Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It's big, gaping, mocking him. The rest of the world only sees the wormhole itself, but Tony can see what's beyond it. Beyond fear.

He screams.

"Tony? Tony...it's okay, I'm here."

"Where? Where is here, I don’t..." He gasps for air, trying and briefly failing to recognise the room he’d slept in for years. 

Years...eleven years, that a hundred and thirty-two months...five hundred and seventy-three and-a-half weeks, that’s what...about four thousand days? 

"Bedroom. You're okay. We're in the bedroom, it's eleven o'clock, and we had lasagna for dinner."

Tony gulps.

I'm not here, though. I'm not.

He drops a hand over his eyes. It drags down his face and his features move with it alarmingly, reminding him of how little collagen he’s got left. 

Thank god I didn't shoot anything this time...

Tony's mind flickers back to when he'd woken up in the middle of a nightmare and immediately shot the window with his gauntlet, how he scared the shit out of Pepper and slept in one of the guest rooms for days after that. 

Pepper's hand ghosts over his shoulder and he lets his creaky body slowly collapse back in bed.

A thin arm encircles his torso and he finds it hard not to notice the way his muscles immediately relax beneath her touch.

"G'night. You gonna be okay?" Pepper asks through her sleep-charred voice.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Thanks, honey."

"Mm."

She rests her head on his shoulder as he watches the psychedelic patterns in the staticky ceiling, dim light screwing with his eyes.

Minutes masquerading as hours pass by him at light speed and he just watches.

Fractals swirl, fern-shaped tentacles that remind him of those man-eating trees in Life of Pi.

They were stunning at first, but terrifying once Pi found the human teeth inside the blossoms. For now, though, it's just beautiful, and a little bit ominous. Tony silently wonders when he'll find the metaphorical tooth, when he'll finally realise the dangers of his mind. His line of sight drifts over to the door and the thin beams of light that leak from underneath it. His eyes close and his lungs sigh.

There's no way in hell I'll be able to fall back asleep.

Carefully, Tony slides out from underneath her arm and tucks the comforter back in his place.

"Where y'going?" She mumbles, groggily.

"Bathroom," he whispers, leaving Pepper with a kiss on the forehead and stepping out into the hallway. He knows she'll drift off soon, probably wake up early in a few hours and yell at him for leaving. 

Tony shivers in the midnight draught and curses himself for forgetting a sweater.

He’s satisfied with the explanation that it was intentional, and that he already enjoys so much luxury he doesn't deserve. The man creeps down the stairs to the coat closet, grabbing a hoodie in spite of himself.

Bare, calloused feet pad down the stairs of their penthouse apartment in the tower to his workroom.

Pepper had called it an 'unorthodox mancave'-which always sent shivers down his spine and uncomfortable flashbacks because Tony Stark was fucking weak and refused to get over Afghanistan. They'd finally resorted to calling it his 'garage'; it wasn't a garage in any sense of the word but the setup was nearly identical to his garage in Malibu, just without the cars. He found the environment easier to work in. It felt like home. 

Tony picks up the mug of coffee on the corner of his desk, left behind the last time his wife had dragged him out of his lair. It felt so long ago, but he liked to imagine brew was still faintly warm, like it waited for his return. 

He sits down at his table and toys with something. He's not quite sure what it is-but it's real and it's got malleable pieces that fit together, so his hands know what to do. They always did. He won’t realise until a week later when he’s trying to clean up the place that it was the circuitboard behind DUM-E’s colour sensor and shit, now I gotta find another one...

Tony thinks about Peter. He had sent him and his aunt off to Ireland to spend time with family; God knows the Parker duo deserved a break from the insanity of-well, Earth, to start with.

Peter had really taken his last-minute Avenger-knighthood to heart. They'd been in the middle of fucking space when he'd done it, inside a flying donut with not a clue how to work the thing. For the first time in his life, Tony hadn't known what to do. Here was this glorious machine in front of him, waiting for him to take control-begging to be piloted and he just couldn't. He doubted anyone would make it back home, much less alive. It was essentially Peter's dying wish. So he granted it. Now, he was beginning to regret that decision. What danger would the kid dive head-first into, and come out half dead saying 'Mister Stark, I'm an avenger now. I can handle it.'

Yeah, but I can't handle it, he thought. 

The thing in his hands had evolved at some point or another during the night into a shape vaguely resembling a miniature Internal-Combustion Engine, wires sticking out the side. Tony scoffs at it.

Perhaps an absent-minded fabrication of such an outdated  could be construed as an allusion to my slow descent back to rock bottom...

He laughs out loud at the irony. Everyone who read the papers knew that an ICE was one of the first substantial things he'd ever made as a kid, so it likely meant that he was seeking comfort, if it meant anything at all-which it he doubted. He was just overthinking things. But Tony didn't care, tossed the scrap onto the floor with a clatter. He had the conviction to send it crashing through all 92 floors below his feet, but only the energy to carelessly discard it. He hoped that was enough for now.  

He swings his legs behind him and chokes down the rest of the bitter coffee, knowing full well the caffeine would hardly have any effect. He practically lived on the stuff these days; he'd developed an immunity.

Tony crosses the room to the couch and falls unceremoniously into the plush cushions. His eyes drop closed like they lack the strength to keep themselves open, then snap open and refuse to close.

He checks over Peter and May's itinerary, shooting Peter a text to make sure all was well. His tracker says he's out at a restaurant right now, likely getting lunch. It's around noon in Londonderry.

Tony’s mind craves pain and his subconscious works to incite feelings of guilt, egging him on. It's a little routine of his. A system. 

He thinks of Morgan, how he nearly left her fatherless. About the way he let Peter disintegrate in his arms, and then had the gall to die the day Peter had finally gotten him back.

He thinks of how Peter brought him back from the dead, using his own technology and nearly killed himself with the effort. How the kid fell apart in his absence.   

He thinks of Pepper handling the press, the company, taking care of Morgan alone and how he missed Donuts with Dad on that Wednesday back in February. Tony lets the guilt crush him and wishes for the sofa to swallow him whole, to reside in between the cushions with the crumbs and pens and loose change and forgotten things. Garbage. He'd assimilate nicely there. 

Jesus, I sound like an angsty teenager.

The man sighs and relishes that devilish stirring deep inside.

He smiles grimly, the same smile he wore right before he put the gauntlet on when he knew what was about to happen, like he knows all too well now. 

A hand snakes up to his chest where the arc reactor hums. After all this time, it was still sore, still incredibly painful when agitated. People tended not to touch him, though, and the only times it would ever take a hit would be when he's in his suit and fighting, where it was protected and held in place. After all, he couldn’t be freaking out over something he’s been feeling for years in battle, not when the team needed him.        

It doesn't take much. It never did.

Tony presses down on the reactor and hears the constant hum of the electrical current falter just a little. The sound grows a little high pitched as the device is pushed against him, crushing him on the inside.

Pain racks his body and he clamps his other hand over his mouth to muffle a scream. He melts into the pillows, exhausted from the pain.

This is what I deserve. I shouldn't be alive, I shouldn’t have this.

His chest is hot and throbbing and he places both hands over the glowing blue with a feather light touch. It’s an ironic juxtaposition that isn’t lost on him.   

"JARVIS, lights out."

He feels weirdly ashamed. Like he’s beating his meat or something. 

Holy shit, that's weirdly fitting. 

"Sir, I-"

"Please, Jarv, don't make me regret bringing you back."

"Very well, sir."

The lights dim quickly until they're dead and seemingly vacant.

All that remains is the faint incandescence of Tony's reactor.

He chuckles and presses his hands down on the metal plate quick and hard before gasping, gauging the pain.

Sweat beads out on his forehead.

God, I hate sweating.

His eyes start to water, there's a pounding in his head. Every muscle in his abdomen clenches and burns. He shudders.

"Sir, I strongly advise against this."

"I know you do, buddy."

Tony sighs, clenching his hands into fists and lets the waves slowly ebb away, his battered heart beating erratically.

JARVIS waits a moment before speaking and when he does, his voice is hushed, nearly a whisper.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm okay. Thanks though. I'm not causing any permanent damage, am I?"

Not that he cared, but that's just one more thing for him to worry about. And then Pepper will want him to remove it. And then he'll have to explain why he wants to keep it. Again. Which is tough, because he's not quite sure; this thing that makes him a monster, makes him a robot, makes him the villain in every sci-fi movie and the antithesis of all things natural and soft. Why the fuck would he keep it? Every time he thought about it though, his brain started screaming and that alone was enough to terrify him. So he persisted.

Silence hangs in the air like so many nooses swinging about his head, teasing him mercilessly.

"Well, if you continue applying pressure to the arc reactor, it will eventually cause permanent damage to your xiphoid process as well as the surrounding organs. I don’t need to remind you of how...cramped things have become."

"Fun."

JARVIS sighs.

How the fuck is he capable of sighing??

"Mr. Stark, I suggest you refrain from doing this. You are not as indestructible as you once were."

"Jeez J, way to make a guy feel-"

JARVIS cuts him off.

"Sir, you need to stop it. I'm serious."

Tony rolls his eyes.

"You’re always Serious. You need to loosen up, smoke a bowl." 

“I’m afraid I am unable to do that.”

Tony tilts his head mockingly. 

He considers the floor below him, how much he weighs and of how high off the ground the couch is. He brings his fist down on the reactor and his whole body sets alight, back arching like the reactor wants to fly off into space, taking him with it. He can barely hear his beloved AI when he speaks.

"If you do that again, I'll have to report your actions to Miss P-"

"Mute," he groans through grating teeth.

The man shrugs mentally.

Eh, what the hell. Why not?

He rolls himself off the couch and onto the ground, his full body weight crushing the reactor and grinding it into his chest. Bone on metal makes a sickening shearing sound. Tony screams and tries to curl up in a ball, convulsing from the pain. He doesn’t feel human anymore, just a tortured body squirming on the cold poured-concrete floor.  

Jesus fucking christ....

Shocks ricochet around his bones, the faulty circuits frying his nerves as he howls. He can't think, he can't hear, and soon enough, he can't even see. He blacks out.

"...ony? Tony? Tony, wake up, goddammit. What were you thinking? Why didn't you stay in bed?"

"Pep?"

"Yeah, it's me, dumbass."

"What-"

"You must have fallen off the couch in your sleep."

Relief.

So JARVIS didn't tell her anything...thank fucking god

"Ah,” he offers, lamely.

"I heard you screaming," she says and the corners of her perfect mouth fall just a little.

"Oh."

He briefly wonders if his use of monosyllabic responses is an indication of his shattered psyche and Jesus, Stark, it’s not even noon yet. 

"Why didn't you tell me it hurt? Why haven't you gotten rid of it yet?"

"It doesn't, not really."

Her eyes widen. She slaps him.

"It doesn't hurt? It doesn't hurt!??"

"Ow, was that really necessar-"

"You were screaming! I tho-I thought you were dying, Tony! Don't lie to me, of course it hurts! Why. Haven't. You. Gotten rid of it yet? The doctors said you didn’t need it. Bruce said you didn’t need it!”

"I like it."

She cocks her head and narrows her eyes.

Shit.

"The reactor, that is. Not the pain."

"I didn't say you did like the pain."

"Good, because that would be...wrong."

He makes a move to get up, but Pepper shoves him back down.

"Oh no, mister, you're not going anywhere until you explain yourself."

"Mmm, yes ma'am." He licks his lips.

"I'm serious, Tony. What is going on with you?"

"It's just a little sore. 'Happens from time to time. I need to replace the uh...tri-coupling circuit."

Pepper raises an eyebrow. 'Bullshit,' the eyebrow tells him.

"I mean it, Pep. This is an older model. I'm repairing my new one, but it's gonna take a little while and I didn't fancy going into cardiac arrest, so I'm just using this for now."

He looks her dead in the eyes as he says this and by some miracle, she buys it.

Okay, maybe not all of it. She buys about seventy-percent of it. 

"Fine."

Pepper kisses him and gets up, Tony watching her stalk up the stairs in her underwear and a t-shirt that he definitely saw in his closet the day before. 

"You're making me pancakes!" She shouts.

He drops his head back against the ground and sighs. 

"That's fair."

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since his little episode on the couch, and Tony made sure Pepper never heard a peep out of him after that. Sometimes she'd come and check on him, but she she still had no clue what he put himself through, just like she didn’t know why the Stark Industries prototype sound-cancelling panels were on the walls. 

Sweet, sweet Pepper...

Tony was doing nothing, which was something new. He had been working on his new arc reactor, but he’d moved onto Natasha’s knives. As he tinkered, he would test his limits. How long could he go without it? It was his own little game.

"JARV, how long has it been?"

"About thirty minutes, sir."

He grunts in acknowledgement.

"Sir, I recommend you not do this without supervision."

"You kidding me? If Pepper were here, she'd be jamming the damn thing back in my chest."

“Removing it from your body is unwise; it's the only thing that keeps your heart beating "

"That's a shame. We should do something about that."

"I agree, but I fear I may have misunderstood the intention behind your previous statement."

"Butterfingers, hand me tha-nevermind, I got it."

"Mister Stark, I'm not sure you quite understand the risks involved in doing what you're doing."

"Whatever, mom."

"You could die!"

He drops the Allen wrench in frustration.

"Really? I had no idea!"

"Sir, your behaviour is growing increasingly reckless. I believe I am...worried."

"Well isn't that touching. Dum-EEE! Where's the whiskey?"

Worried? He thinks. They grow up so fast...

His loyal bot rolls up to him with a bottle of Dalmore and a glass.

"Thanks, bud."

"Sir, the state of your vitals is becoming increasingly problematic."

Tony ignores him this time, his hands shaking shaking like leaves in a hurricane. He glares at them like it’ll make them stop. 

"Huh. That's never happened before."

JARVIS keeps rambling on as Tony struggles to pour with tremors running through his fingers.

"....irreparable damage...brain function...as well as-"

"Jarv, what would it take to kill me?"

The AI stops his rambling, as if he were taken aback.

"About thirteen more minutes."

Tony sloshes amber around in his crystal glass, fighting the strange urge to claw the reactor’s metal housing chamber out of his chest until he's only human.

Just flesh and blood...

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the throwing knives he was making for Natasha.

The billionaire’s whole body shivers even though he’s wearing a hoodie, and he feels like his bones are made of chilled packing peanuts and his arms are miles long. The glass hits the poured concrete floor and the sound makes him jump nearly out of his skin. His whole body is an exposed nerve, throbbing and naked. 

"Shit..." He slurs.   

