Nat jogged down the stairs and towards Tony’s lab. It was dark, almost abandoned looking, but Nat pressed her hand against the scanner anyway to see if it would work.
“You are not authorized to enter Boss’s lab,” FRIDAY’s sterile voice interjected as the scanner went red.
“What if I said please?” she muttered, frowning and peering into the glass. It was a mess as always, but it seemed even more so somehow, multiple broken objects littering the floor. The Iron Man poster that used to be hanging on the wall had been torn down.
The glass clouded, and she could no longer see anything.
“Oh, come on, FRIDAY, I need to know what’s wrong with him.”
“Did you try asking him?” the AI asked, but Nat didn’t respond, already walking away.
She made her way back to her room, glowering. He was not okay, and he was not coping, and she could not help if she didn’t know who he was grieving for. Or rather, not grieving for.
The sound of a running shower made her pause. She frowned at Tony and Pepper’s closed door, wondering. If that were Tony, that would be the third shower he’d had today. She shook her head. Must be some weird coping mechanism that he’d developed.
Nat sighed, stringing a hand through her hair. Things were never going to be the same.
He was an empty shell. It was as if he’d developed an AI that was meant to mimic his actions and uploaded it into his brain. He said the same things. He smiled the same way. He even joked around every once in a while. But his eyes were empty, his tone flat, and his laughter was short and clipped and always bitter.
The only thing that made Nat doubt the fact that he was a robot were those moments of raw, unbridled emotion that he’d have. The emotions would flash across his face and leave just as fast, but they were there.
They were there when Steve mentioned the strange names of his shield upgrades. They were there when Bruce reminisced about working in the lab. They were there when Clint mentioned his now-dusted family. They were there when Rocket talked about Groot. They were there when Shuri called, giving them short updates. They were there whenever he absentmindedly checked his phone for something that was obviously not there. They were there when he left every Saturday and when he returned from who-knows-where exactly an hour later.
The emotions left Nat confused because they showed up at random, disconnected times that had nothing to do with each other. Who did he lose? Who did he lose? Who did he lose?
Pepper was no help. She refused to tell them anything. Rhodey claimed he knew nothing, but Nat called bull on that. However, his love for Tony outweighed his fear for her. She didn’t blame him.
Something was wrong, and she was determined to figure it out.
And he was showering now, almost three or four times a day. It was always preceded by those random flash of emotions, then he would get up and leave to wash himself as if he wanted to scrub away any feeling.
The only one he seemed okay with being emotional around now was Pepper. They worked in sync; one look from him and she would go make him some coffee and they’d go to their room and hold each other.
The only one he seemed himself with was Rhodey. He was the only one he joked around, but even with his best friend, the jokes usually fell flat.
With everyone else, he was just numb, numb, numb, numb.
Empty, broken, shattered, like his soul had disintegrated along with half of the universe.
She wondered who in the world could ruin Tony Stark like that. Pepper, yes, she would have expected that, but Pepper was fine, and so was Rhodey, and Nat had checked up on Happy the first moment she could, and he was okay. So, who?
Nat huffed in frustration, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. Today was not a day for aesthetic. She was sparring Clint, which was always interesting, depending on what mood he was in. If he was in a fighting mood, he sometimes even beat her, and today seemed to be one of those days. He was fighting with all the pent-up rage that he’d built up since the snap. He’d lost every single member of his family, after all.
But she was not without fight either. For she’d learned only five days ago that both Fury and Hill were gone, no longer in existence. It had taken a bit of time to get the information because, officially, Fury had been dead long before that, and when she’d found out, she’d even allowed herself to cry. Fury had been like a father to her for many years, and the fact that he was just gone… well, it fueled her pretty well for a good hour of sparring with her best friend.
By the end of the hour, they were both tired, sweaty, and a little less weighed down. It had been a long time since they’d gotten to train together, and Nat had missed it. And by Clint’s small smile, it seemed he missed it too.
They trudged up to the kitchen, slumping into bar stools and trying to catch their breaths. Thor, Steve, Tony, and Bruce were standing across the counter, Thor and Steve both knocking back shots.
Nat asked Bruce to get out the vodka. Alcohol sounded like a pretty good idea right about then.
Clint was offered some, but he shook his head and then groaned rubbing a knot from the back of his neck. “Damn, that hurt. It felt good, but it hurt.”
Nat smirked a little. “I know the feeling.”
He huffed, shaking his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve done any sparring. I don’t feel so good.”
Tony stiffened from the corner of her eye, whipping his head to Clint. “What did you just say?”
Steve trudged down the stairs towards the kitchen, unsure where he was going. He just needed to get out of his room, have some human interaction. Buck. Sam. Wanda. Vision. He shook his head. Maybe getting some alcohol in his system would do him some good. Thor had left a stash of his Asgardian mead before he’d left, and that stuff kept forever, so maybe he’d see if he could get tipsy on that.
