Chapter Text
Being Tony Stark’s daughter was no fun and carefree life. There was the constant fear of him coming back injured or dead from a mission. But even through the missions and all of the Avengers stuff, there was nothing like having to be compared to him. He was Tony Stark: Billionaire, Philanthropist, Genius, Iron Man. And then there was you. You were nothing special. You weren’t the top in your class or very social. You were more introverted and couldn’t even really be compared to your father. But that didn’t stop everyone else.
You had been in enough interviews and read enough online to know what people thought of you. It ranged from “Next Iron Man is Possibly Iron Woman?” to “Who Really is (Y/N) Stark?” and everything in between. Most people wanted you to follow in your father’s footsteps and become exactly like him. But you didn’t think you could even if you wanted to.
Yes you wanted to train and be a part of the team, but you also knew you wouldn’t be good at engineering or working in the lab. So what could you really do that would be beneficial? You would just be more of a burden than you thought you were to the team. You tried to stay healthy, and your body was physically good. Your head? Not so much.
After years and years of being compared to the Tony Stark and having all of these expectations thrust upon you, things got overwhelming and you began to question if you were good enough to do anything right. This started the bad thoughts, which led to self harming, which led to adding alcohol into the mix.
There were times when everything got too much and you began to lose your grip on yourself. These were the nights that you would break out your blade that you kept hidden in a band aid container in the back of your bathroom drawer and draw lines over yourself. It started with a few small cuts on your ribs or upper arms or thighs. You could easily hide those. But then you couldn’t resist moving to your lower arms. It felt more lucrative for you. Self harm helped your ground yourself, and you saw it as a form of punishment for not being good enough.
Tonight was one of those nights.
You had gotten too deep into your head again and couldn’t stop the thoughts from racing at you at a 1000 miles per hour. You needed them to stop or at least slow down. To do so, you snuck out to the bar in the living room and snagged a bottle of Jack Daniels. It was 11:30PM, so you didn’t really have to sneak, considering everyone was either asleep, on a mission, or doing work elsewhere. What you didn’t know, was that Friday took stock of what was in the bar. So Tony knew that 7, now 8, bottles of his alcohol were missing. He just didn’t know it was you.
You went back to your room and flipped on the bathroom light. Opening your drawer, you found your blade. You slowly slid down the wall, blade in one hand and the now open bottle of Jack in the other. Taking a very large swig, you felt the liquor burn your throat on the way down. Sighing, you take the blade and drag it across your arm, letting the blood slowly rise up and out.
This went on for another 30 minutes or so. Drink, cut, drink, drink, cut, cut and so on. You were about a ⅓ of the way through the bottle of Jack Daniels and finally felt yourself getting numb. Numbness felt like asylum for you. Your cuts stung a little bit, but for the most part, you felt numb and slower. You could breathe. You were still crying a bit, but it wasn’t hyperventilating, anxiety induced crying. Just a few slow tears taking their time crawling down your cheeks.
You were so out of it and focused on your breathing that you didn’t hear your door open or your dad whisper out to you. He had been working late in the lab and decided to check on you before he went to bed. He saw that you were more tired than usual lately, so he wanted to make sure you were actually sleeping okay. When he didn’t see you in bed, he saw the bathroom light on and gently walked towards the door. He didn’t hear any noise, so he decided to knock.
“You okay in there, sweetheart?” He heard you kind of fumbling around in there after he spoke.
“Jesus, dad! You gave me a fuckin heart attack! Yes, I’m fine, just… please go.” He knew you weren’t fine. He could tell when you were lying, even without looking at you. There was a few seconds of silence. He couldn’t let this slide, something wasn’t right. He had an awful feeling in his gut.
“Are you decent?”
“What do you mean?” You were confused. Your brain wasn’t really all there. You weren’t shitfaced drunk, but you were pretty loosey-goosey.
“Are you dressed?” You looked down at your arm and thighs where you had at least a dozen or more small lines scattered around your skin. You didn’t really think clearly before responding.
