A Beautiful Mind - Avengers fanfiction | Iron Man / Tony Stark-centric | #1 in the Wretched Adrenaline series
Summary: 'Prodigious clarity conceived', Tony Stark is the most enlightened mind of this existence. Like an elastic band, his mind expands to encompass all knowledge he comes across. Bands snap.
Genres: Drama/Sci-fi
Word Count: 2,200
Chapters: 02/05
Status: Finished prior to publishing
Trigger warnings: Allusion to schizophrenia / mentions and explorations of mental illness + suicide / familial abuse and trauma / mentions of sexual activity
Chapter 2: Gods
It had been days now. Thousands of minutes in which he had hidden himself from the world and all interaction, with only the precious indulgence of the most artificial mind- his own creation, and thus the safest option, as Tony innately knew that only he and that which he could completely dictate could be trusted.
Days since Tony had found the courage to face them.
He had suspected when he ventured upstairs- to his own kitchen- that it wouldn't go well, but the need for food had won out. And inevitably he had been humiliated. Perhaps they didn't see it that way. In fact, for all Tony knew, neither Steve nor Vision had picked up on how 'out of it' he had been. But the days taken their toll and his sleep deprivation had culminated in one of those dreaded flashbacks.
At least this time it had not been of Afghanistan.
"JARV, can you copy this template and store it on my private server, please."
His lab was washed in a soft natural lighting, creating a calming atmosphere. Controlled chaos reigned in his most precious space; his modus operandi flowed in a maze of questionable ideas. Each time he was struck with another moment of euphoria, it had to be jotted down by hand and plastered up in a string-board flow chart that coated every surface and space available.
Tony worked like a madman, never entirely still. His hands shook and his eyes wavered. Almost wordlessly he spoke to himself, reciting formulas, theories, and mashing the very fringes of theoretical science together in a corroded version of logic.
"Of course, sir."
He snapped his fingers, twirling around to snatch up another hot cup of liquid energy. $60 a cup. Because he's Tony fucking Stark.
"Sir, the synthesized element is now complete."
Tony let out a shaky breath. "Bring her up, JARV."
His beloved AI did as requested and the newly synthesized component emerged like an infant Jesus, or Simba. The steaming mist rose up, slowly evaporating into the air ducts. The theatrics of it all did nothing but exacerbate his irregular heart beat and warm his hands with nervous perspiration.
"Perfect," he murmured, gingerly plucking it from its perch. His latest attempt at recreating one of the many Chitauri 'elements'. Once he'd come to terms with whatever materials the Hoard consisted of essentially being out-of-this-world, he'd set about making his own. PTSD prevented him- no, reminded him of why space travel is a bad thing- a terrible, most dreaded, and utterly anti-human endeavor- so the safest option he had was to simply create it all.
He'd done more difficult tasks before. Like in caves, with a car battery wired into his chest.
Tony repressed a shiver but was unable to stop the frown which settled upon his face like scar tissue. Even during his most poignant moments, the repressive and plagueish feeling gnawed at him, chewing him to pieces and scattering his sanity like dollar bills from a blimp.
His new element glinted in the soft lighting. Iridescent like a polished pearl, it held his hopes, his fears, and his obsessions.
Snatching up his scanner, he let the holographic wave flow across it before processing the data.
Tony stood quietly with shaking hands, lost in the swirling mist of his coffee.
"The element does not match, sir."
Tony cursed, nearly throwing his cup against the wall. Instead he discarded it behind him, unaware of the blistering liquid splashing his bare feet. In a rare moment of ill-restraint, Tony let out a frustrated scream, sweeping his arm across his desk and sending it's contents scattering across the polished floor. Glass shattered and sprayed him with thin, nearly invisible cuts. His chest heaved, pumping out gutturally anguished grunts.
"Sir?"
"Does any of it match?" Tony screamed into his hands, fisting his hair into painfully tight clumps.
His shaking increased with his shoulders hunching and tensing more as he waited for JARVIS to calculate the difference.
"There is a 52% match rate, sir."
"Fifty-two percent," he enunciated to himself quietly, "It's never enough."
Tony straightened up to stare blankly at the mess covering his lab.
Post-it notes dotted the walls, his tables, and even his cars. He didn't need them. In fact he had only ordered them last week thinking perhaps it would ground him, and remind him of the necessity and fruition of such an ambitious dream. But now it slammed into him with a splitting ache, his eyes scrunching up as a blinding pain coursed down his head. It reminded him of how fucking ruined he was.
"Never fucking enough," he muttered.
Fifty two percent means the elements, the material, whatever the fuck he labelled it- it all boiled down to having the same matter which existed for tangible forms, but beyond that, whatever accumulation of atoms formed the mysterious armours, 'flesh', and weapons of the Hoard simply did not exist as an Earthen configuration, and if Tony dared to press his mind into the darkest corners of his intelligence, he would be forced to consider that potentially, the elements he searched so desperately for were beyond his highest form of science.
Beyond science itself and perhaps into the realm of speculation and, he shuddered, magic. The horror.
Horrible potential. One would believe Tony Stark idolized magic. His own creations all embodied the most human form of magic. Technology so advanced he could craft his suit from the air (seemingly) and power his tower from a self-sufficient source. All ideas that scientists had salivated over, but truly, few had the brains capable of processing such advanced theories.
