Chapter Text
He lived a life in cycles. Plastering a smile on his face, throwing snark and wit around him like a parade, constantly reassuring others he was fine, he didn’t need help. He was Tony Stark! Genius Avenger! This was the general routine Tony went through. People often called him selfish, narcissistic and stubborn. All characteristics he would rather be called than caring and broken. He’s been called that enough times in the tabloids for him to lose count.
God he hates that word - broken. It’s not like damaged, where damaged could mean it could be fixed, whereas broken was broken. Left to be discarded and collect dust, a lost cause. He would rather people scold him and scowl at him as he passes, yelled insults and blamed for everything that goes wrong than for people to really know. He prefers to have people think him an asshole than weak. Than broken. If they know, they offer pity in whatever pathetic form it comes in. He tells himself this everyday, he doesn’t need their pity or their sympathy for that matter - he doesn’t. That would be admitting he’s broken. Worthless.
So he locks his feelings away and throws away the key… and the lock. He throws it away, somewhere he doesn’t want to go, ever. And if he doesn’t want to go there, no one else will either, right? If, on a small chance, someone saw past his carefully constructed facade of sarcasm, no one in their right mind would go looking for what he made sure to bury deep inside of himself. No one. It’s easier to just pretend, and everyone knows it.
Then comes New York. And things slowly start to unravel. He can see it in the way the other Avengers tip-toe around him in the tower. Movie nights are suddenly tense, replacing the comfortable silence that once was, with Clint reaching for the popcorn bowl in Natasha’s lap, eyes not moving from the screen, not noticing the smirk on her face as she moves the bowl inches from his grasp. With Thor looking thoroughly confused at the movie, Bruce falling asleep on the arm of the couch, and Steve and Tony sitting side by side. Now Tony sits alone on the chair while Clint fidgets in his seat, the popcorn bowl full on the table, as Natasha squints her eyes at Tony not even bothering to be subtle as if she’s trying to figure out a complicated equation. The night usually ends up with Tony excusing himself with his usual excuse of being tired.
Things start to unravel as he looks in the mirror and recoils at what stares back at him. His mind playing tricks on him as shadows- chitauri? it looked like a chitauri. He saw the bulky outline of the creature, plotting in the shadows, waiting to strike -
His mind plays tricks on him. Things move in his peripheral vision, causing him to flinch back at nothing, fingers trembling uncontrollably. His hair a perpetual dishevelled mess, purple bags under his eyes.
Still, he denies any problems. Instead, he focuses on his work. Days upon days in the lab filled with mindless banter and empty threats of donating DUM-E to MIT and JARVIS’ constant recommendations of Tony sleeping, to which he shushes the AI and continues his work feverishly. He wonders why it feels like someone stuffed his head with cotton, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes - he plays ACDC loud enough to ripple his coffee anyhow.
Tony tries to tell himself to just let the pain numb him. Brush it off. To save himself from even more pain, is to become numb with it. Easier said than done - only alcohol can help him with that. He told Steve he would try to be better. When faced with a choice of helping himself and others, no matter how much he and everyone else expects for him to save himself, he always finds he ends up helping others, albeit reluctantly. He shakes with the guilt of that, aren’t heroes supposed to be willing to sacrifice themselves? Aren’t they working towards a bigger picture?
Sometimes Tony just wants to sleep. Sometimes all the battles and fighting and inventing threatens to drag him down, down, down. Fight this battle, defend yourself from the tabloids (‘You’re making the Avengers look bad, Tony’), upgrade weapons inventory, find a way to counteract this, design a built- in that. It’s too much. But he’ll be damned if he admits that. He’d rather be killed in action than have to admit his weakness. He’s narcissistic, and stubborn, he doesn’t play well with others. He doesn’t help others. He only cares about himself. Right?
New York was supposed to be his last time. He decided on a whim and adrenaline-pumped stupor that he was finally going to show him. The one his father always boasted about, always wished Tony could be. The one Tony heard stories about, who might’ve made Howard a better man, a better father. Who knows if he would have even become a father? Maybe that would be better.
But this is his chance. He can finally show that he’s willing to make the sacrifice play. Maybe this would absolve him of their disappointment because he can no longer cater to their every whim. He wouldn’t be there for their reaction anyways, but how could the world hate him when he saves all of New York?
“You know thats a one way trip” Cap had warned, knowing Tony knew. Tony didn’t bother to answer, instead he used all his energy to turn the missile 90 degrees up towards the portal. The ultimate sacrifice, how poetic. He even closed his eyes after facing what could only be described in his current state as hell. He would float gracefully into space and the last things he would see are the stars that he wished on as a child.
