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It all started as a normal day. A usual Tuesday. A routine trip to the coffee shop, the habitual two lattes, the chocolate muffin, the quick drive to school. As was their ritual, Tony got to school at 8:20 and made a bee line to Natasha’s locker. She wasn’t there. First red flag. He waited until 27. She wasn’t there. Second red flag, she was never there later than 25. He went to his locker to get his books. He’d see her in second period. They had English together. She wasn’t there. Third red flag. English was her favorite class, she’d never miss it. Lunch time. Not there. 7th period. Not there. Daily cigarette on the bleachers after school. Not there. Tony thought she was sick, so he called. 5 times. And he texted. 13 times. He went home, and hoped she was just sick. The next day, same thing. And the day after, and the next, and the next until a month passed and he noticed her locker had been opened… and emptied. He had hope, still. She wouldn’t have left, she would never.
Rhodey tried to calm him down that day, but he just wouldn’t stop crying. Stark Men Are Made of Iron… As long as their heart is in one piece. Tony’s heart was scattered all around town. On the bleachers, along with cold cigarette ash, in the Opera, where they had their first date, on the Park bench where they kissed for the first time, in her locker, where they talked for the first time. All the students had noticed her disappearance. Everywhere he went, he heard whispers, he saw shadows, his head spun, his tears uncontrollably failed. His grades, previously the best in the school, sky rocketed. He was lethargic for the entirety of the last 2 months of high school. He would attend class, go home, get drunk, get high, lay on his bed awake until he had to go to school. His physical appearance was no better. Where there was a semblance of personal hygiene before, there was nothing now. His hair was perpetually ruffled and had grown out into that awkward state where it just screams cut me off, there wasn’t a single clean clothing item that made it to school, he had deep purple eye bags and perpetual red eyes. He was a mess. She wasn’t there.
In college, it got worse. Partying all night, sleeping all day, constantly high, constantly drunk. Never happy. One night, specifically, he had lined up 7 little pink pills and seven Deadly shots, one of his concoctions consisting of half vodka, a quarter tequila and a quarter whiskey, on the shiny white bathroom counter. The bath water exuded steam from how hot it is, just waiting to warmly guide him out of his miserable existence. Of course, it wasn’t all because of Natasha. She was just the catalyst to a series of unfortunate events. His life wasn’t worth anything anymore. It was easier to let it go.
He popped a pill. He drank a shot. He swallowed the second one. He chugged the second glass. The world was getting blurry, his movements slowing down in a haze already. He didn’t hear the frantic knocks on the door. He didn’t hear the panicked shouts. He didn’t hear his best friend kicking down his door, just as he was downing the 5th portion of his death feast. The bathroom door got kicked down too, and he barely registered the dark shape of his shocked roommate before he passed out.
In his 19 years of living, Rhodey had never felt so terrified. He shakily got out his phone and called 911, immediately dropping it as soon as the operator assured him an ambulance was on its way. He dropped to his knees on the spotless bathroom tiles cradling Tony close, sobbing harder than he ever had before. Not even 5 minutes later, the birght blue and red lights illuminated their window and the loud sirens echoed around them. As if in slow motion, 4 paramedics jogged in with a stretcher, two grabbing Tony and two getting Rhodey. The ambulance ride was a blur until they left him alone in a waiting room to wait for his basically brother’s fate. He couldn’t believe it had gone that far. He genuinely thought it was getting better. Tony talked to a therapist twice a week, he was on anti-depressants, he was getting better, or so James thought.
Two stressful hours later, a doctor in pale blue scrubs approached him.
“James Rhodes?” He looked up, his bloodshot eyes no doubt betraying his tiredness and the countless tears he had shed.
“Yes? How is he?”
“…Not too good. His liver failed, we almost lost him. He took five pills of ecstasy mixed with hard alcohol, not many survive that.”
“But?”
“He’s in a medically induced coma. Please give his parent’s contact information to the nurse before going to see him.”
“Thank you, so much sir.” Yet again, his eyes filled with bright tears. He was alive. Of course a simple overdose couldn’t take away his Tony. After providing Maria Stark’s phone number to the petite smiling nurse, he entered the room. It was bright white, with the signature anti bacterial smell all hospital seem to have. The bed was big, with a pale blue cover and pillows. In the middle, hooked up to an endless number of machines, laid Tony. He looked even smaller than usual, in the white hospital gown and with the canula in his nose. Rhodey let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was okay. His best friend was alive. Among the turmoil of emotions he was feeling – happiness, sadness, panic, sheer terror- a powerful anger almost overthrew all the others. He was more than mad at Natasha Romanov for ruining Tony’s life. He was livid, positively fuming. She’d get what she deserved or so help him God, he was going to throw hands.