"Mr. Stark, I recommend you-"

"Okay, fine, fuck!" He shouts, picking up the greasy core and slamming it into his chest cavity with a scream. Tony falls off his stool and right onto the shattered glass below.

He lets loose a slew of curses so severe, he just might have made his old man proud. 

"Sir?"

Tony’s muscles spasm and pain ravages his body. He writhes on the ground for a second before stilling, blood lazily oozing out from the glass that scratches into his skin. Alcohol burns his wounds and he winces, rolling onto his back. He feels crystalline shards prickle his skin and shifts his weight to feel them even more.

"There. Ya happy?" 

His voice is tight, strained.  

"Sir, Doctor Banner is requesting access."

"Yeahp." Tony mutters, pulling himself up.

"Tony?"

Well fuck. Shit. Now I’ve got to deal with him...

Tony makes a mental note to specify next time that ‘yeahp’ is not synonymous to ‘yes, please grant my colleague-who already doesn’t trust my judgement and is not easily fooled-entry, so that he may witness my dumbassery and lecture me about it continuously for the next four years.’

Bruce looks around for a second before he sees the man leaning against a table, pulling something out of his skin. He cringes as a piece of glass gets stuck, sliding out of Tony’s arm with a pop that couldn’t be heard but he definitely felt.

"Jesus, what happened to you?"

"Oh, you know...the usual," he mutters, and a sardonic smile slips easily over his face.

Banner rolls his eyes.

"Dude-" his eyes dart down to the orangey tint of the whiskey on the floor and the carefully crafted indentations in what was left of the crystal glass.

"Tony...what did you do?"

His eyes are sad, and Tony knows why they should be but not why they are. He just dropped a glass, as far as Bruce knows.

So why does he look like a kicked fucking puppy?

The scientist grabs a wet/dry vac from the closet and quickly sucks up the mess.

"Bruce, you don't-"

"Tony, shut it."

He puts his hands up in submission and continues pulling the smaller debris from his skin, depositing the pieces onto a plate with tweezers that were by no means sterile.

Bruce finishes up to see the billionaire sitting on the countertop this time, his hoodie zipped up but fallen halfway to reveal the arc reactor, smudged with grease and barely secured. He connects the dots.

"Tony, why'd you take it out?"

"Mmm?"

"The reactor, why'd you take it out?"

He walks up to him with a mini first-aid kit he’d found in the closet next to the vacuum cleaner. It clearly hadn’t been touched in years; Bruce shakes his head at the fine layer of dust that coats the lid.

"Tony?"

"What? Oh. I had to do repairs, or...something." He frowns. 

"Wait, how did you know I took it-ow! The fuck are you doing?"

Bruce presses an alcohol wipe against one of the slightly larger scratches on the back of his neck and carefully dabs some bacitracin over it and smooths down a bandaid.

"Taking care of you, because obviously you're too incompetent to do so yourself."

Tony rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine."

"No, you are not."

He huffs and reluctantly lets the scientist fuss over his cuts.

"Can you take off your hoodie?"

"Why?"

"There's glass in your back."

Well yeah, but it can’t be that bad. 

"Wh..." He glances over his shoulder to see that the heather grey of his jacket was streaked with burgundy spots, blooming across his back like mold.

"Huh. So there is."

He unzips it and tosses it to the side, moving back to his stool.

"What the fuck..." Bruce breathes.

"What?"

"Tony...how did this happen?"

"Is it bad?"

"Yeah, it's bad!"

"Ugh. Do I need stitches?"

"I don't think so..."

"Then it's not bad."

"That's a terrible way to gauge the severity of a wound."

He just grunts.

"Tony, tell me what happened."

Bruce starts pulling the shards of glass out of his back and they land delicately on the bone china dish.

"Uh-I was-I dropped a glass, and then I fell."

"No you didn't."

"What, am I lying?"

Bruce yanks a piece out of tanned flesh with a little more force than necessary, making him hiss at the sting.

"Yeah, you are."

"Okay then, Einstein, what do you think happened?"

"I think you took your arc reactor out because you're a self-destructive moron. Probably justified it by saying you had to do repairs...or something.”

Bruce glares at him and Tony bites back a ‘sorry, mom’ because that would’ve been his second ‘Mom’ joke within the last ten minutes and Jesus, am I just getting old? 

The scientist continues.

“You started shaking-partly because you're hypoglycemic, but mostly because your heart rate dropped significantly within what I assume was a relatively short period of time. I don't know what the fuck happened with the glass, but I doubt it ended up in your skin by accident."

Tony sighs and stares up at the ceiling.

"When did that get there?" He tilts his head.

"What? Where-what are you doing??"

Without warning, Tony jumps up on the table to grab something down from the ceiling. It was one of Widow's bites, small and sharp, the poison not yet released.

"It's one of Natasha's," Bruce says.

"Yeah, the nasty type."

"She must have been pretty pissed with you."

"Guess so..." Tony puts it on the counter and sits down again. He knows exactly how it ended up there-he’d been working on the bites and needed a test subject. Surprise surprise, people weren’t exactly lining up, though it might’ve helped, had Tony given them the chance. He’d practiced throwing them, had JARVIS analyse the drag coefficient so he could make sure it was the most effective shape. It had gotten lodged in his ceiling and he never bothered getting it down.

Testing the venom, though, that was the easy part. He remembered the whole ordeal pretty vividly, and could safely say that whoever was on the receiving end of those little suckers would think twice before pissing off Nat again. 

"Maybe don't start table dancing when I'm in the middle of pulling shit out of your back?"

He tilts his head mockingly, then it's quiet for a moment.

Bruce sighs.

"JARVIS, what really happened?"

"JARVIS, shut up."

"It’s in his best interest-"

"I will shut you down!"

JARVIS clears his throat-which is really weird, since he doesn't fucking have one-and answers Bruce's question, much to Tony's dismay.    

"I believe you called him a ‘self-destructive moron’ and I’m afraid I rather agree with that assessment. The reactor unit was removed for almost forty minutes before I finally convinced him to put it back in."

"Oh come on. Thanks a lot, Hal,” Tony bites, glaring pointedly at one of JARVIS’s cameras.

"Doctor Banner, if you would please remove it for just a second and clean it off properly so he doesn't die, since he shoved it back in dirty."

The scientist splashes Tony's back with antiseptic, earning a shudder from the billionaire in front of him.

"Ow-fuck?"

"Sure thing, JARVIS. Thanks for telling me."

"No problem."

Bruce grabs a fluffy cashmere cardigan draped over the sofa and tosses it at Tony's face.

He walks up to the man and puts a hand on his chest.

"Mm, keep it in your pants, Banner."

"Shut up Tony, I'm just trying to get this thing out."

The scientist twists and yanks the energy core out of his chest and the billionaire all but collapses against him.

"Whoa, you okay?"

"Yeah," he gasps.

"Is this normal?" He asks.

"Yep. Don’t worry ‘bout it."

He looks like he’ in a lot of pain, and it does worry him.

The scientist starts polishing off the arc reactor while Tony steadies himself against the table, sitting down on his metal stool. God, he hated stools.

"Jesus, this thing's filthy."

Tony shrugs. "It fell on the ground."

He rolls his eyes.

"You ok?"

"M'fine."

He wasn’t. 

Bruce wipes the rubbing alcohol off of it and carefully slides it into his chest, locking it into place.

Tony, still unsteady on his feet, tries to warn him.

"That might not be a good ide-oh, god..."

Tony yelps in pain and sinks to the ground, his back against the cabinet and Bruce at his side.

"...a good idea," he finishes, obviously drained. The agony is evident in the creases of his forehead, and his breathing is unnaturally laboured.

"Does this happen every time?"

He gulps and straightens up a little, still recovering.

"Every time."

"I thought you messed with this thing all the time?"

"I do," the man breathes.

Bruce feels both a pang of nausea and the urge to wrap him in a hug. He pursues the latter, but Tony flinches away.

"Relax dude, I'm just hugging you."

"Oh."

The scientist drapes an arm around his slight frame, taking in his haggard features.

They sit silently for a moment, before Bruce breaks it.

"Tony...is it painful?"

All the man can do is smile cynically, grimacing a little.

"Yep."

"Then why...I mean, why is it still there anyway?"

Tony shrugs.

"What do you mean? Why would you want to keep this thing? It's not this bad all the time, is it??"

"Well, when I'm in the suit, there's a frame that supports it and holds it in place. Like a bra, minus the tits." Tony's feeble attempt to lighten the conversation is futile.

"But when I'm not...y'know."

"Why not get rid of it? You don't need it."

"My age would probably catch up to me. I'm almost fifty, Bruce."

"Yeah me too, but I don't torture myself every day."

The engineer flinches at that.

"You guys forget that I'm the only one on the team without powers. Even Natasha and Barton are genetically enhanced, to an extent. Not to mention fifteen years younger."

"Oh. I never..."

"It's ok."

"Is that really why you keep it? 'Cause..."

Bruce traces his fingers softly around the rim of the defiantly glowing reactor and the swollen red skin that borders it. A war between man and machine.

"I think this pain is ageing you faster, Tones."

He shrugs sees the gears spinning in Bruce's head, whose eyes light up just a little.

"We can figure something out, you know we can. I mean, the team can't really function without you."

Tony grins. Bullshit.

"It's okay, I'll give you my bank account info and you'll be set.”

He mutters, bitterly. Why am I being an ass?

"Tony stop. You know you're more than your bank account."

"Am I?" Tony shifts his posture so his shoulders are facing the scientist. He wanted to hear this. 

"Yeah, Tony," the man says softly.

"Yeah, of course you are. Why would you-you're the glue. Not just financial support. Whether you had all this..."

The scientist gestures toward the room, to all of The Tower.

"Or just the clothes on your back, you'd still be more than enough."

Tony cocks his head and crosses his arms defiantly.

"Bullshit."

"No, Tony, you know what's bullshit? This."

"That's a very broad statement, B-"

"The reactor, the drinking, staying up all night and trudging through the house like a zombie, punching yourself in the chest-yeah, you thought I didn't know?"

Tony's face pales.

"You weren't-I don't-"

"Save it."

The billionaire shrivels a little, to his exasperation. Things had never been so heated, so charged between them. 

"I'm sorry," the scientist says.

"It's fine." He mutters.

"Just stop...you're slowly killing yourself, you get that, right?"

Tony nodded, struggling to keep the tears at bay that had been brewing behind his eyes for months.

I’m not gonna fucking cry, not now. What the hell?

"You know what happens when you take the arc reactor out for prolonged periods of time, right?"

He nods again, but he's reminded anyway.

"The shrapnel, every time you move, it gets closer and closer to your heart, cutting through the protective tissue that's grown around i-"

"I know!" Tony snaps.

"I know..." he repeats, cradling his head.

"Then why don't you get rid of it?"

"I-don't know, Bruce-I know, but I don't know."

He sighs.

”I just...it’s killing me, and I know I should do something about that, but I just...maybe I should let it happen. Maybe that...wouldn’t be such a bad thing. If I let it. If I just...” 

His voice grows hoarse and wet and he daren’t say more, nearly whispering the last part but Bruce hears.

A lone tear leaks down Tony's cheek, and the scientist holds him close, head in his hair.

"It's okay man, I've been there. Just hold on."

He gulps, desperately trying not to fall apart. He's grateful for Banner's shirt, masking his contorted features. 

God, I’m pathetic. 

It’s not like he wasn’t used to being hugged. Pepper hugged him, Peter hugged him. Rhodey gave him the occasional bro-hug. But this was different. 

This felt protective. 

Bruce plants a soft, friendly kiss in Tony's wild mop of hair, then lets go and stands up with a hand open and reaching out.

"C'mon. Let's getcha something to eat."

"Appreciate the offer, Shrek, but I don't need you to feed me."

The scientist smiles, glad he's feeling just a little better, even if it is an act.

"Now, or I'll tell Pepper.”

"Fine, fine."

Chapter Text

It was Thursday.

This was irrelevant to Tony, who sat at his desk, finishing the last of Natasha's throwing knives. He was fairly certain it was still Tuesday.

The engineer holds his head in his hands and sits up straight again, wrapping the hilt of the blade in a 3D printed grip. It fits perfectly.  

Tony sits back in his new chair (decidedly not a stool) and sips his second mug of irish coffee.

It had been a long day. Nat's spider bite was still sitting on his desk where he left it, days ago. He swore it was watching him. Running a finger through his goatee, he knocks his head back.

Pepper had left for California to visit her sister. Tony knew it was because of him. They'd had a scuffle beforehand, and Pepper said some things she didn't mean.

Tony knew she didn't mean them.

He knew she was wrong.

That he was too much for her to handle, that she was tired of putting him back together every time he breaks himself.

He knew she'd come back and apologise, say that it was the heat of the moment and she had thrown the nastiest thing she could think of at him, whether it was true or not.

‘Tony, I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t mean it, you know how I get. It wasn’t fair of me to-and yeah, you’re a mess but I knew that when I married you and it made no difference to me. It still doesn’t,’  was what she usually said. 

He knew.

But he still couldn't help but take it to heart.

After all, there was some truth to her statements.

What if...

I'm just gonna keep breaking

It won't ever end

That's not fair for her

His mind is swimming and some underpaid shmuck on the TV is trying to sell him a new one. He sends a knife hurtling at the screen, which promptly shuts up.

To "test it out", he tells himself.

"Sir, that's the fourth television you've broken."

"Order another one."

"Sir-"

"What do you care? You're not paying for it, so pipe down."

Tony uses the homing glove he'd made for Nat and holds it aloft. The knife wiggles, dislodges itself from the television and comes flying back at his hand, which is nearly amputated.

"Shit..."

He chuckles at the close call and adjusts the sensors.

Tony’s stomach growls because it’s almost lunch time, and he'd have to go upstairs and eat with the team, and after lunch he'd leave to pick Morgan up from school-no, Pepper took her with.

Pepper left.

Because of him.

What have I done?

She'll be back. He knows she'll be back. But a tiny part of him whispered that she won’t. That she hates him too much. That her plane will go down on the way back as the universe’s way to get at him. That there'll be a birdstrike and the engine will fail, and he'll be too preoccupied with himself to save them. He wouldn’t know they were gone until it was on the news. Just like the rest of the goddamn world. Because that's what he’s really worth to her-just another human to take care of. Tony's breathing quickens and he can't think.

His daughter might die.

And it was all his fault.

Angrily, he throws himself against the concrete wall.

If anything were to happen to her on the way back, it would be his fault.

