Only Moreso - Depression - 4/6
Title: Only Moreso - Depression
Rating: M
Genre: drama, angst
Fandom: Marvel's Earth-199999
Pairing: Steve/Tony (developing relationship)
Warnings: self loathing to the nth degree, a suicide attempt in part five, suicidal thoughts, general emotional nastiness.
Intriguing Snippet: They'll find out how how weak he really is someday and he can't bear the thought. He doesn't want to disappoint everyone who has, so foolishly, placed their faith in him.And he's so very tired of pretending to be strong.
A/n: Many thanks to my beta, Linnea!
ALSO: This is a very heavy chapter. This and the next section are the bottom of Tony's deep dark well and it is writhing with monsters. If suicidal thoughts do terrible things to you, you should probably come back for chapter six and the final part of the series, Stability.
Masterlist
( Previously )
Iron Man isn't enough to make up for Tony Stark. It isn't. Tony Stark is petty, vicious, juvenile, incompetent in all the ways that matter, responsible for the deaths of more people than he can count, and weak. That Iron Man saves lives doesn't make up for his sins. That he used Iron Man to blow up all the weapons he knew about in Afghanistan means nothing in the grand scheme of things, especially since he went there for Yinsen's sake. Iron Man is penance, not a true expression of goodness. Tony's not going to stop being Iron Man (this is entirely selfish: being an Avenger is one of the bright parts of his life besides Steve and upsetting his investors), but it’s an ultimately meaningless gesture.
Tony wonders if there's a god out there who has written down the name of every person his weapons have killed, if they have a list of every person maimed by something with his name on it. Tony hopes not. Those lists would be easily hundreds of thousands of names long. And he's responsible for each and every entry. Each is a black mark he'll never be able to scrub away, not even if he takes steel wool to his flesh until he bleeds himself dry. Every entry represents dozens of lives destroyed. Mothers burying their children, children burying their entire families. How many people have suffered at his hand? Aside from the three months in Afghanistan, Tony's never known true hardship. And even then, he got off light because he was useful. No one took an electric drill to him or otherwise got inventive. Just waterboarding. Tony pushes back memories of I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I don't want to die and cold, stinking water.
There were no excuses for continuing the weapons development when the company was his. He could have -- should have -- changed gears after he took the helm. Back before he'd had the truth of what his weapons did shoved in his face and into his chest (Tony thinks he shouldn't have needed that because he's always known, at least abstractly, what the practical reality of what SI weapons do is, but he knows he wouldn't have turned around if it hadn't happened; it’s yet another sign that Tony's irredeemable).
Everyone's known for decades that there's only so much oil. Why didn't he pursue green energy from the start? (Tony knows why; weapons was what he inherited from Dad and he was too comfortable to fight to change it. Military money is easy money, after all, and he's always been too selfish to want to change things until it's fucked up beyond all redemption).
Sometimes Tony will see Steve and he'll have to fight the urge to curl up against the reassuring bulk of him and spill everything. He wants to tell someone so badly but he can't because he needs people and he doesn't want to hurt Steve unnecessarily (which is what will happen if he does give in to that urge. Steve will hate that Tony used him by taking comfort in his touch while Tony told him he was a monster. It will be better if he finds out how bestial Tony is when Tony's not touching him).
Steve -- and everyone else he knows -- would be better off if he weren't around. He can give Iron Man to someone who can legitimately use it for good and disappear in the cleanest, most permanent way possible.
Tony starts planning and he does everything he can to prevent anyone from figuring out what he's going to do. There are no notes for himself, no mention of 'I am going to kill myself' to anyone, nothing he thinks could be taken as weird or as wrapping up his affairs, because they'll try to stop him or it'll lead to them finding out what he is. Tony doesn't even drink more than usual despite the fact that he desperately wants to.
The details of how this is going to work are difficult: he doesn't want anyone he loves to come across him when he's dead (because they don't know yet, it's going to be hard enough for them when he dies without them walking in on his corpse), he wants it to be quick and clean enough to leave either a funeral-presentable body or none at all, and ideally, he wants it to be in a way that won't make people think it's a suicide (the media vultures would love it if he obviously committed suicide -- poor little rich boy kills self, see A10 for details! -- and he doesn't want everyone else to have to deal with that).
Right. That's easy enough to come up with, he thinks sarcastically as he updates his will (which is fortunately, something he's taken to periodically doing since becoming Iron Man, so it raises no alarms). But where there’s a will, he supposes, there’s a way.
