Written for the following AvengersKink prompt:
"Tony betrayed, Team Angst, Attempted suicide - A while back I read a fic for another fandom in which the main character is imprisoned for his own safety.
So what I want is: A telepathic villain makes threats against the Avengers, specifically Tony. SHIELD and the Avengers decide that Tony is safer not knowing about the threat, because he'd go off on his own and try to fight the villain. SHIELD comes up with the idea to place Tony into a room with protected walls against telepathic attacks, essentially isolation. SHIELD agents do a in-the-middle-of-the-night kidnap thing and Tony doesn't know why this is happening to him. The rest of the Avengers are reluctant but ultimately agree. It won't be anything like Afghanistan, Tony will be getting three meals a day and no one will be hurting him. He'll be fine right?
Tony needs interaction, he needs to ramble and to tinker and to create. He's not only isolated, he doesn't know why he's there and he thinks his team is going to come and get him. But they never show and he starts losing it. So, the only logical thing to do is to hurt himself, so he can get some medical attention, and if he happens to die in the attempt, well, that works too.
He's elated to see the Avengers in the hospital. Until he discovers that they knew. What happens next? Does Tony ever forgive them?
Lots of angst and guilt, happy ending is OPTIONAL!"
Time is very fluid in this story, with multiple flashbacks, time skips, half-truths and skewed perspectives.
Main title and chapter titles come from John Casteen's chilling poem "Night Hunting"
He spends the weekend with Peter and Gwen. Their company, and more importantly, the lack of judgment borne of their ignorance, is a balm that washes over the parched surfaces of his heart.
He helps Peter upgrade his webshooters, and the kid doesn't say anything when Tony has to put the tools down repeatedly because his hands start to shake so badly he might irreparably damage the delicate circuitry.
Gwen talks nonstop; she has always been a kindred spirit in that regard. She is ebullient and friendly and funny and Tony feels so glad that Peter's found her. He voices as much to her mother, who has gotten over the fact that Tony Stark is a good friend to her daughter and her daughter's boyfriend.
By Sunday night, he's saying his goodbyes.
"You're going to see them?" Peter asks, perfectly toneless and that in itself reveals his distress and worry.
Tony sighs.
"Yeah, I…I can't just leave things the way they are. They'll come looking sooner or later and I would rather face up to what needs to happen, whatever that may be."
Peter nods, clearly deep in thought as he looks up at the stars. The Stacy apartment might be small but it's got a killer view.
"You're not sure what'll happen?"
"I've uh, had some time to think about it. There's many options, many possibilities yet none of it matters unless I enter the picture again."
"Do you think you want–," Peter pauses, considers his words again, "Do you think you might forgive them?"
Tony's been asking the same question himself. There's no easy answer. Not after everything that has happened, because there's a difference between wanting something to happen and it actually occurring.
But love is a stubborn and obstinate thing, and it had grown and it had grown and it had grown, long before Tony realized what was happening and long after he'd had any real inclination to stop it.
"I don't know, Peter. I honestly don't know."
When Steve meets Tony's eyes, he is torn.
He wants to hug him and he wants to throttle him and ask him why, why, why, why?
He wants to say that he's missed him and he wants things to be the way they were. Movie nights and picnics, the first time that Iron Man picked him up and flew him out of danger. Tony's laughter, and his jokes, his rambling and his hand gestures, the puns he never really understands.
He wants Tony to be okay.
He wants to say that he didn't know, that it wasn't supposed to happen like this. That when it came time to a decision, all Steve had was the fear in his heart and the fragmented words of assention of a man that had just been coerced into hurting two of his best friends. That when it was time, he said yes, yes, yes. He agreed and sold his soul and threw up after but if the ends don't justify the means what else is there? If hard decisions cannot be made with the hope that they are fueled by the right reasons, what else is there, what else?
And that's what we yell back at history, always, always. It wasn't just me, it wasn't just my fault. You didn't know what it was like, how I couldn't sleep, how I cried and how I couldn't look myself in the mirror. You didn't know. There were crimes strewn six ways to Sunday and if you had just...You didn't know and I didn't know.
But Steve will not lie. He will not pretend and will not hide.
The team stands behind him, and that's a comfort as they all confess and try to explain.
Tony remains quiet, lets them finish. Doesn't look at them. And how frightening must it be, when things you love suddenly change from what you've known?
Steve watches him, even when the words catch in his throat around the explanation of why Tony is in the hospital, how they were about to get him when he crashed his head against the wall again and again and again.