She wouldn't have gone on that little trip if it weren't for him.

But it's not just Pepper, not just Morgan...

He remembers Rhodey falling from the sky because his suit couldn't save him, and the braces he wears to this day.

He gets up, enables his thruster boots and sends himself flying into the wall. The sickening crack that follow is heard more than felt.

He thinks of Bruce, and all the times the hulkbuster hadn't worked until he'd caused so much damage, damage he still felt guilty about. Because Tony wasn't able to save him from himself.

He staggers to unsteady feet and throws his whole body at the wall again, small cracks starting to form from his metal-encased fist.

He thinks of Peter, how he was shot because his suit-the one Tony had made for him-wasn't enough to protect him.

Oh god, Peter...

Peter who brought him back from the dead, from the battle.

Peter who saved him, and barely saved himself in the meantime.

Peter who risked everything for him.

He rips off the red gauntlet and pounds his bare fist into the wall again and again and again, until he can't even move his fingers and they bend in ways he’s pretty sure they shouldn’t. 

He thinks of when the homing tech in Steve's shield had malfunctioned, and he barely made it out of that Hydra base alive.

Tony slams his head against the wall until spots dance in his vision.

He recalls when Barton had taken a bullet for him. Tony himself was bulletproof in the suit. Clint knew this. But he jumped in front of him by instinct. Because he was a good man. He was a good fighter. A good father.

Everything I'm not.

JARVIS is talking in the distance but Tony can't hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

Without thinking, he grabs Natasha's knife and plunges it into his gut like a spoon into creme brulee, feeling his skin pop grotesquely.

The haze clears and he just stares at his stomach in horror.

What did I just do?

He can taste adrenaline and someone pounding at the door.

No, I can’t taste that. That’s a noise. 

"..ernal bleeding. Sir? Can you hear me? Mr. Stark! I'm letting him in."

Nononononoonononononononononononono

"Hey Tony, I brought you some lunch. Get this-Steve put it on an actual silver platter. He thought that was very funny. I told him he was an asshole."

Goawayyy

"Tony?"

He flounders, trying not to breathe as the blade tears him apart. His breaths are raspy and wet. 

"Hey, are you ok? Where are you? He was kidding, Tony. It was a jo-oh my god."

There's a clatter as Bruce all but drops the tray onto a nearby table and footsteps as he runs toward him.

"No no no...Tony, what happened?"

He blinks the tears away from his eyes.

"Okay, in my defense, I'm a little bit tipsy," he croaks.

"Tony, Jesus, you did this?"

"I'm okay, really."

"What the actual fuck? No, you're not okay, you just stabbed yourself! Why would-"

"I was frustrated. Couldn't think.” His stomach lurches painfully and he gasps. 

“By the way, tomorrow, there should be a package at the door. Just so you know. It's not a bomb, you don't have to check it-I killed the TV again."

"I-I'm gonna go get Dr. Cho."

The scientist runs off and Tony just slumps against the wall, useless.

When he wakes up, he's laying on his side in his bed. The sun is setting and it's beautiful.

The engineer yawns, immediately regretting it.

The fuck?

He looks down at his stomach and sees the bandages.

Oh yeah...

Tony laughs a little, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"God, I'm an idiot," he mutters out loud. To his surprise, there's an answer.

"No shit sherlock."

"Banner, get out of my room."

"Not a chance."

"I'm gonna jack myself off with a stuffed cat."

A pause.

"Nice try."

"Dammit, that usually gets people to leave me alone."

"Even you aren't that freaky, Tony."

He shrugs and giggles a little as if to say ‘well, you don’t know that’, earning a snort and an eye roll from the scientist.

He glances over to the man sitting next to him on the bed with his legs crossed, a book in his lap. He’s watching him over the rim of his dorky glasses.

It strikes Tony how subtly handsome the guy is.

He rolls over on his back and groans.

"Fuck..."

"Yeah. Apparently, a wall attacked you."

Tony grins.

"Uh-huh. A really mean wall. It stabbed me too."

The engineer sits up and cushions his back, grabbing his watch from the nightstand and squinting at the time.

"Huh...5 pm."

"You napped for a while."

Tony makes a face.

"What."

"Don't say nap. Makes me sound like Morgan."

"Okay, fine. Your very manly siesta."

He nods in approval.

"Better."

"So...wanna tell me what the fuck happened?"

"I was bored. And pissed."

"Uh-huh."

"Seriously. I just...drifted off, brain going a million miles a minute. You know how it is."

"So you decided to stab yourself?"

"Don't be an asshole."

"I'm not."

Tony sighs.

"I don't want to talk about it, but I'm sorry I wasn't able to get to you in time whenever the Other Guy went all Wreck-it-Ralph on the city. That must have been tough to deal with."

"It's fine, I'm used to it."

"Mm."

The scientist smiles into his hand.

"Did you-did you just reference a children’s movie from 2012?"

He glares daggers at him.

"Gimme a break, I have kids."

Bruce wipes the condensation from his glasses and Tony smirks.

It's quiet for a second.

"Earth's mightiest hero." He whispers. Not in a pathetic way, but more of a ‘Huh, Earth’s mightiest hero. Is that so, motherfucker?’

Bruce grins.

"Duh. Don't let it get to your head. Now come on, we gotta get downstairs for dinner."

He heaves himself out of bed and Banner stays right where he is; Tony can tell from his eye movement that he's speedreading through the rest of the chapter.

Grabbing a RATM shirt from his closet, he stalks off to his en suite to change.

Tony tries to pull his shirt off, but the cast on his arm makes it impossible.

"Come on..." He mutters.

Well, SHIT.

"BanNER?"

He hears the book drop and rapid footsteps, noting how quickly Bruce was willing to drop everything to help him.

The scientist shows up in the doorway, curly hair all messed up and his glasses just a little bit askew.

"Hey. I erm....I need your help. With my shirt. I can't...."

Tony's cheeks flush a beet red, and Bruce smiles.

"Yeah, no problem."

"It's just-the cast thing, and my range of motion is inhibited by-I can't really lift my-y'know, and, um-"

"Tony, it's fine. C'mere."

He holds his arms out a little while the scientist lifts the shirt over his head from behind him.

Oh god, how am I going to shower on my own?

I'll figure it out. No way in hell am I gonna let someone bathe me. This ain't a goddamned senior center.

"Oh wow..." he breathes.

"What?"

"Mirror, look in the mirror."

Tony steps in front of the large mirror that covers the wall above the sinks, ignoring his haggard expression and tired eyes to turn around and look over his shoulder. His skin is mottled with bruises all in varying shades of purple, yellow and deep, deep blue.

"Huh. That looks pretty sick," he jokes.

"Tony, don't ever do something like this ever again."

"Yes mom...."

"I mean it."

Bruce says, grabbing the new shirt and pulling it gently over Tony’s head.

"I know," he murmurs.

He turns to leave, and the billionaire clears his throat.

"Thanks. Banner..."

"Yeah, don't mention it."

He splashes his face with water and brushes his hair back, then slides on slippers and meets Bruce at his bedroom door.

"You ready?" The man asks, as if eating dinner with the team were such a momentous occasion.

So Tony just furrows his brows at him before softening, sliding past him to head down the sprawling staircase.

"Yeah."

The scientist sighs and closes the door, follows Tony down to the kitchen.

"Hey assholes, I'm back. Let the celebrations commence!"

Bruce smirks, hearing his voice ring out from below.

"Where’s the champagne? The dancers? Y’know what, I might just go back to bed. You guys are disappointing."

He can practically hear the eyes rolling. 

Dinner is plagued by joyous conversation, but a dark muslin blanket of concern rests over everyone's heads, only noticeable when it's quiet.

"So, you wanna talk about it?" Steve asks, during one of the rare breaks in conversation.

"Not particularly, no."

"Ok."

He leaves it at that, much to Tony's relief. Bruce keeps eyeing him from across the table. Concern clouds his features, though he tries not to let it show. But he sees him, brow creasing every time he thinks Tony's not looking.

Wanda washes up the dishes using her telekinesis, and her complaints are heard in a far corner of everyone’s minds. Steve and Bucky are conversing in hushed tones by the fridge.

They're going to make me talk about it.

What did happen down there?

Tony's abs ache under the bandage and his thoughts are interrupted by something hot and smooth tapping his clenched hands. He unfurls his splint-clad fingers to accept the steaming espresso Vision is handing him. He'd changed back to his "human" form, appearing to be an ordinary man.

"Thanks."

The warm porcelain stings the slowly healing, shallow crescent scratches on his palms from his fingernails.

He looks down to see four perfect bruises on each palm, scoffing at himself.

Cut it out, you angsty prick.

Soon enough, everyone is lounged around the TV. Wanda is levitating popcorn into Natasha's mouth, and Tony feels like he's shrinking when Bruce slings an arm around his shoulders on the couch.

As the movie progresses, he instinctively leans into Bruce, settling under his embrace.

He doesn’t know why and he certainly doesn’t know how, but for the first time in his life, a very alien thought comes to mind.

Things might be okay.

Chapter Text

~the next day~

"Tony, we need to talk about this. Properly."

"See, I knew you weren't taking me out just to be nice!"

He grins, but Bruce is dead serious.

"Tony..."

The engineer looks moodily out the window, signature sunglasses shielding his eyes.

"Is it really necessary to remove it as often as you do?"

He continues scrutinising the smudged glass as if it were the most interesting thing in the café, muttering something about repairs.

"Is that seriously all you’ve got in your arsenal? It can’t possibly need repairs that often."

"How would you know?"

"I don't, but that sounds like a pretty shitty excuse if you ask me."

Tony relents and puts his espresso down on the table with a clink, turning to face the hundred-and-eighty pounds of grim determination and pure dork that sits across from him.

"Nobody’s asking you, I certainly wasn’t, and I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself."

"Tell me it's necessary."

"Not sure if you've noticed, but I radiate unnecessary, therefore-"

He stretches, groaning a little as his joints pop.

"Therefore you'll find it sufficiently challenging to pinpoint a specific-"

"Cut the bullshit, Tony."

"Why do you keep asking?" He demands, eyes narrowed, not missing a beat. 

Bruce stares at him incredulously.

"Because I care about you!"

A couple of people around the room glance at them.

"We all do, Tony." His voice is a little hushed now, and neither of them is sure whether he’s saying that because he means it, or to hide the fact that he just proclaimed his heartfelt concern for Tony-perhaps a little too heartfelt.

It's quiet for a moment before Bruce decides to break the ice.

"You're doing it on purpose, aren't you?"

No reply.

"Does it really hurt that much?"

The accusing tone of his voice morphs rather rapidly into concern.

"Yeah." Tony squeaks out.

"JARVIS told me you were...pressing on it. Hurting yourself."

fuckfuckfuckityfuck

Tony clears his throat, straightening up. 

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I deserve it," he snaps.

Bruce's brow furrows.

"No you don't, Tony. No you don't. You didn’t deserve it when you were selling weapons to kill people, when you were a sex-crazed, booze-fuelled lunatic fucking every woman you set eyes on. Now what the hell could possibly make you think you do now?"

"Nice speech. You practice that in front of a mirror?"

"I'm serious."

"Are you now."

"Yeah, and as a matter of fact I need you to be serious as well. You're hurting yourself."

"So?"

"That’s bad, and I give a shit. More than you think. And I need you to stop it. You could make this better for yourself and you know it. There are a million different ways you could fix this."

He gestures toward Tony's chest.

"But I like it," he argues.

"What, being a literal deus ex machina or the pain?"

And there it is, that tiny glimmer of potential humour that could be his way out. Tony takes it.

"Bit of both. I’m sorry, did you just imply that I’m god?”

"Shut up. You don't deserve this."

He giggles.

"Oh, but I do."

"No, Tony. Would I be here if you did?"

"Ha. You got a crush on me, or something?"

It was meant as a joke, but Bruce starts blushing like a goddamned anime chick.

"Oh my god Banner, I was kidding."

"I know,” he insists, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

"Don't waste your time. I'm not worth it. Really. So just do us both a favour and forget about-about this. Me."

"You and I both know that's not gonna happen."

He gets up abruptly and thumbs through his wallet, tossing a credit card onto the table.

"I'll be in the car."

He walks swiftly out the door and practically runs to his car in the alley, watching it unfold from its compacted form.

Tony scrambles inside, slamming the door. He sighs.

"GodDAMNit!" He screams in frustration, and leans back in his seat.

"Why can't he just let me be…"

He beats his fists against his chest like a lunatic, not realising until the pain hits him in waves. Tony’s body contracts in the pale leather seat, shaking, choking, wishing he were dead. He doesn't even notice when Bruce is sitting next to him.

The scientist reaches across the console and does his best to pry his hands away from his chest over the divide. Tony hits a few buttons and it flips over to make a bigger seat/couch thing, not unlike an old station wagon. He’d built it in there in case he ever lost his shit and took off just to find himself with zero gas in the middle of nowhere. It had happened before.

Bruce scoots over and holds him. It's a quiet, primal thing and Tony can’t shake the feeling that he’s suddenly smaller than he was before.

A single, defiant-and very manly, Tony would insist-creeps down his cheek and he lets it, still hiding behind his shades. Bruce takes them off to reveal red and puffy eyes. The rest of his face betrays nothing.

"Happy now?" His voice cracks a little, and his face darkens in a manner Bruce isn’t quite sure faces should be capable of.

He runs a rough palm over his face and lifts a hand to the arc reactor.

"This needs to go."

Tony puts his hand over his softly, and pushes down. His jaw flexes and his eyes squeeze shut, stifling a pitiful groan that dies in his throat.

He yanks his arm back.

"What the hell? Don't do that!"

"Sorry that was..." He mutters.

God, I sound pathetic.

"It's not healthy. Please, please stop. If not for yourself, for me."

"Bold of you to assume I care about you."

Bruce just smiles.

"I don't need to assume anything."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes it is."

"What are you insinuating, Broccoli Boy?"

"What are you hoping I'm insinuating, Tin Man?"

They were millimetres apart, noses almost touching.

"Well?" Bruce asks.

Tony catches the distinct scent of spearmint on his breath.  

He knew this was going to happen...

It's quiet, and just a little bit awkward.

I thought we agreed we wouldn't let this happen. I thought we agreed not to hurt him too.

Tony leans in and kisses waiting lips, and he means it more than any kiss he ever shared.

More than the blur of women he'd made out with in his thirties, more than his girlfriend back in high school, more than Pepper...

"Oh god, Pepper..."

Bruce is the one to pull away first.  