Clint Barton hasn't known Tony for very long -- only since the beginning of the Avengers -- but one of the things he knows about Tony is that the man is all sound and motion. Even when he's sitting still and concentrated on schematics, he's still a million little noises and movements: a chuff of air, a little grumble of irritation, a grin or a scowl. It's how he makes himself the larger than life figure the world knows.
But of late? Tony has been quiet as the grave and still as stone. He seems slump-shouldered and small for the first time in the entirety of their acquaintance.
They see him around the house less than ever (that they see him at all Clint attributes to Cap) and he rarely speaks unless spoken to. But even when he talks without being prompted, it's usually something like a quiet request for someone to pass the salt. He never makes eye contact with anyone but Cap, he's always pale, and there's something hesitant about him, like he's almost unwilling to breathe in case it draws attention to him. Everything about Tony says he doesn't want anyone to notice him.
The thing of it is, is that Tony's made sure that everyone notices him for years, and his shrinking withdrawal is like someone sucked all the air out of a room. It's impossible to miss.
Clint overhears Bruce quietly ask Tony, "Are you all right?" one day over post-battle pizza.
Tony, who has been silent and staring at the table instead of talking all meal long, flushes but doesn't look up. "Yeah. Just tired."
Clint doesn't believe him, and neither does Bruce, from the look on his face. Bruce scoots forward and lowers his voice even further, and Clint can't catch what he says to Tony, but Tony says, "There's nothing wrong, Bruce. I'm just tired, like I said." With that, Tony drops the pizza he's been picking at for the last half an hour and gets up. "I'm going to bed," he says and all but runs out of the room.
Bruce sighs and when Cap comes back a little while later, he says, "I didn't mean to chase Tony off."
Cap rubs his face tiredly and takes Tony's seat, quietly quizzing Bruce on the conversation (Clint thinks anyway. He can't hear them over Natasha and Phil bickering over Russian literature) before sighing himself.
"And then he said he was going to bed," Bruce says.
"Which means he's retreated into the depths of the house." Steve rubs his face again and gets up.
“Steve,” Bruce calls, eyes wide with concern. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Steve says, sounding tired as he looks down the hall Tony has disappeared into. “Or what to do about it.”
Steve goes after Tony.
Rating: M
Genre: drama, angst
Fandom: Marvel's Earth-199999
Pairing: Steve/Tony (developing relationship)
Warnings: self loathing to the nth degree, a suicide attempt in part five, suicidal thoughts, general emotional nastiness.
Intriguing Snippet: They'll find out how how weak he really is someday and he can't bear the thought. He doesn't want to disappoint everyone who has, so foolishly, placed their faith in him.And he's so very tired of pretending to be strong.
A/n: Many thanks to my beta, Linnea!
ALSO: This is a very heavy chapter. This and the next section are the bottom of Tony's deep dark well and it is writhing with monsters. If suicidal thoughts do terrible things to you, you should probably come back for chapter six and the final part of the series, Stability.
Masterlist
( Previously )
Iron Man isn't enough to make up for Tony Stark. It isn't. Tony Stark is petty, vicious, juvenile, incompetent in all the ways that matter, responsible for the deaths of more people than he can count, and weak. That Iron Man saves lives doesn't make up for his sins. That he used Iron Man to blow up all the weapons he knew about in Afghanistan means nothing in the grand scheme of things, especially since he went there for Yinsen's sake. Iron Man is penance, not a true expression of goodness. Tony's not going to stop being Iron Man (this is entirely selfish: being an Avenger is one of the bright parts of his life besides Steve and upsetting his investors), but it’s an ultimately meaningless gesture.
Tony wonders if there's a god out there who has written down the name of every person his weapons have killed, if they have a list of every person maimed by something with his name on it. Tony hopes not. Those lists would be easily hundreds of thousands of names long. And he's responsible for each and every entry. Each is a black mark he'll never be able to scrub away, not even if he takes steel wool to his flesh until he bleeds himself dry. Every entry represents dozens of lives destroyed. Mothers burying their children, children burying their entire families. How many people have suffered at his hand? Aside from the three months in Afghanistan, Tony's never known true hardship. And even then, he got off light because he was useful. No one took an electric drill to him or otherwise got inventive. Just waterboarding. Tony pushes back memories of I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I don't want to die and cold, stinking water.