He watches Tony close himself up, retreat inside himself, the light in his eyes when he woke up and saw them going out, extinguishing itself as the barriers come up, steel and iron and rock, solid, impervious detachment, in disillusionment, in fading pain.
And that is when Steve realizes what it truly means to have had and to lose, that God doesn't need to punish us, that we are granted long enough lives to punish ourselves.
Tony goes back to his Malibu home, arriving quietly.
The house is deserted, empty and clean and quiet. He sets his bag down and immediately goes down to the workshop, entering his key and submitting to a biometric reading.
And then, then he awakens JARVIS.
"May I say, sir, it is a most wonderful pleasure to see you again."
"Thanks, J. Now, let's wake up the bots okay? Daddy's home."
"Of course sir."
Dum-E whirrs around and around, circling around his body, chirping and U follows suit, wheels squeaking. Tony stops them when Dum-E goes for the fire extinguisher, laughing, feeling some more of the tension in his chest release.
"You guys missed me didn't you?"
Dum-E nods, great metal arm bowing up and down.
When he is ready, Tony locks the workshop doors and stands in the middle of the room, where the assembly line for Iron Man once stood before its movement to New York.
"JARVIS?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I –I need you to show me the files I uncovered right before I went in and the ones during and after. I know what you're going to say, Jarv. And you may be right. But now…now is the time for the truth."
"Though I would recommend that this be done with someone present, I understand, sir. How much exactly do you remember?"
"Bits and pieces, mostly. Not enough to get the big picture and to be honest, it's frustrating the shit out of me. And I know that after what happened, what I did… with my head and my brain and everything," Tony finds his voice going dry, but he swallows and continues, "I know it's something to do with that but before I go back, before I see them again, I need to know everything. Everything, JARVIS. And I know you're just trying to protect me, and that, that's –thank you for that, by the way, I don't say it nearly enough–"
"I will begin with the information preceding your containment."
"Thank you, J."
And JARVIS doesn't say anything else, no 'you're welcome, sir' or anything like it, and Tony understands that the A.I. is worried, he understands his reserve.
However, he also understands that he needs to know everything that's happened, unhindered and untainted by his own fallible memory and weary heart.
So Tony stands there and lets the files show up, encircling him in holographic tiles of information upon information. He sees a sound clip and it stirs something in his brain, something like anger and with a blink, it plays.
"Sir–" JARVIS begins, but Tony is already too focused and too far away, reliving the unencumbered legitimacy of events, past and painful, through clinical eyes.
"A sound clip? Open it up, J."
"Sir, may I advise–"
"Look, I know you don't like hacking into SHIELD databases but we're on the clock here JARVIS. I need you so don't make me bench you, all right?"
Tony's body is thrumming with nervous energy. He's been suspicious for days, the way the others find ways to meet without him present, the way their conversation stopped and steered in another direction two night ago, just as he walked in. Clint and Natasha are perhaps the best spies in the world but Tony doesn't need training. He's been reading body language, the spaces between words, and what is and isn't said since he was a child, back when he'd searched his father's eyes and seen detachment, a poorly hidden and impervious wall of disillusionment.
JARVIS hesitates for only seconds and then the noise and static of the file fills up his lab, the voice of a young man no older than seventeen.
"Oh you heroes and your games! You play the saviors to the masses, bearing crowns of thorns with such dignity and honor! The child through whom I speak adores you! Were he to know how pathetic you really are, the weaknesses rife in your beings... I have seen you, from afar and close, I have tasted your thoughts, seen the shadows in your minds, the darkness that you keep inside and hide and deny. And I found myself thinking of who to choose? Who to play the pawn? The soldier king or the golden prince? Perhaps the black queen? Or should I take the rook, the tower that holds the man prisoner to the beast? Or let it be the bishop, visage keen and aim sharp? And what of the knight, red and gold masking the festering wounds of the guilty?"
"Sir –"
"I have followed you and I have watched you, seen you derive comfort and companionship from each other, seen you try to absolve yourselves of your sins, as if a life here or a dozen there saved in your name and in your effort could ever wash away the blood that clings to you like so much paint. My aim isn't justice, or any misguided sense of revenge. I simply wish to enlighten you and show you the truth of each other, not evil per se, but the way of all hearts when fear and pain and fury have stripped off the husks of pretension…and that is why I shall take him first, your armored knight. And for all that you will try, you will not be able to keep him from me, there is no place where he will be safe, not away from you and not among you. I will have him and I will destroy him and then–"
"I went after him didn't I?" Tony asks, stuffing his trembling hands in his pockets because things are starting to slide into place and for all that his mind is remaining detached, if only just so, his body is responding to the turmoil in his chest, "And I didn't call the others?"