"Right, Pepper."

The two men sit as far away as possible, the scientist fiddling with his hands in his lap.

When Tony wants something, he finds a way to get it, and if something’s in his way, he finds a way around it. It’s what he does. So it’s no surprise when he recalls that time Pepper had an affair with Aldrich Killian. How they fought. How she'd said that she wanted it to be okay for them to love other people. How he wanted that too, but refused to agree with her because dammit he was fired up, and how can he win an argument if he's agreeing with the other side?

But what if she doesn't want that? What if she was just saying it in an attempt to defend herself; grasping at straws?

"Fuck it," he says out loud.

"Gimme a minute, okay?"

Bruce looks really worried.

"Cool it, Cabbage Kid."

"Why do I always have to be a vegetable?"

Tony flips him off, and he chuckles nervously.

The man walks about twenty feet down the alley and taps his glasses. 

"Call Pepper."

There's a ringing.

"Hey, is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I'm-I'm good. How's Morgan?"

"Great, yeah. We just went to see a movie."

Her voice is like silk and sand, the perfect mixture of huskiness and girlish melody. He tries not to think about it. 

"Nice. Uhm...y'know when you slept with Aldrich, and umm..."

There's a sharp inhale on the other end, but he continues.

"And you said it would be okay if I-if we both-because, y'know, you never got to see me a lot because...work, and I never got to see you, and you got-"

"Yes, you have my blessing to sleep with Bruce."

"Y’know what you’re right, I shouldn’t have brought it up and just because I’m annoyed that you left, and I’m just mad at myself and I’m so-wait a minute, say that again?"

"Yes."

"Yes to what?"

"Yes, to Bruce."

"How could you have possibly known? I didn’t even know until-you're being sarcastic, aren't you. Aren’t you?”

"No, I’m serious. I gotta go, Morgan wants to know why we can’t eat the giant bean mirror."

"Wait,” he puts a hand up like she can see him.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. And by the way, this in by no means implies that I don’t love you because I do, you know that I do.”

And damn it, he can feel her smile.

“I know.”

Beep .

Tony takes his glasses off and folds them in his pocket.

I can't believe she meant it…

Did she mean it?

He turns back to the car. Bruce is gazing solemnly out the window, chewing on his thumbnail in the same manner he denied ever having done only three nights ago. 

His olive complexion is tinted greenish by the glass of the windshield, and his eyes dart nervously about. The space behind Tony’s cheeks flushes with something warm.

Yeah, she meant it.

He climbs into the car and the barrage of apologetic verbal diarrhoea begins instantaneously. 

"Listen, I'm sorry, that was...inappropriate, I mean...you have a family, and it wasn't fair of me to take advantage-I mean, you're obviously not feeling great, so-"

He prattles on and Tony just puts the car into gear and pulls onto the road.

“And I never thought it would be reciprocated but obviously this situation is-are you even gonna say anything?”

Tony smiles.

"Y'ever heard of an open relationship?"

Bruce's face settles, his eyes twinkling just a little.

"Oh,” he breathes.

"Yeah."

"Okay,” he frowns at the door handle like he’s trying to imagine how that conversation went down.

"Yep."

"Wow."

"Uh-huh."

Bruce jitters in his seat, leg bouncing wildly.

"So how long have you felt that way?"

Tony asks, nonchalant as ever, cursing himself as the question seems to catch him off guard. 

"Um...I don't know. A while, I guess."

Neither of them are used to Bruce sounding so uncertain, especially when it comes to knowing stuff. Knowing stuff is kind of his thing.

Come to think of it, it’s a thing they share.

"Do you..."

Tony nods.

"Yeah, I just...Pepper. And I didn't think you'd...y'know. I had my suspicions,"

He smoothly turns a corner and expertly stamps down any emotion that tried to crawl its way into his voice. 

"But I didn't want to hurt you."

"Tony, why would you think that?"

"You've met me, right? Unintentionally hurting people is my modus operandi, darling.”

Bruce rolls his eyes.

"You fucking liar." It’s like, the meanest thing Bruce has ever said to him and true to form, his tone holds no malice. In fact, it’s accompanied by a smile. 

They drive for a few minutes, and there’s a rattling sound that grows louder and louder.

Bruce frowns. 

“Can you hear that?”

“Oh god...they said auditory hallucinations was stage two...Brucey Bear, I’ve got some terrible news-“

He gets a playful punch to the arm.

“Shut up, Stark, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, the exhaust is misaligned.”

“How’d that happen?”

Tony rubs his neck and raps his fingers against the wheel.

“I may have kicked it.”

“Tony!”

“I was frustrated!”

Bruce shakes his head and notices that they’re outside the city. 

"Where are we going?"

"A dilapidated barn in a remote location, where you will be sedated and in exactly eight hours and eleven minutes, you will wake up with no memory of the past week on an abandoned atoll used for testing nuclear weaponry by the Cubans in the eighties, surrounded by evil crow people, armed with nothing but a volleyball named Wilson and a handheld air pump.”

“Wilson’s a bit derivative, can I name it Josh?”

“No.”

“Susan?”

“We’d have to discuss it with the volleyball in question.”

“Antonio?”

“Absolutely not.”

——————————————-

Tony drives until they reach a steep hill. The corvette does some funky shit so it can go offroad, and the two end up on a rocky cliff thing that shows an impressive view of the city.

He jumps out, walks toward the drop off and plops down on the ledge, patting the spot next to him with legs dangling down. Bruce approaches and cautiously sits cross-legged, wary of the ground below the precipice. 

Tony stares down as if there were a ball pit, or a swimming pool. And not...Y’know. Possible death.

Bruce clears his throat.

"So?"

"So...what?" Tony asks

"There's gotta be a story behind this place."

"Nope."

"Oh come on. Nothing?"

"Really. Nothing."

"It doesn't mean anything to you?"

"No. I pass it when I'm driving into the city, always swore I'd go on a picnic or something with Pepper and the kids. But I never got around to it."

"Huh."

"I guess we can make it mean something, then." Bruce murmurs.

"Yeah."

Tony leans toward the edge a little more, mesmerised by the stray garbage blowing in the wind below them. His weight starts to shift.

"-ony. Tony stop it."

He snaps his gaze up.

"Mm?"

"You were about to fall."'

"No I wasn’t.”

“Yeah you were”

“I’m an adult human being, I’m more than capable of preventing myself from plummeting to my death.”

“And I’m someone who cares for you and I wish I could believe that.”

“Well fuck you,” is all Tony can manage. 

“Only in my dreams,” Bruce grins.

“Goddammit,” he laughs.

They talk for hours, taking proud linguistic strides into what the future may hold, for them and for the economy, for the avengers, and curiously enough-the wild Javan Rhinoceros. 

“They’re dying!”

“Aren’t we all?”

“I’m serious, they’re one of the most critically endangered species on the planet. Only sixty-seven of them are still alive, Tony. Sixty-seven!”

“There’s only one of me!”

Bruce nods sadly. 

“Yeah, and at least rhinoceroses are scary and tough…”

Tony scoffs. 

“Says the man with the social skills of a seven year old girl!”

“Really? Because I recall a certain somebody who ran away because a pretty girl at a party asked him to go home with her.”

“She was mean!” 

“No, she was flirting with you.”

”In a mean way, Bruce.”

The sun sets on the two and Tony finds himself in wiry arms, sunk into the hollow of Bruce’s torso.

Gradually, the arc reactor digs into the hard plaster cast on his arm. Bruce doesn't even realise what's happening until Tony's grip on the hem of his trousers tightens like a vice. All of his weight presses into his chest, voice creaking.

"Tony, why didn't you-I'm sorry-"

"It's ok. M'okay."

"If that happens again, you gotta tell me."

He nods groggily and yawns, relaxing again. 

“Now shuddup and be a good pillow.”

"Does it still hurt?"

Tony nods softly.

"Scale of 1-10?"

"Six," he murmurs. He's drifting into sleep.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry." Bruce shuts his mouth after he says it, glad Tony's half asleep.

"S'ok."

They remain like that for a long time, until the evening wind bites. Bruce carries him to the car and drives them back to the tower. He’s still out cold when they get to the parking garage underneath and he leans heavily on Bruce as they wait for the elevator.

“How long has it been since you last slept, Tony?”

He just nuzzles his face into Bruce’s shoulder.

“Tony?”

“I dunno, like, four?”

“Four days?”

“Fo’rhinos.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

Tony’s bedspread was pristine and looked like it hadn't been slept in for a long time.

Bruce helps a woozy Tony into bed, taking off his shoes and jeans and before climbing in next to him. He stays on the other side of the bed, on top of the comforter out of respect, covers his legs with the thin blanket that sat at the foot of the bed.

————————————————

He wakes up clinging to Bruce like a fucking baby koala. Tony groans, rolling onto his stomach next to the sleeping scientist. The pain in his chest is just a dull throb, and it wakes him up in a slow, torturous way. Until he bumps it, nearly falling off his mattress-it’s fast and torturous, then.

He sighs.

I smell awful.

He creeps into the bathroom, reaching to take off his t-shirt, but wait-

"Shit," he seethes.

Tony tiptoes to Bruce and stands next to him, thinking.

Yeah, but we're a thing now. Not really. A something. Not sure what.

He climbs onto the bed and sits back on his heels next to the slumbering scientist, placing a hand on his cheek. He realises why Pepper always did that-there's something calming about caressing the face of someone you admire. He feels so much bigger, so much stronger.

"Hey, Bruce?"

Tony murmurs.

"Mm?"

"Morning...sorry to wake you, I uh...I can't really get my shirt off again. I require assistance.”

Even barely awake, Bruce's eyes crease in understanding.

"’Kay."

The engineer sits where he is, contemplatively perched on the still-crisp linen comforter while Bruce wanders off into Tony's bathroom.

Rough hands trace over his arc reactor. He decides not to mess with it, though it's tempting.

He doesn't really want the pain, not right now.

How the fuck am I gonna shower?

Tony can hear the sound of the bathtub filling-only the third time it ever had.

He gets up and walks into the bathroom, where Bruce is layering towels over the back of the tub and mixing concoctions of moisturisers and bubbly soap he bought years ago as decoration. Hey, at least it looked like he took care of himself. 

"What are you doing?"

Bruce spins around.

"Huh? Oh yeah, you gotta bathe at some point. For all of our sakes."

"Fair point, but there's no way I'll be able to manage with this thing." He wiggles his broken arm and winces a little at the bone-deep ache.

"Yeah well, what are friends for," he says, and retreats to Tony's closet again, returning with a bathrobe and slippers. The engineer's eyes widen a little.

Wait a fucking second, he's gonna do what now?

"Uhm Bruce, I can bathe myself, thanks."

"No you can't."

Tony shrugs.

"Okay maybe I can't, but like-"

"Don't be embarrassed, it's fine. This shit happens. You're not old."

Damn, that was on the nose. I really need to stop letting people know me.

Tony struggles to find an argument. 

With a defeated sigh, Bruce moves around to help him remove his shirt.

"Wait!" Bruce shrieks.

"What?"

He shuffles toward the tub and sticks his finger in.

"Banner, what in god's name are you doing?"

"Checking the temperature," he explains. Tony rolls his eyes, and continues to strip.

"Um."

"Oh, you want me to-yeah, I'll uh-yeah."

The scientist turns around awkwardly and closes his eyes while Tony removes his underwear with reasonable difficulty, and clambers into the tub, reclining against the plush towels, surrounded by bubbles.

"Can I turn around now?" Bruce asks innocently.

Aww

"Uh yeah, obviously. I mean, I'm not that ugly."

The scientist splashes water at him and pulls up a stool behind the tub, lathering shampoo through his messy hair.

He feels uneasy at first-not having been in this position since he was like, three, being washed by his nanny.

So he props his casted arm up on the rim of the tub and tilts his head back to relax against the fluffy turkish towels, knowing that he was probably getting soap on Bruce's pants. 

"Why are you doing this?" He asks inquisitively, successfully killing the automatic accusatory tone in his voice that always seems to creep up. He gazes at an upside-down Bruce, who gently closes Tony's eyelids to keep out the soap.

"Because I care about you, dumbass."

The man smiles, relishing the feeling of fingers massaging his scalp. He still doesn’t get why, though.

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why do you care?"

"Why does Pepper care?"

"Because I kind of...manipulated her, for years. I mean, I was her boss. I'm like, unabashedly flirty for no reason in particular. And I’m a better person when I’m around her and I guess that guy might be appealing? And I guess she fell for me, poor thing. But why do you?"

Bruce sighs.

"First off, that bit about Pepper is bullshit, and you know it. Second, you’re a great guy. You know that too. But the problem is, while you know that, you also seem to think that you're just...awful. But you're wrong."

"Yeah," Tony hums in contentment. He agrees, but isn't quite sure he believes.

Bruce unhooks the little shower head from the holder on the bathtub and fumbles for a moment before he successfully switches it on.

"It's ok, I can do it," the man protests.

"Shut up and scoot forward," he says, but Tony can hear the teasing smile in his voice.

Bruce tenderly rinses the shampoo out, putting a hand at Tony's hairline to keep it from running into his eyes.

He lifts the unbroken arm and lathers it in soap, then rinses it off as well.

Bruce slowly works his way down to his back, and the engineer winces at the pressure on his bruises and broken ribs.

"Sorry...it's okay...you'll be fine," the scientist murmurs intermittently, trying to gauge his pain, knowing he won't give any indication he's hurting. Bruce works his way down until he reaches Tony's hips, frowning at the strange marks that criss cross across his left and lower stomach.

"What...what happened?"

They were wide and shallow, not at all like scars from a knife. More like the skin had been scraped away time and time again. The ribbons of scar tissue were joined by dozens of small, tiny dots. Bruce nudges his shoulders to turn him around to face him, and Tony doesn't even try to resist. There are countless more, dappled across his stomach like constellations.

"Tony..."

He thought there might be cuts, might be bruises, might be something like that, but this was just downright confusing.

The engineer stares at the swirling water in front of him.

"I uhm...pens. And nails. And needles and pencils, pins, and uhm...yeah. And then there were fingernails. I uh...yeah. I was a teenager, and this guy...oh god."

Tony's face freezes and the scientist holds him, forced to watch as the strongest man he's ever known just...shatters.

Not on the outside, no, that would be too human. Just the way his bones seem to crumble and his face slackened, like all that remained was skin and whatever was going on behind his eyes.  