"JARV," he ground out through gritted teeth, "What does the two-percent signify?"
Another moment of silence while JARVIS considered his readings. "I believe, sir, that the two percent is evidence of a nuclear-bonding between the armours of the Chitauri Hoard, and their 'flesh'."
That means their armour is really an exoskeleton..
Which again meant he was no closer to understanding their technology or their ability to breathe in space.
Tony wanted to cry but he settled for sinking to his knees and gasping for air. Imagining space without his suit.. imagining floating in that awful, endless void..
He couldn't breathe.
Grasping at his throat, his vision swam.
"Sir, you are experiencing an anxiety attack. Code Beta. Sir, you are experiencing an anxiety attack. Code Beta. Sir, you are experiencing an anxiety attack. Code Beta..."
Code Beta.
Tony's self determined code word broke through the haze, allowing him enough time to stagger to his feet and slump towards his coach. Barely mustering the strength to pull his suddenly lead filled body onto the expensive leather, he never heard had a chance to fight he sleep which wormed its way into his deprived and demented brain.
Burning cinders drifted through the air lazily. Such beautiful hues of orange and magenta glowed behind the thick, black smoke. They danced like peacocks of death.
Plumes of the smoke filled the skies and suffocated him, working its way down his throat and filling him with trepidation.
Her voice chanted above the carnage, "Cinis praecepto cadunt acie retro.."
Screaming metal cut through his dazed thoughts and he raised his head, vision blurred by red, to see a ship leaning to left. It groaned ominously, straining against gravity, but inevitably, it lost. The dull silver wings tipped downwards and the ship fell headlong into a spiralling descent.
"In acie retro faciens iter sonitu.."
He tried to cry out in pain but the sound lodged in his throat. His entire body ached like he had been beaten for all eternity. He had to press on. Desperation clawed at him.
A spindly hand shot towards him and tightened around his throat. He thrashed violently before regaining his senses. Lifting his hand to fire a propulsion, the being was swept away in with a loud bang, landing sickeningly against a stone wall.
Everything blurred together as he fought them. There were so many. Everywhere. They swarmed like roaches, never ceasing, never lessening in number despite the culling blows they were dealt. Slate coloured skin, red eyes, and horrible, repulsive green mouths like moss and mold.
Somewhere far from his vision the Hulk let out an almighty roar, shaking the earth he lay on with a bellow deeper than he had ever heard.
"Rumpitur sanguine filiorum tuorum implebo tympana.."
They were losing. Vision hovered above one of their mother-ships surrounded by an unearthly red glow. Another mammoth beast fell from the sky with an almighty crack as lightening touched from the heavens and split it's skull from it's monstrous body.
Agony seared from his chest and as he looked down he nearly passed out. Luminous green shards jutted from his reactor like pins in a doll. They leaked a foul odorous discharge and his reactor sparked, sending blinding spots cascading across his vision.
He sent another energy charge at an approaching Chitauri goon, before commanding JARVIS to launch a rocket at the mother-ship closest to him.
"Sir, your arc reactor does not possess the energy needed to fire the rocket and continue to power your suit."
He forced JARVIS to do it.
The air in his lungs left him like a swift punch and he collapsed in the rubble, unable to breathe or scream or think. JARVIS said something but it didn't compute and he felt a blissful numbness encompass his left side. In the back of his head, he registered a stroke.
"Errorem suum pure et crucifigetis.."
Inhuman shrieks filled the air but it barely registered to him. JARVIS continued to bleat in his ear. All he knew was agony. Unfathomable and unnatural pain.
As his eyes slid shut slowly, the last thing he ever saw were the rising forms of those they had so valiantly tried to slaughter. They stood slowly, heads tipping back to join in the unearthly shrieks, bodies convulsing nauseatingly.
Darkness filled his vision.
Tony woke with a scream.
Silence. Then his ragged breath.
Another fucking night terror. It had been so real. So clear. But it was just a dream.
They were usually quite similar. It always featured the Chitauri. Plenty of death. The Avengers, naturally.
And that haunting voice.
It was so familiar that Tony was sure it belonged to a real person he had met before. But for the life of him he couldn't think of who. And that drove him fucking mad. Despite his near perfect memory, whoever possessed that lilting voice escaped his stranglehold grasp. He eventually concluded the voice manifested as a distorted version of a real persons voice. He then banished it from his mind before it sent him raving mad, and falling over his already precarious balance on the edge of sanity.
Tony had defied nature most nights but the fatigue had gone beyond his previously known limits, and once something as mere as a thought had triggered his fears, the need for rest wormed in like a disease and wouldn't let go.
Drenched in sweat Tony had summoned his latest suit models frantically, despite being barely concious. Nine feet tall each, separately colour coded, they smashed through the concrete walls hiding them from any potential intruder. Ironically, when he had woken to tall and menacing figures looming above him, he had once again descended into a panic attack.
Sometimes Tony wanted to die. To kill himself. But he couldn't.
If space held such terrible things, then death.. death would be unimaginable.
He would suffer, and suffer happily as only the truly mad can.
The latin translation from Tony's dream;
"Commandment of ashes, fall in line behind your maker, march to the sound of their cries, fill your beating drums with the blood of your broken children and crucify the pure for their aberration."
Enjoy.