JARVIS, went into monitoring mode almost immediately. His digital persona hastily measured all of his creator's vitals, and projected them onto a graphic analysis for easier interpretation. His artificial brain did not like what it was artificially seeing.

"Sir, I must ask you to WAKE UP NOW." JARVIS' voice rang loudly and clearly, more commanding than ever before.

A small stir and a groan came from the bed, though Tony's form was almost entirely covered by blankets.

Being commandeered by JARVIS, DUM-E rushed into the room and took hold of the creator's coverlets, wrenching them back to get visual confirmation that Sir was alright.

He wasn't.

The moment the comforter left his body, Tony Stark gave a high pitched whine and a dangerous shiver. His face was snow white save for a lethal flush along his cheekbones. Sweat had soaked through his clothes into his fine Italian sheets. His face was hollowed and dried spittle was white and crusty at the corners of his chapped lips. His frame shook and his bruised chest was almost entirely purple. He was sunken and clammy and rancid and barely conscious.

"J-Jar..s..?…" his voice was so small.

"Sir, I am contacting local medical rescue teams. They will be here shortly."

"N-no, J…no ambul'n's…no, th's n order."

"Sir, while I do not wish to go around you, I am programmed to protect you at all costs. If I deem your behavior to be reckless, I have avenues to protect you."

"Not..if…'give…you a direc've code…"

"Sir, please, I am only trying to help you."

"All…I need…is some water. J' some water. 'M fine." Tony's gaze was almost completely fogged over with fever. His judgement was as clouded as his senses. He cast a haphazard look to his purpling chest.

"Oh…act'lly…J…I think…I 'ave some int'nal bleedin', pal."

"I have confirmed this, Sir. With permission, I will contact emergency services posthaste."

There was a pause.

"No." And Tony closed his eyes.

"Sir, I must insist."

"Directive…Order…121...7…19...91…conf'rm." Tony had to list the numbers between breaths, but he completed the directive before JARVIS could disobey. The projected screen of JARVIS' interface turned a bright blue, and a holographic padlock materialized in the center, clicking into place. He had just shut down the AI's emergency protocol. It was like a medical override.

A digital D.N.R.

Tony had seen the screen as soon as he'd woken up. Based on the analysis JARVIS had thrown up on the hologram, Tony guessed he had about another half hour of consciousness, and then about an hour until he…wasn't.

The whole house seemed to come to a screeching halt, as if frozen in time. The only sound was the clicking of the stainless steel clock from the kitchen hallway and Tony Stark's labored breathing.

"Sir…" The AI spoke so quietly, Tony almost thought he had imagined it. "Sir, please don't do this."

Tony licked his dry lips, a single tear welling in the corner of his eye. "JARVIS, you've been… a great friend to me."

"Considering you made me that way, Sir, you're only flattering yourself."

Tony chuckled lightly, grimacing at the jarring action. "True, pal. True." He tried to shift slightly, to alleviate some of the pressure on his chest, but nothing was helping.

He would just have to wait it out.

"I'll…I'll be dead soon, pal." It was a soft spoken fact. No remorse, no fear, just a fact.

The AI said nothing.

"It serves…me right, too. I'll see…Barton on the other side… I s'pose. We've both….got cozy spots waitin' for… us 'n hell." He smirked slightly.

"Sir, we have no proof that Agent Barton is dead."

"We have no…proof…he isn't." He turned his head to the side.

"If you returned the Captain's calls, you might find -"

"No, J. It wouldn't….matter anyway."

"But if Agent Barton was alive…would you lift the directive, Sir?"

Tony shook his head almost sadly. "No, J…Still can't go back. Th-They'll hate me, JARVIS. They'll hate me for…the rest of…my life. I might…'s well just go to sleep…and not wake up…" Tony was trying not to cry, and only somewhat succeeding. "Besides, I do more harm than good."

"Sir, this is the fever talking. Please. Lift the directive."