The brilliant man mumbles incoherently about feeling dirty, this guy was awful, and then his dad, and get me out of here please, Bruce, why would you leave me here… he felt tainted, and his mom was...and there was screaming, and there was so much pain, and…

The worst part was that he should have been screaming. He was pissed-and from the sound of things, rightfully so. But all that made it past his stiff lips were whispers. Bruce wonders if perhaps that’s all that was left.

He gulps.

He felt dirty? Tainted?

His suspicions made his blood boil, but he doubted he’d ever get the chance to exact vengeance. Tony’s probably already done it himself.  

The engineer sniffles and composes himself, sitting up.

"You wanna talk about it?"

He shakes his head.

He contemplates things for a moment.

"Is the guy still alive?"

Tony smiles, and shakes his head.

"Good." With that, the scientist starts washing his shoulders and chest, carefully shielding the reactor and propping his casted arm up on the rim of the tub.

"It's waterproof, right?"

Tony nods.

"Well...kinda."

Bruce's eyes widen.

"It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine."

"You won't get electrocuted?"

"Probably not." He grins like an idiot, 

glances at his chest hair and frowns.

"Jesus, I look like a wookiee."

In a flash, Bruce is gone and back with shaving cream.

"Where are your razors?"

Tony gulps.

"It's really not necessary," he protests.

"Okay, I guess I'll have to tear through your shit to find them," he teases.

"Under the sink. Bottom right drawer."

Bruce comes back with a little bag with shaving necessities, along with multiple deconstructed razor attachments.

Tony worries his lip a little, hoping he didn't notice.

Bruce clicks one of the razor heads onto the handle and leans Tony back, ditching his pants and climbing into the tub in his boxers and tank top.

Tony just frowns amusedly at his attempt to be swift-there was water splashing onto the floor and Bruce is struggling not to slip and fall on his ass. Tony giggles and they both laugh. 

He settles down in front of him and covers his chest in shaving cream, rubbing it in soothingly.

"You really don't need to do this."

"I want to."

So the engineer relents, feeling the blades run smoothly over his skin, knocking his head back and closing his eyes. The only sounds are the water and Bruce humming under his breath.

If only it had stayed that way.

"Where are they?" The scientist asks. Tony twitches with dread.

"Mm?"

"The blades, Tony. From the razors. Where are they."

Bruce dips the razor into the water and wipes the shaving cream and hair off on a wash cloth before returning to his work.

"Tony."

"I don't-"

"You gotta tell me."

"I forgot."

"No you didn't."

"Fine. Behind the painting over the toilet."

Tony's eyes are still shut and his pulse is racing, and he can practically feel Bruce nod.

He knows they won't be there soon.

"Did you..."

"Never got the chance," Tony says.

"Ah."

"Yeah. Seemed kind of pathetic."

"It’s not pathetic Tony. Anything but."

They both sigh and Bruce rinses his chest off with water, then leans against the wall of the massive tub next to him.

Tony feels so empty, so alone.

Fuck it, he thinks, and moves over to sit next to Bruce, resting his head on his shoulder.

The water sloshes and laps against the sides of the tub but neither of them cares.

He closes his eyes and listens to the scientist's heart thump through his thin cotton tank, the water around them growing cold, but Bruce doesn't radiate quite enough warmth and Tony swears he won't start shivering.

He shivers a little anyway and Bruce silently wraps his arms around him.

"I love you," Bruce whispers.

He's smiled at fondly by the face connected to the body in his embrace.

"And it is entirely possible that I have developed feelings that may be construed as ‘love’ in regards to your personage as well."

He smirks. 

They stay there like that for awhile, but Tony shakes like a leaf and Bruce gets up and holds out a big, fluffy towel and wraps him up in it like a human burrito.  

Bruce helps him into sweats and hoodie.

He leaves the engineer in bed with his laptop and leaves to rinse off himself, taking the little bag from the painting over the toilet with him, to Tony's chagrin. He returns surprisingly fast.

"That was quick."

"Yeah."

Bruce jumps into the bed like a giant puppy and nearly sends the laptop flying. 

He grins, face little more than an inch away from Tony's. It's quiet.

"Good afternoon," Tony mumbles.

Bruce giggles and kisses him, his muscles tensing just a little bit before leaning into it. Bruce's lips taste like creme brulee and tiramisu.

They lovingly wrestle each other, Tony trying to go farther but Bruce stopping him.

"Hey, you've got broken ribs, remember? Don’t wanna puncture a lung."

Don’t I though?

"Ugh."

The scientist grabs a book and Tony finishes drafting the email to the regional director in LA.

At some point he gets too hot and casts aside the jacket. Bruce can't help but stare at the white and purple speckles on his abdomen. He knows he's making him uncomfortable. Instead of looking away, he reaches across Tony to grab the marker off of his nightstand, earning a grunt of annoyance.

He picks the computer off his lap and puts it to the side so he can still use it. Bruce uncaps the marker and puts it to Tony's skin.

"What are you doing?"

He leads the ink around the engineer's tanned torso, expertly avoiding his still-healing stab wound.

"Drawing."

"Yeah, thanks Einstein, but what?"

"Stars."

Tony watches as a surprisingly accurate map of the constellations appears on his marred, speckled skin, under steady hands like trees.

"Let me guess-I'm 'out of this world?'" Tony chuckles.

“I hate you,” he grins.

Chapter Text

It's 3 AM and Tony is alive.

Probably.

He watches the patterns in the ceiling again, pondering whether or not his probable alive-ness is a good thing. His hands fumble for something to do and when cracking his knuckles fails, cautious fingers wander up to the stitches in his abdomen. The skin is so sensitive, merely brushing past it with the palm of his hand incites a burning sensation.

His mind immediately shifts to the irrational and immense guilt he carries, as if he's subconsciously trying to justify his coming painful 'indulgence'. He glances over to the slumbering man beside him and smiles sadly. Thoughts of his parents fuel him when presses down.

His hands squeeze lightly, and the engineer shivers.

There’s a hair clip on the night stand, one of Pepper’s. He grabs it and eyes the strong spring that keeps it from opening. It's unusually hefty for a hair clip.

Can't be too bad, right? He thinks, steeling himself.

Breathing heavily, he takes the clip and lets it snap around the wound.

He screams.

Tony claws at it desperately, but he lacks the dexterity to remove it in his state and it’s teeth are caught on one of the stitches. He writhes around on the bed and stills himself just a little when he feels arms wrap around him.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

Bruce is worried, but it takes him a minute to see the hair clip and the blood leaking from his wound.

"Get it off! Please..." Tony's sobbing now.

The scientist unfastens the clamp and tosses it aside, using the sheets to stem the bleeding.

"Hold that there," he instructs, but it doesn't do much as Tony's hands quake.

He quickly disinfects it and wraps the man's abdomen in a bandage, while the engineer groans in pain at the sting of the antiseptic.

"Breathe. Just breathe."

Bruce holds his hands and presses their foreheads together.

"Shh, it's ok."

"Fuckin’...hurts."

"I know, baby. I know."

Tony rolls onto his side while the scientist quickly tosses the bloodied sheet aside, carefully laying the comforter around the two of them.

The engineer wipes away the tears from his cheeks and clears his throat, his breathing still rapid.

As Tony slowly calms down, Bruce hands him some water, which he sips gratefully.

"Tones...you gotta stop doing this to yourself."

The man squeezes his eyes shut.

"I mean it. You don't deserve this."

Bruce holds him close and kisses the top of his head, taking in the smell of sandalwood shampoo.

"I'm so sorry," Tony murmurs. "So sorry you have to deal with me. I-Pepper could never stomach this, I-"

"I'm glad I was here. God knows what would've happened if I weren't..."

The engineer breathes deep into the other's warm chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. He can't help but fantasize about what might've happened if he had just laid there forever in his bed, tortured by what little she left behind.

"What if you hadn't found me that night in the garage?"

He can feel Bruce swallow.

"Tony...don't-don't think like that. I don't want to-"

"Yeah, but sometimes I feel like...maybe you...maybe you shouldn't have."

Bruce pushes him away, and he immediately regrets his words. The scientist's eyes are wide and crazed, distraught.

"Tony you're everything to me, don't you get that?"

He did, and wished he didn't.

I shouldn't be.

I'm too weak to even properly punish myself.  

The reactor settled into his bones with an old, familiar ache that Tony found he missed.

He hugs Bruce tight like it doesn't hurt, and the scientist reciprocates, only adding to the blinding agony in Tony's chest.

"Ngk...Bruce, ah! Pl-please..."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I..."

He hangs his head, but Tony hooks a finger under his chin.

"Hey, it's ok. It's my fault. I should have said something."

They fall asleep entangled in each other, and for once, Tony feels safe.

Bruce is the first to wake up this time, having heard someone knocking.

"Tony? Tony, it's Nat."

Panicking a little, he nudges a slumbering Tony awake.

"Yeah, coming," he mutters.

The engineer hobbles out of bed, still shirtless, and cracks the door.

"Come downstairs, Cap made pancakes."

Tony nods slowly and rubs his eyes, flinching a little as Natasha's gaze flits down to his stomach briefly before glancing back up to meet his own, shielding her confusion and concern expertly.

Before he can panic and grab a shirt, she turns to leave.

Shitshitshitshitshit she saw

"That goes for Bruce too," she adds, a hint of a smile playing across her lips.

Tony shuts the door.

"How the fuck did she know?" Bruce asks.

Tony shrugs.

"I think we have to accept the fact that with Natasha, secrets are nonexistent."

The engineer retreats to his closet and comes back in jeans, holding a pile of clothes. 

"Which shirt should I wear?"

The scientist rolls his eyes.

"Really?"

"What? I'm thinking navy."

"Why not pink?" Bruce holds up a sculptural, cashmere sweater to the light. It wasn’t really pink, more of a salmon-eque mauve...taupe-y sort of colour. But that’s a bit of a mouthful.

"Huh, I forgot I had that."

"It's gorgeous," the scientist says, noting the hand-woven material with it's little imperfections from human hands and the well-placed stitches that made the material flow and drape across the wearer's abdomen and shoulders.

Tony bounces onto the bed.

"Yeah, but 'couldja get any gayer?"

Bruce smiles and tosses it in his face.

"You're wearing it."

He rolls his eyes. "Fine."

The scientist fits it over Tony's head and fiddles with his hair. Time freezes for a moment between them.

The engineer opens his mouth to speak, but Bruce kisses him teasingly and pulls back, shimmying his tank top over his head and pulling on one of the t-shirts from the pile, while Tony brushes his teeth.

The science bros saunter into the kitchen, earning confused looks from Bucky and Wanda.

"Bruce, where've you been?"

"I uh...I was just..."

"It's okay. We were watching TV in my room."

Bruce lets out a breath he didn't recall holding.

Pancakes are a little cold, wrapped in a kitchen towel.

Bruce looks a bit glum. Out of nowhere, Tony remembers that he loves oranges.

He pulls out a saucepan and heats up some maple syrup, squeezing just a little bit of juice from an orange in the fruit bowl. Bruce watches in fascination as Tony buzzes around the kitchen. Slices of orange are sautéed in butter and mixed with the syrup he end result is a stack of pancakes with warm, orangey maple syrup, garnished with orange zest. Simple, but beautiful.

"What?"

"Just eat. It's the least I could do in return."

Bruce smiles and takes a bite.

"Mm..."

"Good, huh?"

"Yeah-where the hell'd you learn to do this?"

"Culinary school."

"You went to cooking school?"

"I was bored."

The scientist chuckles and holds up a fork laden with pancake up to Tony's mouth.

"Open up."

"No, I'm ok." He sips his coffee contentedly.

"Now, Tony."

"Bruce, I'm really not hungry."

"I guess I'll just have to get it all over your sweater..."

"Ok fine!" He grins and chomps down on the fork with surprising ferocity. Bruce laughs.

"Wow, that's not half bad," he muses.

"See? Told ya."

The scientist continues enjoying his breakfast, feeling just a little bit guilty. He wasn't sure why.

Tony quiets.

"I'm gonna...I'll be in my lab."

He stalks off and Bruce considers going after him, but he figures Tony will need some time alone.

Besides, these pancakes are really fucking good.

"JARVIS, let me know if anything happens, okay?"

"Of course, Doctor Banner."

He knew the AI would let him know anyway, but it occurs to him that he was only asking out loud for peace of mind. He ponders this, settling on more guilt as he hears feet thump down the staircase unceremoniously.

Tony felt numb, which made him feel frustrated. Bruce didn't deserve this.

He taps against the table rhythmically and rests his head, relishing the deep ache of the table's edge in his chest.

"Oh, Bruce..." He murmurs.

He felt awful, hated how sad the man had looked every time he broke down. Tony hated the way he made him sad, hated the way he burdened him. But what he hated even more, was the fact that a little part of him enjoyed it. Enjoyed being taken care of, enjoyed the almost maternal attention and affection he got, enjoyed being protected. It was a stark contrast to the way literally everyone else on this godforsaken rock treated him-cold, indifferent, and a mixture of admiration and loathing. It was okay, though. He made sure it was that way. It was easier. But Bruce...

It made him sick.

Tony bounces a fist on the steel countertop, lacking the energy to inflict any damage on either himself or the table. He messes with one of his gauntlets, and tries to see if he can set his coffee on fire. For some reason. The flames dance between his fingers, and he quickly extinguishes it when he hears the doors behind him slide open.

"Hey."

Tony just grunts.

"Wanna go for a walk?"

"What?"

"A walk. They updated the high line trail."

"No, I heard you, but like...why?"

"Why not?"

"Because there's no point."

"And there's even less of a point to staying cooped up in here. Come on."

"Fine..." He slides off his chair and double taps the finger of the gauntlet. It retracts into a large ring.

"Grab a coat, it's cold."

Tony finds himself sitting on a bench only half covered in bird shit in the middle of December, drinking bland hot chocolate next to Bruce. He's decked out in not just a fleece, but a full blown down comforter of a jacket.

"Tony, it's nearly thirty-eight degrees out."

"Exactly! It's freezing."

"No, it's not."

"Whatever, hot stuff."

"Damn right." Bruce grins, and Tony cradles his forehead in his hand, chuckling.

"Oh my god, are you Tony Stark? Can I take a selfie??"

Tony groans, and plasters his million dollar smile across his chapped cheeks.

"Yeah, sure thing."

Bruce cringes at his performance-the smug smile, the way he barely masked how he flinched away when one of the fangirls' little sister squeezed him in a hug. People started turning around, whispering.

