Tony

"Mr. Stark, do you need anything?" F.R.I.D.A.Y. asks over the speakers in the walls. I am laying on the table Steve fucked me on, dressed, the lights in the lab all turned off, an empty bottle of whiskey in my hand.

"More booze." I slur, laying my head against the cold metal of the table. "More whiskey. Fuck…" I close my eyes tightly. But Steve is what I see when I close my eyes. "Steve…"

An hour later the lab doors open and I swing my head up, losing balance slightly. The new bottle of whiskey is half empty, and I frown at it as Steve walks in. "What the fuck are you doing here, Rogers?" I spit, gripping the bottle tightly in my hand. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., why did you let him in?"

"When I asked if you needed anything, you said more whiskey and Steve." She responds plainly. Steve shrugs his shoulders, and approaches me, taking the bottle from my hand. I make grabby hands towards it but he puts a hand on my chest.

"No. You've had enough, Tony." He says forcefully, and I pout as he puts it into a cabinet. I press my cheek against the cool of the metal table, and close my eyes.

"Leave." I mutter, wrapping my arms around the table. "I'm just going to sleep. Leave." I will myself to fall into a deep sleep, but I feel strong arms wrap around me, and when I open my eyes Steve is slinging me over his shoulder. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, arms flailing.

"You need to sleep in an actual bed, Tony." He states plainly, getting into the elevator and standing still as it takes us up one floor to my rooms. When we get there, he lays me on my back and removes my shoes and socks, then lays me on my side. I notice that he puts a glass of water next to the bed and a trash can, and he then lays a damp and cold washcloth over my eyes.

"Why are you taking care of me?" Like he used to, I think. Like he always did when I couldn't handle my PTSD and needed to drink. He would take care of me. Make me shower. Make me eat something healthy. Sit by my side and rub my back as I vomited. I shut my eyes tightly, not wanting to think about it.

I hear the chair nearby creak as I'm sure he's settling into it. "You're in a bad place right now, and shouldn't be left alone. I know how to take care of you." I don't respond this time, though I want to know why he gives enough of a shit to take care of me. "Tony, as much as we've been through, I still can't stand to see you like this. Broken. Misguided. Tony, I'm… sorry. For all of it. But I had to do it."

"I know you did." I mutter, "but so did I. I had to… because I was trying to keep us together. You were just trying to save him."

"He's the last reminder of my life before, Tony. He's my last link to my life before I was in that ice." He explains, and I've heard this excuse before. And it's maddening.

"But you should've been happy enough with your life after the ice, too. Your life with me, Steve. Why didn't you just tell me about what happened? That he was alive? You told Sam and Wanda and Natasha… why couldn't you tell me? Or was it because you knew what he did?" My voice raises and starts to shake as I continue my side of the argument. He'll just repeat his argument and we'll go around in circles.

"Because I loved him, once." He admits. I feel my heart stop. "Before. Growing up. He was… my person. My you before I had you. I loved him, and he loved me. But… when he came out of that funk that HYDRA put him under…" He pauses, his voice tense. "He isn't the same. He doesn't love me like that anymore. And I don't love him like that anymore, either. But he's still my best friend. So I had to defend him."

"Why didn't you tell me?" The words barely come out. "Why didn't you tell me?" I raise my voice, tears streaming down my face as I sit up on the bed. He covers his face in his hands. "Steve, I was going to fucking propose to you! I had a ring! And then everything happened in Germany and-" I can't speak anymore, the vomit is coming, and I lean over the trash can.

He waits until I'm done and gurgling water to continue his explanation. "Because I didn't want you to think that I would leave you. I wanted you to continue to trust me. I should have told you before… when we were learning about each other, in every way, I should have mentioned him…" He runs a hand through his hair. It's getting longer. "I knew about the ring. I had one, too."

"Well, I threw mine away." I lie, but he shakes his head. "We aren't there anymore. We aren't together anymore, Steve."

"I know. Because you can't trust me." He retorts. I roll my eyes.

"No, I fucking can't. You keep things from me. Clearly."

"You didn't tell me about the new nanosuits. About that Spider-kid. About the surgery. About Pepper. You cheated on me, Tony. And I stayed loyal to you, even when I was hiding out with Bucky I never once thought about doing what you did." He sighs. "We're both responsible for our relationship collapsing, and for the team's collapse too."

"Yeah, but it's mostly you," I taunt, sticking my tongue out at him. But then the nausea runs up my throat again and I'm heaving into the trash can. A few minutes pass and I gurgle more water, spitting it into the can before laying down. Steve brings me a refreshed washcloth and switches out the trash can. I fade in and out of sleep, waking up to dry heave every few hours. Every time I wake up, he's still sitting in that chair, but he has gone to change and grab a book.

When I finally wake up feeling better, there is a tray of soup and crackers sitting on the floor by me, a bottle of ginger ale beside the soup. Steve's nodding off in the chair, his book against his chest. I glance at the time, and it says 3am.

It hasn't even been 24 hours since I ravaged Steve's body, and yet here he sits, watching me, taking care of me. I pick up the ginger ale and take a long drink, it burning down my esophagus. I cough quietly and he jerks awake, the book falling to the floor. His eyes focus on me, and I look down nervously.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, leaning to pick up his book. "Do you want me to heat the soup back up for you? Or you should probably take a shower, but if you can't stand then I can draw a bath-"

"Steve. Shut up." I groan, rubbing my temples. "Just let me sleep for a few more hours." I slump back into the bed and close my eyes tightly. He brings me another refreshed washcloth and lays it over my face. I quickly fall back into a deep sleep, but I feel soft lips brush against the top of my head before the tiredness pulls me under.

When I wake up again, Steve is gone, but the soup has steam rising off of it and the water has ice in it. I pull the washcloth off of my face and sit up, bringing the warm soup into my hands and eating spoonfuls, slowly. I glance at the clock. It's 6pm. I've been like this for more than 24 hours.

Steve finally got tired of me. Tired of taking care of an old man with mental health and substance abuse issues… who wouldn't get tired of this? No wonder he couldn't trust me with the details about Barnes, I was too unstable back then (not that I'm stable now).

My mind runs like this while I empty the soup bowl and gnaw on the crackers. I take slow sips of the ginger ale and curl back into bed, hoping to sleep my melancholy off.

Is it possible to feel so sad that you can't do anything? Is this what depression feels like? But I'm still capable of taking care of myself. I just feel an ache with everything that I do… like something is missing from my life, or some dark thing is looming over me.

Depression and PTSD are inherently linked. My anxieties about the universe beyond Earth pushed me to create Ultron. But without Ultron, we wouldn't have the Vision.

What will my depression lead me to do?

Why did Steve even put up with me to begin with?