Mercy: Tony-Centric, Steve/Tony hints PG-13 - 497 words
"If you're hearing this... then I've... I've... Fuck. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sor-"
-
He puts himself away, piece by piece, into a box in a dusty corner where no one will find him. His eyes hollow out slowly; chalked up to exhaustion. Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, he screams. No one hears him, there's nothing left to hear. He makes no sound when his body shakes.
He covers up the noise of his sobs with the flash of cameras and the thump of bass. He covers up the hisses from his battle scars with a man made of tin.
-
Sometimes he feels okay. There are days where he can fool even himself and he can smile, and he can laugh. There are days when he has friends, when he's not sleep-deprived and miserable.
And then there aren't.
There's a panic room in his workshop. Sometimes he goes there, closes the door tight, and screams until his throat is hoarse, until he can't breathe, can't think, until his head throbs and his lungs burn.
-
His lungs fill up with water. Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me.
-
He knows absolute power, genius unobstructed by feelings. He controls himself for the first time in a long time. It's not enough, of course. It never is. Doubt- fear- mercy- pain pain pain- slips through: 01110011011000010111011001100101001000000110110101100101
No no no no no nononononono.
-
He screams but there's no one left to hear him. There's dirt under his fingernails and a red smear across his memory that he can never wash away. It's agony, a gaping hole in his chest that he can never get rid of. No matter how hard he screams, no matter how hard he begs, cries, it's still there, refusing him mercy that he knows he doesn't deserve anyway.
-
Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me.
No.
-
His hands are covered in cuts and burns and grease from work. His skin itches and it doesn't go away no matter how hard he scratches. He picks at loose skin, pulling it off, determined to right his wrongs, to be perfect like he's never been (never good enough, never what anyone wanted him to be). No one looks at him anymore. No one wants to see him. No one wants to see that he's hurting too, that he has regrets, that even Tony Stark has a heart. Not even Pepper. Not after what he did to her.
Look at me, look at me, look at me.
-
"If you're hearing this... then I've... I've... Fuck. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sor-"
They stand behind him, watching him as he shakes, eyes squeezed shut, the message and its player destroyed. He turns slowly, keeping his voice measured: "Why didn't any of you stop him?"
No one looked.
-
He puts himself away, piece by piece, into a box in a dusty corner where no one will find him. His eyes hollow out slowly; chalked up to exhaustion. Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, he screams. No one hears him, there's nothing left to hear. He makes no sound when his body shakes.
He covers up the noise of his sobs with the flash of cameras and the thump of bass. He covers up the hisses from his battle scars with a man made of tin.
-
Sometimes he feels okay. There are days where he can fool even himself and he can smile, and he can laugh. There are days when he has friends, when he's not sleep-deprived and miserable.
And then there aren't.
There's a panic room in his workshop. Sometimes he goes there, closes the door tight, and screams until his throat is hoarse, until he can't breathe, can't think, until his head throbs and his lungs burn.
-
His lungs fill up with water. Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me.
-
He knows absolute power, genius unobstructed by feelings. He controls himself for the first time in a long time. It's not enough, of course. It never is. Doubt- fear- mercy- pain pain pain- slips through: 01110011011000010111011001100101001000000110110101100101
No no no no no nononononono.
-
He screams but there's no one left to hear him. There's dirt under his fingernails and a red smear across his memory that he can never wash away. It's agony, a gaping hole in his chest that he can never get rid of. No matter how hard he screams, no matter how hard he begs, cries, it's still there, refusing him mercy that he knows he doesn't deserve anyway.
-
Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me.
No.
-
His hands are covered in cuts and burns and grease from work. His skin itches and it doesn't go away no matter how hard he scratches. He picks at loose skin, pulling it off, determined to right his wrongs, to be perfect like he's never been (never good enough, never what anyone wanted him to be). No one looks at him anymore. No one wants to see him. No one wants to see that he's hurting too, that he has regrets, that even Tony Stark has a heart. Not even Pepper. Not after what he did to her.
Look at me, look at me, look at me.
-
"If you're hearing this... then I've... I've... Fuck. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sor-"
They stand behind him, watching him as he shakes, eyes squeezed shut, the message and its player destroyed. He turns slowly, keeping his voice measured: "Why didn't any of you stop him?"
No one looked.