“I mean, yeah. But I don’t want you to come in.” You slurred your words a little bit, but you thought it would go unnoticed by your dad. Unfortunately for you, he heard.
“Too bad. I’m coming in.” You shot up in panic.
Quickly capping the bottle of Jack, you tried to get up and hold the bathroom door closed, but Tony was quicker and stronger. It also didn’t help that you were not only unstable from the alcohol, but you always were a little light headed after self harming. So when you stood up to get the door, you ended up having to lean on the sink for support until Tony came in.
What he saw when he opened the door shattered his heart more than he thought possible.
You were in one of your favorite thinner sweaters and shorts, but you were bleeding. He saw all of the lines and the streaks of blood that came from a few of them, some of them already coagulated. You were leaning against the sink because you couldn’t stand easily. There were bloody tissues on the floor next to one of his bottles of Jack Daniels and a blade. He quickly put all of this together.
“Sweetheart…” He said. You felt more tears coming, but you didn’t want him to see you so weak.
You tried to take a couple steps forward and push him out of your bathroom, but pushing him was like pushing a brick wall. Nothing happened. It didn’t help that your legs were insanely wobbly. As soon as you touched your dad, your legs started to give out.
“Woah! Hey! I gotcha. Let’s just sit you down here.”
Thank god for Tony’s quick reflexes. He caught you and sat you on your bathroom counter while he inspected the cuts.
They varied from thin and not deeper than a paper cut, to two very nasty looking ones on your right thigh. They weren’t gushing blood or anything, but they were big and deep. He was just thankful they weren’t near a vein or else this could have ended deadly. He grabbed one of your washcloths and dampened it.
“This is gonna sting, but I– we need to put pressure on this until I can get you to Banner.” He warned. Before you could complain in response, he put the washcloth on the bad cuts on your leg. You had to grab his arm because it stung so bad. You kind of liked the pain, but not the circumstance.
“I need you to hold that there, okay honey?” You felt faint. You were overwhelmed, in pain, and really didn’t want to be in this situation right now. But you nodded your head anyways. Tony took one of your hands and put it on the washcloth, pushing down a bit to try to stop the bleeding from getting worse.
“Friday!” Tony yelled, surely waking up some of the team.
“Yes, Mr.Stark?”
“Wake up Banner and tell him to meet me in the lab with his med kit. It’s an emergency.”
“Absolutely, Mr.Stark.”
Before you could fully understand what was going on, Tony gently grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding the washcloth down and wrapped it around his neck while he lifted you up bridal style. As quickly and gingerly as possible, he made his way out of your room and towards the elevator.
When the two of you got out in the hallway, there were a few others gathered around wondering what was going on. They didn’t really understand what was happening until they saw the bloody rag on your leg and how scared Tony looked. Tony didn’t pay attention to them until Steve starts to walk alongside Tony.
“What the heck happened? We just heard you yell for Friday and (Y/N) crying a bit.”
“Later, Rogers. She needs stitches, now. I’m on my way to meet Banner in the lab. I’ll fill everyone in when she is safe.” Steve knew to back off then. Tony was never this freaked out, so that was one indicator. But the he also never used Steve’s name unless it was serious.
Steve helped Tony in the elevator by pressing the button for the floor that the lab was on, and then left, so you two had some privacy. You couldn’t help the tears that were trickling down your face. You felt so stupid and like a huge disappointment. You had your face in your dad’s neck while you tried to get your breathing back to normal.
“I– I’m sorry, dad. I just… I–” You couldn’t get out much more than that. Even if you could, you had no idea what to say to him. How to explain to him that his daughter is a mess.
“Shh. It’s okay, baby. Bruce is going to fix you up and then we are both going to get some much needed sleep. Alright? Just stay awake with me for a bit longer. Okay?” You knew he was trying to be strong for you, but you could hear a little waiver in his voice as if he was trying to hold back tears. You nod, he leans down and kisses your forehead, and then you dig your face back into his neck.
He just sighs and tries to calm himself. You are going to be okay. You are going to be safe. He loves you too damn much to see this get any worse.