There were no excuses for continuing the weapons development when the company was his. He could have -- should have -- changed gears after he took the helm. Back before he'd had the truth of what his weapons did shoved in his face and into his chest (Tony thinks he shouldn't have needed that because he's always known, at least abstractly, what the practical reality of what SI weapons do is, but he knows he wouldn't have turned around if it hadn't happened; it’s yet another sign that Tony's irredeemable).
Everyone's known for decades that there's only so much oil. Why didn't he pursue green energy from the start? (Tony knows why; weapons was what he inherited from Dad and he was too comfortable to fight to change it. Military money is easy money, after all, and he's always been too selfish to want to change things until it's fucked up beyond all redemption).
Sometimes Tony will see Steve and he'll have to fight the urge to curl up against the reassuring bulk of him and spill everything. He wants to tell someone so badly but he can't because he needs people and he doesn't want to hurt Steve unnecessarily (which is what will happen if he does give in to that urge. Steve will hate that Tony used him by taking comfort in his touch while Tony told him he was a monster. It will be better if he finds out how bestial Tony is when Tony's not touching him).
Steve -- and everyone else he knows -- would be better off if he weren't around. He can give Iron Man to someone who can legitimately use it for good and disappear in the cleanest, most permanent way possible.
Tony starts planning and he does everything he can to prevent anyone from figuring out what he's going to do. There are no notes for himself, no mention of 'I am going to kill myself' to anyone, nothing he thinks could be taken as weird or as wrapping up his affairs, because they'll try to stop him or it'll lead to them finding out what he is. Tony doesn't even drink more than usual despite the fact that he desperately wants to.
The details of how this is going to work are difficult: he doesn't want anyone he loves to come across him when he's dead (because they don't know yet, it's going to be hard enough for them when he dies without them walking in on his corpse), he wants it to be quick and clean enough to leave either a funeral-presentable body or none at all, and ideally, he wants it to be in a way that won't make people think it's a suicide (the media vultures would love it if he obviously committed suicide -- poor little rich boy kills self, see A10 for details! -- and he doesn't want everyone else to have to deal with that).
Right. That's easy enough to come up with, he thinks sarcastically as he updates his will (which is fortunately, something he's taken to periodically doing since becoming Iron Man, so it raises no alarms). But where there’s a will, he supposes, there’s a way.
Clint Barton hasn't known Tony for very long -- only since the beginning of the Avengers -- but one of the things he knows about Tony is that the man is all sound and motion. Even when he's sitting still and concentrated on schematics, he's still a million little noises and movements: a chuff of air, a little grumble of irritation, a grin or a scowl. It's how he makes himself the larger than life figure the world knows.
But of late? Tony has been quiet as the grave and still as stone. He seems slump-shouldered and small for the first time in the entirety of their acquaintance.
They see him around the house less than ever (that they see him at all Clint attributes to Cap) and he rarely speaks unless spoken to. But even when he talks without being prompted, it's usually something like a quiet request for someone to pass the salt. He never makes eye contact with anyone but Cap, he's always pale, and there's something hesitant about him, like he's almost unwilling to breathe in case it draws attention to him. Everything about Tony says he doesn't want anyone to notice him.
The thing of it is, is that Tony's made sure that everyone notices him for years, and his shrinking withdrawal is like someone sucked all the air out of a room. It's impossible to miss.
Clint overhears Bruce quietly ask Tony, "Are you all right?" one day over post-battle pizza.
Tony, who has been silent and staring at the table instead of talking all meal long, flushes but doesn't look up. "Yeah. Just tired."
Clint doesn't believe him, and neither does Bruce, from the look on his face. Bruce scoots forward and lowers his voice even further, and Clint can't catch what he says to Tony, but Tony says, "There's nothing wrong, Bruce. I'm just tired, like I said." With that, Tony drops the pizza he's been picking at for the last half an hour and gets up. "I'm going to bed," he says and all but runs out of the room.
Bruce sighs and when Cap comes back a little while later, he says, "I didn't mean to chase Tony off."
Cap rubs his face tiredly and takes Tony's seat, quietly quizzing Bruce on the conversation (Clint thinks anyway. He can't hear them over Natasha and Phil bickering over Russian literature) before sighing himself.
"And then he said he was going to bed," Bruce says.
"Which means he's retreated into the depths of the house." Steve rubs his face again and gets up.
“Steve,” Bruce calls, eyes wide with concern. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Steve says, sounding tired as he looks down the hall Tony has disappeared into. “Or what to do about it.”
Steve goes after Tony.