"No. You found these."
Schematics then, of a room all too familiar and Tony finds the breath catching in his throat not simply at the memory but at the scrawl to the earlier drafts, the Stark logo and–
"Bring up the other files JARVIS, I want to see what they're up to."
The plans flash across the screen and Tony feels something tighten in his gut, even as his mind immediately begins to distance itself from the visual input.
"You know, a year ago, when Fury asked me and Bruce to look into using pockets of vibranium and admantium alloys with pulsatory electrical outputs to create material that could withstand a telepathic attack, I didn't think he'd have this in mind…so, they plan to put me in this? Is that it?"
"Yes," JARVIS replies, voice tinted with worry, "Although from what I gather, it is a last resort. All of the Avengers have expressed reserve against the idea."
"They think I will be compromised, and if I am, they'll put me in containment," Tony says, tasting the words, feeling the bitterness in his tone. "They don't trust me."
"I don't think it's a matter of trust, sir," JARVIS is patient, "I think it is a matter of your safety and your well-being.
"JARVIS–"
"Agent Barton, especially, believes that if it is the only way to keep you from the threat, it is a viable option. He does not wish for you to be controlled, the way he was."
Tony flinches at that. It's not often that JARVIS interrupts him, but that, that was something he needed to hear.
Nevertheless, the resolve is already there, the intention strong in his mind. This is something he needs to take care of, he won't bow to this threat, this man. He's been told before that there was no way out, that there was no other option and yet…
"Triangulate the position of the latest clip. Send it to the suit, I'm heading out."
"Sir, I ad–"
"I'm instituting Execute protocols, code Stark-Alpha-three-hundred-and-sixty-seven. You'll be restarted when I get back. Until then, full lockdown."
JARVIS goes silent and Tony–
"I shut you off?"
"You did not want me to contact the other Avengers. You wished to go alone."
Why, Tony wants to ask. Though he knows the answer. He'd known what he was doing, he'd known how reckless it was. But he'd also known that he didn't want the others there, not if there was a possibility he could lose control and–
He hadn't wanted to hurt them. If he lost it, if he was compromised, he hadn't wanted to hurt them. Even then, even when he'd learned they'd been going behind his back, discussing things that concerned him without him, even then his heart had bled at the prospect that he might somehow bring them pain.
"The threat…"
"Was made for the fourth time when you had me hack into SHIELD databases. In the first, Captain America was threatened. However, in subsequent messages you were specifically targeted. The clip that you were just listening to ended with Basil Sandhurst outlining his plan to have you torture and kill the rest of the Avengers."
The words trigger something in his head, something dark and shadowed, heavy and frightening.
"I found him, didn't I? I spoke with him, tried to neutralize him?"
"Yes. You were able to find him and the adolescent that he was using to send the message. You confronted him."
"He compromised me. He kicked me out of my own head."
"Not at first, sir. You were able to hold him off. You had the version of myself still active in the suit replay the Avenger's and Miss Potts' voices, the recordings I'd obtained over the many months they'd spent at the tower. And then the Avengers themselves arrived. Sandhurst had released an array of bots and managed to send out an alert impersonating myself, warning them that you were in danger."
Tony thinks he's starting to remember. The warehouse, the broken windows and bricks, the street lamps and the wide-open entrance–
"Mr. Stark. What a pleasure it is to see you."
"Cut the bullshit and let the kid go. I don't know who you are but let's handle it, just the two of us, creepy stalker and iron hero. Let's see who wins."
"I will lose. I was always destined to lose. Just as you were always destined to bleed. And you will bleed, long furrows of crimson as I make you kill the very things you love and protect with the entirety of your shredded heart."
"The boy didn't make it, did he? He died."
"…I…I am afraid so, sir."
"I was supposed to save him. And I was distracted. Barton burst in…Coulson was with him."
Tony has him targeted. It'll be clean and quick, just as it was in Afghanistan, when another bully had a boy in his arms, gun to his head.
It's a second's distraction but it's enough. It is Hawkeye dropping from the rafters and Coulson from the entrance, him turning slightly, factoring the two in the equation, how to keep them safe and alive, just a second too long and too late as the gun goes off, brain matter and skull fragments painting the dilapidated wall.
Instinctual, animalistic scream, Hawkeye loosing an arrow as the murderer ducks away, letting the young body drop like it means nothing. Coulson stepping forward, towards him and then–
It's like oil, thick and suffocating, crawling along inside his head, up and around inside his skull, a brutal takeover, a forced eviction.