The scientist wraps an arm around his friend's shoulder and they take the closest exit down, quickly melting into the crowd. Tony throws devil horns up in the air as they descend down the stairs, not even enjoying how the people on the platform cheer and reciprocate the hand gesture. Bruce leads him into a small cafe. The woman inside had just flipped the 'open' sign, and was hurriedly wiping down a table.

"You guys are avengers, right?"

Tony doesn't even bother holding back a small sigh, causing the lady's smile to falter. She was older, though, and he thought there was a good chance she wouldn't harass them.

"Yeah, we are. He's uh...he's having a bad day, do you mind if..." He gesticulates, not quite sure what he was going to say next but hoping his hands would do the explaining. She nods and smiles.

"Of course. Sit down wherever you guys want."

"Thanks."

Bruce leads him to a high table near the window, which-in retrospect-was a terrible idea, but the tactic of hiding in plain sight seemed to work in their favour. It helped that the little café was relatively well-hidden.

"You okay?"

"No," Tony admits.

"Sorry about what happened back there."

"It's ok. I'm sorry nobody recognised you," He laughs.

"Yeah...they're probably just used to my greener persona."

The middle-aged moroccan lady from earlier hands them menus.

"Can I get you guys anything to drink?"

"Uhm..."

"I'll have a macchiato. Tony?"

He stares blankly at the table.

"He'll get a cappuccino."

The lady nods, a little concerned but understanding.

"Hellooo? Earth to Stark."

He continues to stare intently at the table. Images swirl in his mind's eye; the battle of New York, Peter disintegrating in his arms. Yinsen. Obadiah, literally ripping his heart out. Rhodey falling from the sky. Sokovia. Freezing after Bucky and Cap walked off, taking his helicopter back home. He remembers sitting on a cliff in the snow, hoping he'd freeze to death before Pepper called him to get his ass back home this instant or else he's grounded. He remembers repairing his thrusters. He remembers crashing in Tennessee and meeting Harley.

He remembers Aldrich Killian. He remembers pain. He feels pain.

"Tony, c'mon. You're going to get hurt, look at me. Tony!" He hisses, and jerks the engineer's chin up to face him.

"Hey," he breathes. Tony gulps.

"Hi."

"You were um...y'know."

The scientist reaches across to pull a shaky hand from Tony's chestpiece. He's breathing hard, too hard. He's not sure why, but he reaches his fingers up to his neck. His pulse is thready and weak, desperately tapping against his hand. It feels like his blood vessels had shrunk.

"Tony, when was the last time you ate?"

He blinks.

"Dunno."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't remember. I'm pretty sure I had an apple when I was down in the garage-oh wait, I had some chicken broth last night."

"Doesn't count. I mean a full meal."

He stares guiltily at the table again, and the waitress walks up with their coffees.

"Thanks," he smiles warmly.

"Bruce shakes his head and flags down the lady.

"Hey, can I get the...toasted walnut waffle?"

"Sure."

"Bruce..." he protests.

"You gotta get your blood sugar up, Tones. That's probably why you're so cold."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, well, I don't care. You're going to eat. Besides, you look like you got hit by a train."

"Pfft. I wish."

Bruce sends him a concerned glare.

"What am I gonna do with you..." he murmurs.

"Kill me," Tony mutters with a chuckle, mostly to himself.

"Tony, come on."

"What??"

"This! Just...just being so miserable. Stop it."

"Huh, wow, I hadn't thought of that. Thank you so much, for your concern, Doctor Banner. I feel considerably enlightened."

Bruce messes with his coffee mug.

"I'm sor-" Tony starts, but Bruce cuts him off.

"Don't."

They sit in silence, and the waffle is brought to their table. The cafe is almost empty, so it was surprisingly fast. Bruce watches him expectantly, and Tony eats a few mouthfuls.

That's...actually really delicious.

He closes his eyes, letting the sweet, caramelly wash over his tongue.

"See? Not so bad, huh?"

The man makes it through about a quarter of the pancake, and returns to staring at the traffic outside.

He stands up abruptly.

"Where-"

"I'm going to the bathroom," he states.

"Don't fucking follow me."

Bruce sighs and watches his lanky retreating frame. He'd shed his parka long ago, and the scientist eyes it.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes?" He answers, from the phone in Tony's pocket.

"How is he?"

"Not well, I'm afraid. Blood glucose levels are dangerously low. He's not sleeping properly again, and he hasn't eaten a full meal in days. His alcohol levels are pretty low, so that's good. But the worst part is the pain. He's in a lot of pain, Bruce."

JARVIS never calls me Bruce. It's always Doctor Banner.

"Where from?"

"Well, you may need to take a look at his abdominal stitches. He's got a migraine, severe contusions to the back and his arm fracture is barely healing at all. Metabolic rate far below normal. He's been pressing on his arc reactor again, and it's starting to have negative effects on the surrounding tissue, not to mention the quite literally debilitating pain that follows. Multiple wounds of varying degrees to the forearm."

Bruce's stomach drops.

"So he's been....doing it again?"

"I'm afraid so. I can't really...I can't quite understand mental anguish, but I know he isn’t functioning at peak performance."

The scientist looks at his macchiato sadly.

"Well, then."

Tears threaten his eyes, and he rests his chin on his laced fingers.

"What am I gonna do, JARVIS?"

"The next recommended course of action would be going to the bathroom immediately and check on him. He shouldn't be trusted alone."

Bruce nods and stands up, wincing at the sound of the chair scraping against the linoleum floor.

He walks down the hall and into the restroom to see Tony’s shoes and legs underneath the flimsy divider of the handicap stall, finding him puking into the toilet. He scratches at the lock to open it from the outside and squats down next to him, rubbing his back. He briefly wonders why it’s what you do when someone pukes-like when you touch your eye, you open your mouth. He shakes his head and focuses on the task at hand. Bruce peers at Tony’s hands-they were dry, so he didn't vomit on purpose. Somehow, that's even sadder.

"Hey, it's okay."

Bruce hands him a wad of toilet paper to wipe his mouth and he accepts gratefully.

He sits back against the wall, his arm propped on his knee and his head knocked back against the cracked tile and the peeling paint. It was a bleak scene. The scientist sits across from him, cross-legged and crisp.

"I told you eating that was a bad idea,” Tony croaks. 

Bruce sighs.

"I'm sorry. But I mean, you gotta start somewhere. Eating disorders are tough, I get it."

He frowns. 

"Eating disorders? What...no. I don't...no. That shit's for like, teenage girls and ballerinas. And-teenage...female ballerinas..." He mutters, desperate for an out because Tony Stark doesn’t have an eating disorder, goddammit. I’m a successful, stable? Fifty year-old, married man. I’ve even got a child. Children. Whatever. I’m  f i n e. 

"Tony it's okay."

"No, it's fucking not. I don't have an eating disorder."

"Okay, fine. Call it what you want, but you got issues, girl."

Toy smiles wryly, and bangs his head against the wall violently.

"What-don't do that."

Silent tears leak from the corners of his eyes and he does it again, nearly making a dent in the drywall. Bruce scrambles to his side and cushions his head.

"Hey, stop that. You're going to hurt yourself."

...multiple wounds of varying degrees to the forearm...

Bruce gulps.

Not now. Now's not a good time.

"C'mon, let's get you out of here."

He helps a wobbly Tony to his feet, and they both wash their hands. Bathrooms are nasty, and Tony sticks his face under the faucet to wash his mouth out.

The billionaire stops by the door, and Bruce pulls him back for a kiss.

"Dude, I just threw up."

"I don't care. I love you anyway."

Tony's cheeks light up like fucking Rudolph's nose.

"Love you too," he whispers.

They return to their table, and Tony wrinkles his nose at the waffle.

Bruce picks up his fork and has a couple bites, then walks to the counter.

"Hey, can I get a smoothie?"

"Sure. Which one?"

"Whatever one's the most like a meal."

She frowns, then turns to the kitchen.

"Let's go home." Tony says.

"Yeah, I ordered you a smoothie. You should be able to keep it down."

The engineer nods, lacking the energy to fight back. A brief memory of the green muck he used to drink back when he was still using palladium cores.

Now I’m just dying from something else.

He clears his throat, like it’ll shut out his thoughts.

"Hey, listen, I'm really sorry."

"What for?"

"My-I'm just such a basket case. You shouldn't have to deal with me, but you do, and I sort of wish you didn't. I'm not your problem, and I-"

Bruce opens his mouth to speak.

"No, let me finish. If I weren't such a piece of shit, if I had locked the damn door, this never would have happened. I'll get better eventually, and I'm sick of being such a pain in the ass, and I just...

“I don't know. Maybe part of me wanted you to find me, and I hate that. I fucking hate that. It's disgusting. I'm...disgusting,” he finishes.

His eyes are red-rimmed and tears threatened to spill over.

"Oh Tony..."

The billionaire rubs his face in his hands, and pulls at his extra-long pink sleeves to dry his face, and his voice is just a little too stuffy to be from the vomiting. 

"Never mind, sorry."

"Don't be. I'm glad you...got that out, no matter how wrong you are. I want to take care of you, Tony. I wish you could see that. This is my choice. I could walk away and not deal with your bullshit, but I won't. Not now, not ever."

"Why?" His voice is cracked and wet.

A warm, rough hand encases his own.

"Because I care about you, stupid. Because I love you, Anthony Edward Stark."

His comforting tone only made matters worse, and it was all too much. He swallows the knot in his throat and the oncoming breakdown.

The woman returns with a thick, berry coloured-smoothie and a warm smile.

"Are you ready for the check yet?"

Tony is grateful she asked Bruce. He didn't think he could handle the interaction.

The scientist nods.

"Yep, thanks."

She returns a minute later with a check and a tissue box, pushing it toward Tony. His heart jumps a little, and he nods in thanks. Her eyes sparkle.

Tony left her two hundred dollars in tips that day. 

That tissue box and her smile-

Tony could still feel her warmth internally. It was almost vexing.

Chapter Text

They walk back to the tower, opting for the much closer main entrance and are immediately assaulted by multiple managers asking Tony questions-about the budget, mainly. He waves them off and steps into his private elevator with Bruce.

He heads straight for the ‘garage’ and plops defeatedly onto the couch, twirling a knife and watching the news.

"CEO and owner of Stark Industries, Tony Stark, was recently spotted on the high line. This picture on a fan's twitter account shows a gaunt-looking Stark, wrapped in an enormous jacket despite it being well above freezing and sunny. Is he hiding an illness? It wouldn’t be the first time, and it is speculated that-"

"FUCK!" He screams.

"Goddammit..."

His gaze wanders to the knife on the couch, and he stares at it intently. It glints in the low light from the TV screen.

"...what is he hiding?"

"Mute." He says, curtly.

"Shit," he swears, and pounds on the reactor.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

He cradles his head in his hands and grabs the knife, pacing around the room.

Calm the fuck down, Tony.

He breathes. Walks over to a table. Drops the dagger and picks it up, rolling up his sleeve and grips it tight, ready to slash all the way down.

I’ll do it this time, I swear. I won’t fuck it up this t-

"...Tony?"

"Bruce. Go. Away. Please..." He chokes a sob and swallows it down painfully as Bruce approaches him, tries to pry the knife out of his grip.

"Tony, put it down. Whatever's wrong, we'll deal with it."

"No..."

He grips the dagger tighter and pokes it lightly against his skin.

"Please, please let me go," he begs.

"Tony. Listen to me. You can't leave Morgan. Or Pepper. Or Peter."

He wraps his arms around him and takes the knife, tossing it out of sight.

Tony collapses in his arms, and they stumble to the couch.

"You can't leave me," he says earnestly, to the huddle of warmth in his arms.

"I'm-I'm so sorry," he cries into his shoulder. Bruce lays down along the couch with Tony curled up on top of him for god only knows how long.

"Can I...can I just work, a little bit? Get my mind off things?"

"I don't know..."

"Please. I won’t do anything stupid."

Bruce sighs and chews his lip. 

He is a grown man...

"Fine. I'll be in the other room. Don't do anything stupid."

This is a mistake, he thinks, letting the door close behind him. Tony sighs, a sad but devilish grin crossing his face.

Idon'twantthisIdon'twantthisIdon'twantthis!

He walks over to his hydraulic press and lays down underneath it.

Why am I doing this?

"Respectfully sir, I think this is a terrible idea."

"JARVIS please. Don't say a word to anyone."

The press starts lowering and Tony breathes hard.

JARVIS was right, this is a terrible idea.

It wasn't so bad when the press made contact with his chest-it was exciting, if anything-until the engineer wanted to escape, but he was frozen.

He slams his hand on the remote button in panic.

The press freezes, and Tony struggles to breathe.

Fucking pussy.

"Okay. Okay, okay okay.."

"Sir-"

"Mute."

He starts the press up again, and the pain is excruciating. He screams, and presses the button. It pins him down and won't stop, it won't stop, and he wants it to end so badly. He drops the remote and it slides across the floor, out of reach. He panics.

can'tbreathecan'tbreathecan'tbreathe

He cries out in agony, screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming.

It's hell. He cries for Pepper, for his mother, for Rhodey, for Obi.

Maybe this is how I die.

ithurtsithurtsithurts

He squirms under the pressure, trying to make himself smaller.

His chest heaves, trying to breathe, trying to breathe. He wheezes. With his last breath, he yells.

"BRUCE!!"

"Help me, please help me..." he chokes.

Rubber-soled feet come pounding into the room and around the corner.

"Oh my god, Tony! How do I stop this thing?"

Tony's flickers, black spots dancing and crowding the edges.

"R-rem-mote," he croaks.

The scientist spots the small device on the ground and spins the speed dial, raising the press as quickly as he can. Tony heaves, the breath in his throat wet and coppery. Bruce is at his side in an instant.

"What the hell were you thinking??"

His chest is still on fire, and he struggles to roll over on his side, coughing up blood. The scientist picks him up bridal style and carries him upstairs to his bed, stripping him down to his boxers and laying him in bed, his head lolling back gruesomely, chin painted red.

"What the fuck, Tony?"

It's then that Bruce notices the arc reactor smoking, cracked and stuck inside his chest cavity.

"Shit...we gotta get this out."

Bruce shuts his eyes, reaches out to his mental roommate. 

"Hulk, I need your help."

"Metal man hurt, metal man broken. Me break metal man?"

"No buddy, you're good. He broke himself."

"No...save Metal Man, fix Metal Man."

"I need your hand, buddy."

"Help Metal Man?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna help him."

Bruce's fist swells up and turns green, his narrow shoulders struggling to hold its weight.

He takes hold of the reactor and pulls, trying desperately not to hurt Tony.