That sounded terribly inviting. He stepped into the kitchen to find Tony, Bruce, and Thor standing at the bar, the latter two recounting some of their adventures back on Asgard.
Steve walked over to the fridge and pulled out the scotch and Thor’s old mead, putting the first bottle on the table and handing the other to Thor. “You’ll do the honors?”
Thor’s face lit up, and he opened it, taking a sniff. “I didn’t know that I’d left this,” he said, his eyes sad. Then he reached up and grabbed the shot glasses from the cabinet. He nodded at the scotch on the counter. “You want a drink, Stark?”
Tony looked up. “Hmm? Oh, no. I don’t drink.”
The three men turned to stare at him.
He blinked at them. “What?”
“Since when?” Bruce asked.
Tony gave a half-shrug. “Since about a couple years ago. My health’s not what it used to be and alcohol kind of just…” his eyes flashed with something that Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on, “lost its appeal.”
Bruce shrugged, taking the bottle of scotch and pouring himself a glass. “To each his own, I guess. I don’t normally drink, but… this seems like an okay time to do it.”
Steve and Thor downed their shots pretty quickly, and Thor’s stories became livelier after that. Bruce only took the one glass, but once Thor started, he couldn’t stop, and Steve wanted to feel it, so the Asgardian mead went pretty fast. Tony, though, true to his word, drank nothing.
Thor was retelling the story of him and the Hulk sparring, this time with much more detail and pizzazz. Bruce was looking at him skeptically, and Tony would almost smile every once in a while, but throughout most of the stories, his face stayed blank, emotionless. Nat and Clint came back up from sparring just as Steve and Thor were finishing up the mead.
Nat asked Bruce for the bottle of vodka, then took a small sip straight out of it. Steve shook his head at her, not understanding how anyone could like the taste of straight vodka.
Clint was complaining in true Clint fashion, and Steve, in his almost-tipsy state found himself content that he was being a little more Clint again. And then it happened.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done any sparring. I don’t feel so good.”
Tony’s whole body went rigid from beside him and he looked like he almost got whiplash from turning so quickly to stare, wide-eyed, at Clint.
“What did you just say?” Tony’s voice was strained, panicked.
“It’s been a while since I’ve sparred?”
“After that.”
“I don’t feel so good.”
Tony seemed to almost collapse in on himself, like the walls he’d been building just fell apart around him. He gave a little gasp, his eyes flickering around the room as if he were searching for something, but he didn’t seem to find it because his hands were shaking, and he looked like he was going to pass out.
“Tony? You alright?”
Tony didn’t answer, choosing to reach forward and hold out his hand for the vodka. Nat handed it to him warily, and he tilted his head back and just chugged for five seconds straight. And then he was walking away, towards the stairs, bottle still in his hand.
“Tony?!”
“I’ll be in my lab,” he said, his voice shaking as bad as his hands. “Don’t disturb me.”
And then he was gone.
Clint rubbed his face with his hands. “Was it something I said?”
Nat met Steve’s gaze and he saw his own concern and confusion and utter helplessness reflected in them. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
He was in a haze, sitting against one wall and his face buried in his hands. The bottle was long gone, once he’d emptied what was left of it (don’t worry it was watered down, Tony ain’t dying of alcohol poisoning in this fic), he’d thrown it as far away as possible, and it shattered against a leg of one of his work tables.
But he didn’t care. Or rather, he did, but not about that. For weeks he’d emptied himself of emotions, not letting himself grieve, and it was finally too much. His body literally could not handle the pain any longer, so he finally broke.
He cried and cried and cried because his kid was gone and there was no coming back from that.
He sobbed, everything just falling out of him because he had no more self-control. His kid, his kid was just… gone. Disintegrated. Dead.
He jolted, tilting his head to the side and puking all over the floor. After going a few years without any drinking, his body was not used to his previous habits. His hands were shaking again.
I don’t feel so good.
“Yeah, you and me both, kid,” he managed, rubbing his face with both hands before a strangled sob shook his whole body again. “You… and me… both.”
And then he was a little out of it, pulling himself to his feet and stumbling out of his lab. The alcohol must have finally caught up with him, because his feet didn’t really know where they were going. Or maybe they did because he found himself back in the kitchen, greeted by a very worried Steve, Nat, and Clint.
“Did Thor… go back to Asgard… or something?” he asked, his brain not quite connected to his tongue.
“Oh, he’s very drunk,” Clint muttered, and Nat elbowed him in the side before stalking forward and slinging an arm around him.
“Stark, you can’t do that to us. You need to get some water in your system,” she said, practically dragging him to the nearest barstool.