There was another silence in the house. Tony closed his eyes, squeezing out some small tears. JARVIS was immediately alert.

"Sir, have you lost consciousness? Please respond."

Tony sighed, chuckling slightly. "No…'m still…right 'ere…JARVIS…"

If an AI could sigh with relief, he would have right then and there.

Just as the computer was about to reply, a small chirping sound interrupted him. It was a ringtone.

"Sir, you have an incoming call from Captain Rogers. This will be the 34th time he has called. Would you like to send him to voicemail?" As Tony contemplated, the chirping continued.

"Actually…J…" Tony paused, and then decided he was right. "Answer the phone. Say nothing, just…let me do…what I can."

"Very well, sir."

There was a small blip and the projection screen notified Tony that he was now in a live phone call with Steve. Tony took a deep breath, trying to make himself sound as strong and devil-may-care as possible. What actually came out was slightly more pathetic, but it would have to do.

"Steve…what d'you want?"

"TONY? ARE YOU ALRIGHT?! IS THAT YOU?!"

Tony flinched at the sheer volume. "Jesus Chr-Yes, Steve…Who…else picks up m' phone?"

"LATELY?! NOBODY PICKS UP YOUR DAMN PHONE – ESPECIALLY NOT YOU." Steve was absolutely seething.

"So…so I missed a few calls…"

"THIRTY OF THEM."

Tony sighed, closing his eyes tightly. His head was feeling a little fuzzy and his chest didn't even hurt that badly anymore and…and…

Oh no.

More tears threatened at Tony's eyes as a realization dawned on him. The lump in his throat grew, and a previously unknown lump of fear settled in his stomach.

"J…JARVIS, please mute Captain Rogers…for a moment…" Tony was struggling more and more to get a full breath.

"Oh, nononono, Stark. Don't you dare, DON'T YOU DARE MUTE ME RI-" CLICK.

"Sir, what is wrong?" The AI's voice was laced with concern.

Tony's chin quivered, and he put on a brave face and a half smile that faltered as soon as he began to speak. For the first time in a long time, Tony Stark looked like a scared little boy.

"JARVIS, I, uhm…I c-can't feel my legs." He coughed, bracingly. "Yah, I- I, hm hm, I cannot…feel…my legs, so uh, just…just make it a quick call, alright, just…tell Captain Rogers that… I'm busy with whatever and I'm fine. Just tell him I'm fine." Tony sucked in breath after breath, feeling the dangerous combination of panic and lightheadedness start to take over.

"You wish me to lie, Sir? To disobey one of my directives?"

Tony's eyes were suddenly hazed with feverish fear, masked behind his rage.

"Yes, JARVIS. Lie! Disobey! Lie to Captain Rogers. Lie to everyone. Don't tell anyone I'm here until I've been dead for a few days so that when they walk in they have to smell my rotting, Italian corpse- ALRIGHT?!"His chest was rising and falling sporadically, his tone a spitting fury between ground teeth.

He could hear a pin drop…

…And static from the phone line?

But that meant….

People were listening on the other end.

Tony froze. He glared up at JARVIS' interface.

Silence….and then -

"T-Tony?" That one word in that one voice saturated the whole room. Quiet, and fragile, and scared, and confused, and hurt, and tired, and…and…

"Clint?" Tony choked back a sob, clutching one hand to his damp forehead and wrapping his other arm around his shattered ribcage.

"Tony…what….What is happening?"

Tony couldn't even form words.

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly his voice caught up with the rest of him. "Clint, oh god, what I did… I-I can't….Clint I'm so sorry I-" Tony was on the brink of hyperventilating.

This was too much. How had JARVIS? - How was Clint alive and talking? How had any of this happened? How…

"Tony, no, stop that." Clint was firm. "Stop that right now. I did what I had to do, and none of it is your fault. I made a choice. I know you, Stark. You're going to blame yourself for this no matter what I say, but nobody here blames you." He stopped. "Actually, if we're being honest, Natasha is much madder at me that she is at you. Tell him, Nat." There was a jostle as a phone was passed.