"N-no, Bruce pleeehease...l-leave it, d-on't take it o-hout."

Tony looks up at him with pleading eyes that convey too much. They're begging to leave it in, to let him die, to take care of Morgan when he's gone, begging him to donate his inventions, begging for things Bruce didn't know eyeballs could beg for. The scientist looks down at him with a steely glare and denies his pleas.

It pops out of his chest with a 'zing', and a small shower of sparks. Bruce throws it to the corner.

Tony screams, his chest inflamed and burnt from the electrocution.

"Where's your other one?"

"Down-down-st-stairs, down-stairs, l-leave me."

"Got it."

"H-hurry."

Bruce tears down the stairs, his weight lopsided as his hand slowly shrinks back. He ignores the pain of his bones snapping and twisting back into place in his fist as he runs frantically through the garage, spotting the shiny new reactor on the table. He pops the front panel back into place, hoping to god it'll work. Typically, Tony would be able to make it awhile without the reactor, but he wasn't so sure now...

He bursts into the bedroom with the reactor. Tony's sweating, breathing hard.

"Do I just click it into place?"

He nods.

"Okay."

The scientist climbs onto the bed next to him.

"Tony, this might hurt. I'm so sorry."

He wipes off the small module with his shirt, picks some debris out of the chest cavity and slowly slides it in, hearing it click into place. The reactor glows bluish green, making a whirring sound. Tony smiles sadly.

"Y-you d-don't want to se-e this," he says.

"Shh, I'm gonna be here the whole time."

"No, I want-I can be al-lone, I-gonna hurt, a lot. M'serious. Y-you don't wan-want to be h-h-ere, Bruce."

"Tony, shhh. It's ok."

"No, listen-undern-neath the armoire, there's a g-g-gun."

"Tony-"

"Shut up-if it gets b-bad, I need y-you to d-do it. I need you-I need you to pull the t-trigger.”

Bruce's features contort in horror.

"What? No, I can't do that. You'll be okay."

"I n-need you to do thi-s."

He frowns down at his chest.

"Huh. I d-don't think it's...starting uhh-UUUPPPP! NGGKKKKKKK!"

His body seizes up and he writhes in pain as the electricity shocks through his system, gritting his teeth.

GAAAH!" Bruce squeezes his hand.

"aaAAARHHhhOOWWWWWW, FUCK!"

His breathing slows a little and he looks exhausted, his chest still aching.

He swallows, his mouth dry and whimpers.

"Fuck..."

He's sobbing now, a complete mess. The pain refuses to dissipate.

IwannadieIwannadieIwannadieIwannadieIwannadieIwannadieIwannadie

He tries to catch his breath.

"You okay?"

"It's-ahh-it's like an ass plug for my chest, Jesus, except it's not even fun!"

They both laugh, Tony immediately regretting it as a stabbing pain penetrates deep into his body. Tears leak from his eyes.

"Mmmmmmmmmmithurts."

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry."

"Nah, it's my own-" his breath hitches.

"My own faul-GAHAAAHD, SHIT!"

Bruce wraps his arms around his thin frame, not sure what else he can do.

"It's gonna be okay."

Tony shakes as the pain racks his body, more blood leaking from his mouth.

He feels like he's breaking.

"Bruce it hurts so bad ohmygod, I wanna die please it hurrrrts. Just a-ask Hulk, it'll-ARGH-it'll be p-painless. Please, just...won’t feel a th-thing-“

It's all Bruce can do to keep from crying.

"J-just-gun, undern-neath the-"

He screams and bangs his head against the headboard, grasping and tugging viciously at his necklace.

"Stop, Tony..."

The engineer breaks free of Bruce's grasp and collapses on the floor immediately, crawling over to the window and desperately trying to hoist himself up and out of it. He smashes a picture frame and stabs himself with one of the shards again and again, the paper-thin glass just breaking against his stomach. The scientist's heart breaks.

"Oh Tony," he murmurs, and carries the man back to bed. He doesn't even bother struggling this time.

"Please kill me, please let me leave..." he sobs.

He settles into Bruce's arms, and cries out years of pain into his chest. They stay like that for a brief eternity.

Tony gets up hurriedly, stumbling along the way.

"Where are you going?"

He grunts, and Bruce can hear his toothbrush vibrating and the tap running. He's back quickly, climbs under the covers and kisses the scientist deeply, fisting his shirt.

Bruce savours Tony's lips on his own, but pulls away, reaching his hand under the covers.

Stark giggles.

"Ooooh someone's getting handsy."

The scientist instead grabs Tony's good arm up and into view, revealing the burns and small, gaping sores and splotchy bruises.

"Tony, are you..."

The engineer sighs like he’s being asked to do the dishes. 

"No, Bruce, I'm not on drugs." The sultry smile disappears from his face, and he looked just as drained as he did before. Bruce is mildly horrified by all that his smile was able to hide.

Bruce frowns, sadness flooding his face.

"Oh, Tony...you've got to stop doing this to yourself."

"How'd you get the bruises?"

He clears his throat.

"I attacked the...attacked the edge of the table."

"And the rest?"

“Uh...mminiaturescrewdriver."

"Jesus, Tony. That-that's fucked up. Why would you want to...?"

"Because I...deserve it. I don't really want to. I feel like...for once, I'm doing what I'm supposed to. Getting the punishment I deserve."

"No, Tony, you don't! You don’t deserve any pain; what don't you get about that?"

The engineer presses his lips against Bruce's passionately, rolling over to straddle him.

"Tony stop, you're exhausted. Not right now."

"When, then?"

"When you're feeling better. You need to get some rest."

Tony looks a little shocked.

"Literally no one has ever turned down sex. With me."

Bruce chuckles.

"It's for your own good, Tony."

It's for your own good, Anthony. You're sick, and I just want to help you. You'll see-you'll be bringing home girls in no time!

He swallows.

It's for your own good, Tony. At least now you'll have experience-so you won't be embarrassed your first time. Why don't I get rough and show you why it sucks with a guy and not a girl. Maybe you'll change your mind. I'm just trying to help.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Nononononononono..."

"What's wrong? Tony?"

He thrashes against the covers, pulling away from Bruce and not once turning his back.

"Nonono...don't touch me, please..."

Energy he didn’t have before surges through his limbs and he feels like he needs to run, run for miles. 

"Tony it's me, it's okay. I'm here."

He reaches forward to embrace him, but he flinches away, his voice cracked and quiet, desperate.

"I don't want this, please don't do this..."

Bruce's eyes darken.

"It's alright, Tony. He's dead."

"I don't want you to do this, please don't do this..." He falls off the bed as he scrambles to escape Bruce, hitting the stone floor with a thunk.

"Tony, breathe. You're in the tower, you're safe. I'm here. He's dead. It's four-thirty in the afternoon."

The engineer stops flailing wildly and seems to calm down. His eyes are wandering, searching. They close.

"You okay?"

"Mmm."

Bruce joins him on the floor.

"What triggered it?"

"Just...it's for your own good."

"Oh. Yeah, that did sound a little supervillainy when I said it."

They sit in a comfortable silence, words burning like fresh cut onions on Bruce's tongue.

"If you don't mind...who was it? Did I...did I know them?"

Tony shudders.

"I'm sorry, that was-that was stupid, you don't have to talk."

"No, it's ok. You deserve to know-this may be a recurring problem."

"Oh."

"It was...it was one of my father's colleagues. Four-star general. They'd had a few drinks, and dad let it spill that he was going to send me to conversion therapy. I swing both ways."

It was a little joke of his. In parties, when everyone was too wasted to remember their own names, he’d let it slip that ‘yeah, I swing both ways. I’m just that desperate.’ He’d giggle in the way he always did, and the small crowd around him would, too. Then some random woman, usually named ‘Catherine’ or ‘Margot’ would launch into a grammatically erroneous rendition of Bowie’s Starman or something like it, though once, it was Hamlet. Her name was Emma that time...she was an oddball, but her lingerie and her shoes were coordinated, which he appreciated. Just like his personal mantra, ‘I may not have been an accident, but I sure as hell was a mistake,’ it was only funny when his audience were on the cusp of alcohol poisoning and higher than a kite. Otherwise he just got these pitiful, worried looks-sort of like the one Bruce was giving him now.

Tony swallows back a lump of bile, and something stirs in Bruce's chest.

"So he met me, and conversion therapy is pricey and the only person who could do it was in Ohio, so..."

He laughs dryly.

"So he thought he'd save us the trouble. 'Thought if he beat the shit out of me and...and fucked me to tears, my father wouldn't have to deal with...with the press, mainly. At least, that was his excuse."

"Tony...I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. I mean, I like it pretty rough, don't get me wrong," he teases, eyes glittering at Bruce mischievously.

"But uhm...but not like that. Never like that."

Bruce didn't know how to respond to that. What commiserations could possibly be enough?

"God Tony, I'm so sorry. How did your dad get away with snuffin' him?"

"What?"

"Well, you said he was dead. If I were your father, I would've killed the bastard in a heartbeat."

Tony laughs a little.

"No, no. He died of a heart attack in '92."

"Oh. That's....a frustrating lack of closur-"

"I bombed his grave." Tony blurts.

"Oh. Wait a minute, I remember that. That was you?"

The engineer smiles.

"The one and only."

"They said it was an act of terrorism! There was-I-how in the fuck are you not in prison right now?"

"I have my ways. Besides, word got around to the people who mattered about what he...what he did, so no one really gave a shit when they were investigating. It didn't help that he was an asshole to everybody."

"People found out?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry..."

"It's not your fault. The worst part of it was Howard."

Bruce's eyes darken angrily.

"He blamed me. Said I must’ve been asking for it-y'know, the usual. ‘Oh but Anthony, Armand is a great man. He’d never do something like that’.” 

Tony’s impression of his father sounded alarmingly similar to Mandarin.

 “It pissed him off that this was an issue he had to deal with. But the pity...god, I hated being pitied."

The usual...

The scientist moves forward and holds him awkwardly, and Tony climbs in his lap and settles against him. Bruce holds him tight, but the billionaire swallows a groan.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nnn...still just a little sore; that's all."

Bruce huffs and delicately tries to shorten the distance between them. Two inches felt like a thousand miles.

He holds Tony's face and brings their foreheads together.

"Hey."

"Hi."

The engineer kisses his way down, then stops.

"You have a weird scar on your neck," Tony points out. "What happened?"

"'Tried to hang myself."

Tony splutters.

"What? You don't just...nonchalantly say something like that!"

He shakes his head and leans back into Bruce's warm arms.

"Why?"

Tony nuzzles his face in the scientist's shirt and hopes that it'll be easier to talk, if he didn't have to look at him.

"Hulk. We've made peace, though."

"Did you ever try again?" Where did that come from? Dumbass, you're making him uncomfortable.

"I err....yeah, yeah I did. A lot."

Tony makes a stifled noise.

"Guns, ropes, razors, bridges, skyscrapers, planes...uh, train tracks-I used to have way more fun, back in the day."

The engineer's eyes are snapped open.

Whatthefuck.

Tony starts chuckling.

"What?"

"You are such a fucking hypocrite!"

Bruce smiles.

"Yeah, yeah. That’s why I get you."

They kiss, and it deepens, limbs wrapping around limbs.

Tony makes a muffled scream, shaking.

"What's wrong?"

"Almost crushed to death, remember?"

Bruce's lips are tight.

"Did it have to be that painful?"

"What?"

"Putting the new reactor in?"

Tony grasps for an excuse, but surrenders.

"No. No, I made it that way. Controlled shock upon insertion," he mutters, a dildo joke dying in his throat.

"How do you do that to yourself? That wasn't...I don't think I've ever seen you so..."

"Yeah, you weren't meant to see that. No one was."

"Did you know it would be that bad?"

"Yes and no. I...knew what the amount of energy was quantified, but not the pain. I gotta say, it was pretty intense." He smiles, like he's proud of himself.

"Promise me you won't do that again?"

"I...I can't promise."

"Can you at least try?"

"No, Bruce, I can't."

Frustration piles up in his throat. 

"Why not?"

He bites his lip.

"Because it'll happen no matter what!!"

"What will?"

"Doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with it."

"Tony, what's going to happen?"

He groans.

"The arc reactor. Every time I put it back in..."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Nope."

"You were in agony!"

"Yes, I believe I may have outdone myself."

"Tony...”

The scientist squeezes his eyes shut and holds him close.

"We'll fix it," he murmurs into his ear.

But what if I don't want to?

Bruce sighs, stopping the engineer from taking it any further as he kisses him passionately.

"Okay, you obviously can't do this right now. I don't want you to get hurt. Why don't you take a bath, and we'll head out for dinner?"

"Bruce I can handle you."

"I don't really know if you can handle anything right now."

"Ouch. I'm fine, really."

He kisses Bruce and rolls over until he's on his back, waiting, ready. His fingers slip under the waistband of the scientist's pants.

"You really think you're ready for me?" Bruce asks smugly.

Tony grins, and heads to the bathroom.

Bruce lights a few candles and pops towels in the towel oven (yes, they exist and yes, Tony has one of those-are you really surprised?).

He starts filling the tub, then runs downstairs.

"Where-"

"Kitchen! I'll be right back, don't die while I'm gone."

"No promises..." Tony chuckles. He strips, sliding into a deep red and black silk embroidered robe and sits in bed with his laptop, checking his email.

Bruce is back really fast, holding a jug of milk and a jar of honey.

"What on earth are you doing, Banner?

"Honey and milk."

"Yeah, no, I see that, but in a bath?"

"It's good for your skin."

Tony rolls his eyes.

"Wow, thanks mom. You gonna kiss my booboos better, too?"

Bruce grins, pouring the thick, golden honey in the bath.

"Whatever my baby wants."

"Oh my god Bruce."

"What?"

"You're so annoying," he teases, pecking him on the cheek.

"You know you love me."

He screws the lid back on the honey and washes the jar off in the water, then drapes towels over both ends of the giant bath. Tony is curious.

"Wow, you ever take your pet dolphin for a swim in this thing? It's huge."

"Um, no, Wilfred has his own lake, thank you very much."

Bruce expects him to smile but he's dead serious.

"You're kidding."

"Morgan likes dolphins! What was I supposed to do?"

"Ohmygod."

Bruce takes a basket and dumps its contents into the bath.

"Are you fucking kidding me."

"What?"

"Flower petals??"

Bruce blushes.

"It's...it's nice."

Tony laughs and wraps his arms around his neck.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

Without hesitation this time, the engineer drops his robe and climbs into the tub unceremoniously.