He plopped down on it, putting his head in his hands as Steve went over to grab him a glass of water. “Sorry, Tony, I… I thought it would be a good idea to get a little tipsy or something. I didn’t think you’d-”
“It was a fantastic idea. I’ve never… felt better,” Tony said, snorting a little, which is never a good thing to do when you’ve just been crying.
“Was that sarcasm? Perhaps there’s hope yet,” said Clint sitting down on the barstool to his right.
Tony turned to him, stone-faced. “There isn’t.”
Clint’s expression seemed to deflate. “I know.”
Tony tittered a bit, swiping the glass of water from Steve’s outstretched hand. “This sucks, doesn’t it.”
Steve sighed. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”
Nat leaned forward, resting her elbows against the counter. “So are you going to tell us what’s going on, or continue leaving us in the dark?”
Tony laughed a little, “You… tryin’ to take… advantage of me drunk?”
“No!” Steve said, just as Clint said, “Yes.”
Nat smirked. “We just want to help you, Tony.”
But Tony was no longer listening. He downed the water, eyes glassy, then reached for his pocket and pulled out his phone, turning it on for a second, then completely deflating when all that peered up at him was the time.
His face crumpled, and he sobbed, burying his face in his elbow and laying his head on the counter. They watched him cry, no one saying anything, everyone too scared to. This was a Tony they’d never seen before. Completely and utterly broken.
Tony sat up and rubbed his tear-filled eyes with both hands. He was a mess, with his tears and his snot and a little bit of puke staining his shirt. “I was… it was one of the best day’s I’d had in a while when it all… when it all went to…”
But then he shook his head. “That’s… that’s a bad language word. We don’t use those in this household.”
No one bothered to correct him.
“I promised myself that I wouldn’t cuss anymore…” he said, his voice slurred. “But then again, I promised myself I wouldn’t drink either, and here we are.”
He sighed, stringing his hands through his hair and just staring blankly at the counter. One minute passed. Two.
“Why did you promise that to yourself?” Clint asked.
“Impressionable minds… you know. Can’t be… spreading my… bad habits.”
“Impressionable minds? Did…” Steve’s eyes widen. “Did you and Pepper have a…?”
Tony snorted, trying to look up at Steve, but his eyes unfocused. “No, no… I wanted to… still do, but… it was… we’re…” he sighed, shaking his head.
Nat sighed, reaching out for Tony. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. You can answer some of our questions when you aren’t drunk or hungover.”
Tony grunted in protest but allowed her to drag him towards the fridge where she pulled out a cold piece of pizza and told him to eat it. Then they were heading upstairs, towards his room where Pepper was waiting. Tony tripped on the top step, but Nat caught him, helping him back up.
“Thanks,” he muttered, his eyes unfocused and his words still slurred.
Nat sighed, “Anytime.”
Steve paced. It had been exactly twenty-one hours since Tony had unleashed everything, and he was only just now getting over his hangover, and he said he refused to speak to any of them until he was completely better.
Pepper and Rhodey, of course, were exempt from this.
“He’s dragging it out. It doesn’t take this long to-”
“I know,” Nat said, cutting off Clint. “But he can’t wait forever.”
Just as she was saying this, Tony rounded the platform at the top of the stairs and trudged down to them with a sigh.
They waited for him to settle on the couch across from Nat and Clint, Steve choosing to stay standing. “So?”
Tony sighed. “What do you want from me?”
“Why?” Nat asked. “Why are you so…?”
“Jacked up?” Tony asked, then huffed a laugh. “You would be too… Who’d you all lose?”
“Buck. Sam. Wanda. The rest of the team,” Steve answered immediately.
“My family,” Clint supplied.
“Fury. Hill,” said Nat.
Tony nodded. “And you all… hurt. But you’ll be okay because they all knew what you were to them.”
Clint shook his head. “What do you mean?”
Tony waved a hand at him. “Take you for example. You’re a father. And your kids…” Tony’s voice dipped but he pressed on, “they loved you and you loved them and there were no secrets. Same with your wife.
“And then there’s Nat, who everyone knows was basically Fury’s murder-child.”
Nat smiled a little, her eyes glassy.
“And Bucky and Sam and Wanda, well, they all adored you to no end and vice versa, correct?” Tony asked, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes.
The super soldier nodded.
“Well… see that’s not how I…” his voice faltered, and he took a shuddering breath.
Tony looked up at them and his eyes were no longer empty, but full to the brim. Filled with anguish, and sorrow, and terror, and so much regret. But there was love there too. More love than Steve would have thought possible for someone that had gone through what Tony had.
“His name…” Tony blinked a few times, “His name was Peter Parker. And he was everything to me.”
me, before Infinity War: God, I don't like Steve, all that shit he did to Tony--They can try and make me love him again but I won't fucking do it--Under any--
Steve Rogers : I am Steve Rogers.
Me: If anything happens to him I'm gonna kill everyone in this theater and then myself.