He can still see out of his own eyes, and he knows his actions are not his own and it hurts, the pressure in his head as everything dulls and numbs and slows, as he is wrenched from his own mind.
The memories come hard, and he feels like he's underwater, the air in his lungs displaced by dirty, warm water as his hands practically rattle in his pockets.
He wonders, offhandedly, how he's still standing, why he's still here, why did–
Coulson.
"Listen to me Stark. You keep him out okay? You keep him out. I know you can do it. You're one crazy son of a bitch and if there's anyone out there crazy enough to fight this, it's you."
Tony fights to listen, fights to focus on Coulson's voice, sternness belying panic belying hope.
Coulson believes in him, just as he believed in Phil a year ago, believed that his death could be the beginning of something bigger, something maybe borne of an old-fashioned notion but worthy all the same.
It's his voice, strained, and Clint's, that warns Coulson away.
But it's not his arm that rises, not his hand that splays open, not the tiny flick of his thumb that sends a signal up his gauntlet to let power go.
Coulson moves away just seconds before he fires.
He hears Clint off to the side, unhidden panic lacing his voice, "Cap, we got a situation here, it's fucking bad. We need you here ASAP–"
Clint is smart, and he moves when Tony refocuses his attention of him.
But he doesn't stop talking, and the overwhelming presence inside his head doesn't like that.
"It's the motherfucker, he's got–"
Tony, but not Tony, not really, blasts at him again.
"–fuck! He's got Stark. I repeat, Stark's been compromised."
Tony corners him, wrenches the archer's arm, relishing the way that bone starts to give in his grip.
Clint just groans, deep in his throat.
"Stark –Tony, this isn't you man. Trust me, I know, I know what it feels like. You've gotta kick it. This isn't–"
Tony feels the presence behind him, feels the Other in his brain scream in a delight that shakes him to the core, threatens to drown him as he is forced to feel himself turn and Coulson isn't fast enough this time.
The agent is pointing a gun but that means nothing, not against the invincible Iron Man.
He can see what is happening and he can't do anything about it and that is just the cruelest injustice in the world as he hears the high-pitched whine of his own repulsors, watches, helpless, as Coulson is knocked back, clattering into industrial barrels and pallets.
Watches as the energy of the blast sparks up off the concrete into dry, brittle wood.
Coulson's scream reverberates inside his head, pounding a merciless beat to accompany the demented laughter and Clint curses, tries to lunge past him.
He catches his arm again, twisting, grinning as Clint finally howls, drops to his knees, starts to talk, words rushed and alarmed and begging.
Clint is fucking begging.
"Tony–"
And Tony just grabs him around the neck and throws, feeling sick and alien satisfaction as his friend flies through the air, crashing through glass, landing against brick and trash.
Tony is having trouble breathing.
His lungs ache from the effort and he has to drop, gracelessly, bringing his knees close to him, settling his head between them.
"I didn't, I didn't, I couldn't have, JARVIS–"
"Your actions were not your own sir."
Tony doesn't want to say anything.
He wants to sleep and wake up and have this all be a dream, a night terror, something that he can shake off.
He wants things back to the way they were.
"You regained some form of control near the end sir. The warehouse caught fire and it was starting to collapse. You regained control and you protected Agent Coulson. You crouched over him, let the burning wood fall upon you until you were able to lift him and carry him out."
The memories batter against his mind, harsh and unforgiving, barriers gone and it all flows in again as the dams break.
Tony feels the urge again, the urge to crash his head against the floor, the world, anything if things will just stop.
Stop.
A crushing realization.
He is aware of the red, red all over his hands. His faceplate is up, and he smells it, the copper and the charred flesh and the smoke, looks down, the blood, the blood, so much–
He sets Coulson down right before he falls to his knees. Sees Natasha and Clint and Steve is standing over him and the thing inside rears, jolting pain inside his skull and he keeps the yell in, clenches his jaw tight.
He looks up at Steve, meets his eyes, and Tony knows what he must do, knows what it will cost but if it will work…
Will it be worth it? He wonders, very afraid, even as he says the words,
"Do it,"
gives the permission, saves Steve, in some small measure, from having to make the damning choice.
He feels the needle prick his neck and he knows that when he wakes, it will be a room of his own design, an isolation not of his choosing but if it will stop him, if it will keep the others safe…
Will it be worth it?
He doesn't know, can't know, and still he takes the plunge and welcomes the darkness.
And maybe that's how he grants himself absolution.
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