Tash's cool voice echoed around the room. Tony closed his eyes. "It's true, Tony. He's the idiot, you were just unlucky."

Somewhere in the back of the room, Bruce piped up with something along the lines of: "That's the understatement of the century" to which Nat cuffed him upside the head.

"Tony, let Steve come get you. If you're hurt, we can bring you home. He told me you looked half dead, and you just spirited yourself away into the sky. You didn't tell anybody where you were going, what you were doing – Tony, you scared us."

Tony let his head fall back against his pillows, his brain in emotional turmoil. He felt his fever spiking again, and as fresh sweat seeped from hi already dehydrated body, he felt his heartbeat fluttering.

"Clint…"

"Yah, Tony?"

"I thought I…I killed you." And he began to shake, but not from the cold nor from the exertion. He shook from fear and pain and loss. "I thought you… would all hate me, you would never… forgive…me." The phone jostled once more, and from the tinny sound of Barton's voice, Tony could tell he was on speaker. "I…I am so…so, so sorry to all of you…"

Steve answered this time. "Tony, its ok, just tell us where you are and we'll come get you."

"Don't run away from it, pal." Bruce, kindliness in his voice apparent.

Barton, too. "Just let us help, Tony."

Natasha. "Please."

Tony cast his eyes to the ceiling, his broken frame growing number and number. He had to make a choice, now, before he lost consciousness. He had to choose.

On one hand, he might tell them where he was, then get his hopes up that he would survive, but die anyway.

On the other hand, he could not tell them where he was, and die for sure.

Either way, he could die. One was scarier than the other.

But never let it be said that Tony Stark was a little bitch.

"Oh, fuck it…I'm…. I'm in Malibu….M' house in Malibu."

Immediately, he could hear cheap plastic hospital chairs scraping back on a floor and people rushing to collect their things.

Tony wiped another cold layer of sweat from his face, his eyes rolling back into his head. "But…guys…wait…"

All motion stopped. "I…I.." Tony sobbed once, choked it back. "I don't think…you might not…make it…" Everyone on the other line felt their hearts break in two.

"Yes we will, Tony. We always do." Steve, ever the believer. Always so hopeful. "You just gotta trust us."

"Just in case…you…don't…" Tony's breaths were so labored, so painful. "I am sorry. For…this…"

"No Tony, just hang on, we're leaving from Arizona State Hospital on the quinjet in two minutes, we can be in Malibu within the hour, and we'll be there buddy, its ok. You'll be fine. We're coming. You're okay. You're okay…"

And just like that the phone call ended.

Steve's words echoed in Tony's fevered brain.

You're okay…

Tony let out a small cry, a hiccup and a sharp inhale. His vision started to dance, and blackness crept at the edges of his sight. His surroundings seemed to warp until everything was fogged. He heard sounds as if he were in a vacuum, everything getting distorted and blown in the wrong direction.

He felt no limbs. He felt no pain. He felt no sadness. He felt no fear.

He felt nothing.

"No…no….I'm…not."


how did Jarvis get around the directive? what happened to the Lobster Shack monster? Will Tony live? Will Steve scoop him into his arms and save him? you'll only find out if you...

...REVIEW

OKAY so this is part one of Tony being Tony, very angsty, I know, but I had a lot of fun writing a very tony-centric fic cuz it's been a while since we were mostly in his head - hence the swearing. Sorry about not updating, guys. I had midterms and then spring break and let's just say I don't remember a whole lot of spring break…so I was busy.

ALSO for you crazy marvel fans, I threw in an Easter egg in this chapter. The directive code for Tony's Do Not Resuscitate order?

That's the date that Howard and Maria died.

FUN, RIGHT?

Anyway, I love you all, welcome to the young and old followers. I will try to update next week, but who knows what school will chuck at my face.