Except what happened wasn’t his poetic ending. He didn’t get to forget and finally move on. He fell from the sky and was roared back to life, yanked out of his less-than-fairtytale ending. He opened his eyes to his team standing over him, looking at him with expressions he couldn’t begin to decipher. His heart immediately jumped to his throat and he managed to choke a sarcastic line, causing Steve to smile. The sight sent a warmth curling in Tony’s chest, but it was dimmed by his aphrenension for what they would say. He couldn’t stand the relieved eyes they were looking at him with, they should be cold and disapproving, he tried to take the easy way out.
He tried to shrug off the responsibilities he had chosen to take on when he announced himself as Iron Man. He couldn’t stand helping others for a living, offering his services and life for the greater good, and he would rather just give up.
New York was supposed to be his last time, and now it’s never left him. Reminders of his guilt and shame lurk in every corner of the Tower, rearing in his peripheral but vanishing the second he looks. Sometimes he just closes his eyes and tries to pretend he’s back in the wormhole. In some ways it was easier.
Now, he stands facing Steve, the soldier having finally caught Tony while he was returning from his bi-hourly coffee re-fill. He needed to teach DUM-E how to properly make coffee for him, no motor oil included this time.
Steve stuttered at first, taken back by Tonys appearance. How long has it been since he’s come up from the workshop again?
“To-“ The genus’ name dying on his tongue as he saw Tony, looking battered and bruised and- broken. Tony’s dark eyes look up at him, shadows cast over his face and his lips twisted into a wry smirk.
“Whats the matter Cap? Blown away by my staggering good looks?” He said, but even then there was a raspiness to his voice, giving away his exhaustion. Fuck.
Tony has to check to make sure his grip on his mug isn’t slipping, feeling as though his fingers might betray him with they way his hands tremble.
“Tony,” Was all Steve could manage, pity and remorse lacing the word. Tony visibly stepped back while placing his hand as a shield in-between them, his mask slipping slightly, allowing a glimpse of some emotion Steve couldn’t read to show. Steve watches the grimace replace Tony’s features with a sad acceptance. His eyebrows are bunched together as he turns slightly away from Steve.
“Stop,” He started, his voice wavering dangerously, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Hear what, Tony. What’s going on in that head of yours?” It should have been asked with fondness, as it has been before. Instead it sounds almost exasperated.
‘What’s goin’ on in that noggin of yours Tony?’
‘“Noggin?” Who says noggin’ anymore Steve - I think your age might be showing.’
Steve laughs, deep and full and warm. Tony could die listening to that sound and he would die happy.
“Tony.”
Tony jerks, eyes snapping back up to Steve’s.
“Hear what?” He repeats, almost a whisper.
“Just, please Steve. I don’t know if I can take any more.”
Steve didn’t have any words. He didn’t know what was bothering Tony - for once he couldn’t figure it out.
“Tony, please. Take what? Please let me help. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Steve took a step forward and Tony jumped, his eyed flitting to Steve’s hand which was on its way to his shoulder.
“I- risked lives unnecessarily. I wasn’t thinking. I should have found a better way,” Tony whispers frantically, eyes still locked on Steve’s hand frozen in place. Steve wants him to stop, these words that sound so foreign coming out of Tony’s mouth, but he keeps going.
“I made a selfish decision without consulting the team first.”
He was starting to pick the skin around his fingernails, already calloused and hard from the habit and his work. Steve felt his teeth grit as he took in the man in front of him. Pale, gaunt - sad. He didn’t know how badly New York was still affecting him. Tony would always try and talk his way out of things, to slip away and run. Steve knew that right now he couldn’t convince Tony of anything - he knew all too well how a traumatized mind worked. He just wished he could figure him out like he used to.
He didn’t know if it was a good idea, but his feet started forward of their own accord as he pulled Tony into his arms - one hand holding Tony’s neck, fingers applying pressure at the nape, and the other sliding around his shoulders. Tony tensed hard at first, not used to the intimacy, especially with Steve, and Steve was afraid he has made too big of a step. But then Tony responded, melting into him as Steve worked his fingers into the tense muscles of his neck. Tony had to bite his lip to stop a groan of pleasure from escaping, the pressure that had been building seeming to seep out of his limbs, shoulders dropping and head suddenly feeling ten times heavier.
He let his body fit into the Steve’s, curling forward slightly. He pushes his face into Steve’s collarbone until stars appear in his vision. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t think he could say anything. He didn’t know if he should, if speaking would break whatever spell is happening between them. So he just keeps his mouth shut, and ignores the way his lips tremble.
Steve said nothing, but let his lips brush against the crown of Tony’s head, hoping it was enough for now.