He drops his head back and listens to Bruce taking his clothes off as well, settling down on the other side of the tub.

It's quiet, romantic.

"I think there's a flower up my butt crack," Tony points out.

Bruce smirks.

"What the fuck?"

They both crack up.

"Where do you want to eat?" He asks.

Bruce stares at the ceiling in thought.

"It might take some string-pulling since we’d be eating in like, two hours, but I can get us a table at Cipriani's."

"What? No, are you-Cipriani's? What is wrong with-no!"

"Why not?"

"For the same reason you don't have to randomly take me shopping, or work obsessively over developing a suit for hulk, or any of that shit."

"I just want to spoil you," he counters.

"I know, and I'm okay with that-in fact, I'm grateful-but you don't have to, you get that, right?"

The engineer blinks, not saying a word, lingering on the tender inflection in his voice.

Bruce pulls him close in the water.

"Tony, you are more than enough."

"I-I..." He stares down at the water.

"Don't you get that?"

He meets Bruce's eyes.

"No, no I didn't. I figured...I don't know. Thank you, though..."

"Tony I don't give a damn about your money or your past, or that your skin gets kinda ashy and gross sometimes, or that you tried to kill Bucky, or even the fact that you practically own the government."

He tilts the billionaire's chin up to meet his gaze.

"I care about who you are right now."

They feel like teenagers, and their wrinkles and creases in their weathered, supple skin only added to the euphoric out-of-touch reality of things. As if they and the water were the only real things, and the walls and the city around them were merely abstract. Their bodies melt together and Bruce is ready to give himself over until a single, scarred finger blocks his lips.

"I'm hungry," he states, clambering onto the heated stone floor and toweling off his body, then vigorously rubbing at his hair as he walks away.

They change and head down to the car.

"I want to walk, actually. 'That okay?"

"Sure. But like...why? I'm not in walking shoes."

"What-what else are shoes for?"

Tony turns to go back to the elevator, but Bruce grabs his elbow.

"Come on, let's go."

"But-"

"Shut up and walk. You fought a semi-celestial being on a moon in outer space. And you kicked his ass."

They head out the side door, the scientist holding it open.

"Besides. You look great in those," he adds.

Nearly forty years of flirting under his belt, and he was still powerless to hide the telling blush that crept up his cheeks like Rosy-fingered fucking Dawn.

They walk around for about half an hour before Tony finally elects to say something.

"How much longer 'till we're there?"

Bruce shrugs.

"What?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"The hell is that supposed to mean? Do you not know where you're going??"

"Uh...let's go here."

Bruce points to a tiny restaurant on the corner across the street. It looked nice enough, a bit hipster. 

"How about there?"

Tony hides even more behind the furry trim of his enormous parka. 

With his outrageous choice of outerwear, petite stature and the fact that he'd insisted on bringing one of Pepper's less-feminine purses with him, the scientist was certain people thought he and Tony were a heterosexual couple.

The petulant bundle of down feathers runs ahead of him, knees wobbling and plows into the door, not even bothering with the handle.

Bruce facepalms, and follows him inside to a booth, taking off his jacket and putting it down next to the wall.

"You okay?"

Tony nods, the gesture accompanied by the rustle of his coat.

He leans in.

"Y'know, it's customary to take your jacket off when you get inside," he teases.

"M'cold."

"Okay, well, you look ridiculous. The waiter is going to recognise you anyway, so you might as well.

Reluctantly, he slides out of his polyester shell, petting the fuzzy hood.

"Here."

Bruce awkwardly hands his heavy wool jacket over the table to a grateful Tony, shivering in his seat. The man blows hot air into his hands, and he's struck by how much smaller Tony seems without the coat. Maybe that's really why he wore it.

The waiter-a college student, with curly red hair and a white tattoo behind his jaw-approaches with a warm smile and professional courtesy, immediately recognising the smaller figure in the booth staring moodily at the menu he'd been handed. The guy looks at Tony briefly with an unreadable gaze, and pulls out a notepad.

"What can I get you to drink?"

"I'll take...I'll take a gin and tonic, and he'll have...?"

Bruce looks at Tony expectantly.

"Hey. Tony. Hello? I swear to god, I'm gonna order you an appletini...or maybe a cosmo..."

That threat was enough to get him out of his shell.

"Orange juice," he says, in the manliest voice he can muster. The waiter nods and leaves, his face betraying nothing until raucous laughter can be faintly heard from the kitchen over the quiet jazz.

"Orange juice?" 

"Yes, orange juice. You got a problem with that?"

"No, no it's fine." Bruce gives him a crinkly smile, watching him peer intently at the menu.

So the scientist starts scanning his own.

"He didn't like me," Tony points out, in mock despair.

"At least he left you alone."

"Yeah, but he didn't like me..." He whines.

"Maybe you should dress in drag, then. People won't recognise you then, but you’ll get twice the drama."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Tony purrs, delighting in the way Bruce's face tinges ever-so-slightly pink in the dim light.

The man returns with their drinks and the engineer sips his OJ contentedly.

"Don't you dare threaten to buy me an appletini ever again."

"Why not?"

"Do I look like a fifteen year old girl?"

"Says the man with the purse and the magenta ski parka. And yes, yes you do."

Tony huffs.

"The hell kind of fifteen year old girl drinks appletinis and not...apple juice?"

The engineer grins, and points to himself theatrically.

"This one!"

He sighs. "At fifteen? You were allowed to drink? But-why did you think that was a good idea? That's so irresponsible!"

Tony narrows his eyes.

"You're kidding, right? What were you drinking at fifteen?"

"Virgin vodka sprite."

He snorts.

The waiter saunters up to their table, notepad out again and Tony wonders if he’s recollectively impaired.

Is recollectively a word? Sure. Yeah, Imma go with yes. 

"What can I get you guys to eat?"

Bruce orders some calamari to share, and a salad.

"Tony?"

"Mm? What?"

"What do you want to eat?"

"I uh...I'll have the um..."

His eyes scan nervously over the menu.

They're waiting for me they're waiting for me they're waiting for me

What do I do? Oh my god...

Stupidstupidstupid

He clears his throat and chooses a random dish.

"Risotto cakes, please."

The waiter nods politely with a curt smile, and retreats to the back.

Bruce notes that the engineer had spent this entire time staring listlessly at the menu, but was clueless when it came time to order.

He shuts his eyes and opens them to the ceiling, squinting.

"Tony?"

"Tony? What are you doing?"

"I don't have a lot of juice left, so I'm calculating how long it'll be before the waiter comes back, so I can order more."

Bruce just blinks. 

“Do you know how long it takes to cook rice using industrial-grade equipment?”

"Really."

He shakes his head and fiddles with his napkin. 

"Yeah, never mind. It’s probably precooked."

"Or," Bruce holds out his hands, "or, you could just flag him down like a normal person."

Tony shudders at the thought.

But then...

The scientist holds out his hand and the waiter, talking to customers at a table a few feet away, walks up to them.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, can you get him a refill?"

The redhead nods and asks if there's anything else they need, then retreating back to the hidden world behind the swinging double-hinged doors.

"Was that so hard?" Bruce feels as if he's talking to a child.

"It's scary..." he mumbles. Mostly just as a joke. Mostly.

"So I've been thinking-thank you," he says to the waiter, and hands Tony his orange juice.

"I've been thinking that maybe, we should put retroreflection panels on the Quinjet."

"No..."

"Yes, Tony. It's time."

"But they're ugly. Besides-I told you, I would figure something else out."

"Yeah but you haven't."

"Not yet-but I'll get around to it."

"In the meantime, we run the risk of being harassed by the local government wherever we go, or being tailed, or being shot at-"

"We have shields for that," Tony interjects, taking a shaky sip of juice.

Bruce opens his mouth to speak, then narrows his eyes.

"Tony, when did you last eat?"

He breathes, holds it in, and lets the air erupt slowly through pursed lips.

"Uh.."

The scientist pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fantastic. Just...great."

Tony looks genuinely sad.

"No, wait-I had that pancake thing."

"You threw it all up."

"'Still ate it."

"Doesn't count."

"Okay...I had a banana yesterday. And chicken broth. And-oh yeah, that smoothie thing you bought this morning."

"I saw it in your trash can, and the other also doesn't count. I mean a meal. Like, hundreds of calories."

"Well, I guess it's been a few days, then."

"Tony you gotta stop."

"In my defence, I snack all the time."

"No you don't."

"I actually do. JARVIS, tell him."

"I have not observed such behaviour," his glasses say.

"Wh-you're supposed to be on my side, J."

"Respectfully sir, so are you."

Tony shrugs at that, shrinking back when Bruce shoves a piece of the newly-arrived calamari in his mouth.

"Bruce, I'm gonna throw up again."

"I know, so just take it slow."

The scientist swirls a piece in the marinara sauce.

"So how's your family?"

Bruce freezes.

"My what?"

"Your family, Bruce."

"Oh yeah, that. Um...my aunt...she's doing alright. Jen is...well, she's Jen."

"Your father?"

Something hardens in the scientist's eyes as they glint green.

"Still alive."

"Pity."

"Tony, I'm not gonna let you kill him. And I'm not going to let you let me kill him. Drop it."

"He sounds very killable."

"Not gonna happen."

The engineer mulls over what he says next.

"Have you ever thought of...y'know...visiting him?"

"Why?" He snaps.

"I don't know, to be honest. You know SHIELD keeps tabs on everyone."

"I'm aware."

"Don't you want to know what he's been up to? Where he's been? If he's offed himself out of guilt yet?"

Bruce's grip tightens on the tiny fork in his hand, warping the metal because Tony never knows when to stop.

"Tonyshutthefuckup."

The billionaire's eyes twitch just a little, and he nods.

"Right. Sorry," he whispers.

Stupidstupidstupid.

He wants to apologise profusely as Bruce feebly attempts to bend the fork back into its original shape.

The waiter appears not much longer with two large plates, and leaves with their unfinished calamari.

"Bon appetit," Tony says, and takes a bite of risotto cake.

And that's when it hits him.

---------Maria, we have cooks for that.

I want to make it for him. They don't know what they're doing.

Not with his grades.

I don't care about his grades. He still needs to eat.

You know he'll be fine, right? He's got tons of snacks stashed up there.

He still needs a proper meal.

Maria put it down

No. I'm making him his risotto.

You'd better not put that in your mouth.

Watch me, old man.

Oh hell no.

What-what're you doing?

WHAT DID I TELL YOU?

Fuck you!

Alright, that's it-

No! No, I'm sorry, I-don't, please!

Turn around. Take your shirt off.

No, dad, I'm sorry, I swear I won't eat the risotto, please put the belt back on, please don’t do this, I have to wear a white shirt tomorrow-

The memories flashed through Tony's head and he gets up abruptly, throwing down his napkin. 

"Wh-"

"Bathroom. I'm fine, I just...I'm fine. I'm gonna be okay. I mean it. Just give me a second," he chokes out, rushing off to the restroom where he collapses in a stall.

Suddenly, he's in an alley at school again.

"Hey dipshit, where's daddy now?"

"Go away."

"Where are your bodyguards, Tony? What, can't find them?"

Half a dozen guys surround me, jeering.

"You know you're not going to win this, Tony."

"Might as well just take it like a man. I mean, it's the closest you'll ever get to being one."

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

I lunge at one dude, grateful my dad had made me take that self-defence class and cursing myself for not paying any attention.

Blows land on my stomach and back, tossing me around.

They won't get another chance to jump me like this.

They won't know when to stop.

I'm gonna be in the hospital after this.

Dad's gonna kill me.

I deserve this.

I close my eyes and let them take me, feeling kicks to the backs of my knees that bring me to the ground. I could have yelled for help. I could have tried.

Feet at my ribs and my back, and a heeled boot presses down on my thigh. I grimace and turn on my back, chuckling.

"I thought heels were gay, Josh?"

The guy sneers at me, and my remark earns me a kick to the shins.

I barely choke back a scream as the same heeled boot lands on my sternum and stomps, the cartilage snapping and my ribs popping off. I let them keep it up, the panic button in my pocket weighing heavy. I try to shift my weight, hoping it won't be pressed accidentally but soon it's too much, it's too much and I can't stop it. I can't stop them. I'm not in control. I grasp desperately for the little device, realising with every move that my hand is probably broken six ways to Sunday. Through some miracle, I manage to pull it out and hold the little red button down just long enough to hear a beep from it. My throat fills with blood and the torment ceases. They must have seen the little button and run off, because it's cold now and there's no new pain. Just a dull throbbing sensation all over, and I can't breathe, and there are black things in my eyes, and I can't-

"-breathe, I can't breathe," he sobs, clutching his chest and desperately grabbing at his ribs, like he's trying to reconnect them to his body.

He can feel them kicking him, can feel his father's belt on his back and the mechanical pencils digging into his stomach underneath him, he can feel hands on his face-

but it's Bruce. Thank god it's Bruce.

I trust Bruce, he thinks.

I love Bruce, he thinks.

But he loved his father, he loved that straight guy in high school, he loved Obadiah and all of them had hurt them.

Bruce could hurt him, if he wanted. He could do it easily. But what kind of hurt? The kind of hurt he felt in the alley next to the school? The kind of hurt he felt from the general that Thursday night in the wine cellar? Or was it the kind of pain that Obadiah inflicted, the pain he recreated himself time and time again?

"Please don't hurt me," he murmurs pathetically.

"Oh Tones, no one's gonna hurt you."

He cradles his head and holds him tight on the dirty bathroom floor.

“Well this feels rather familiar," he remarks. Tony laughs.

"Yeah..."

"C'mon. Let's go."

"Where?"

"You'll see."

Tony frowns, rinsing his hands as Bruce tries to pull him out of the bathroom. He grabs his coat on the way out.

"What about the bill?"

"Paid it already."

"Bruce you didn't have to-"

"Don't worry, I used your card."

The engineer smirks, zipping up his coat as he’s dragged into the cold evening wind.

"Well thank god for that."

He taps a few buttons on Tony's reactor and the suit wraps around the scientist's body seamlessly, though it take a couple of second to adjust to the new dimensions.

"What are you doing?"

Bruce picks him up bridal style and shoots upwards, stopping to hover about forty feet in the air. Cellphone cameras flash below.

"Okay JARV, take me to that cliff thingy Tony found."

The suit flies them both toward the little rocky cliff.

"Oh," Tony whispers.

Bruce puts him down gently, and stands up, tapping the chest of the suit.

"Okay J, can you go get us some ice cream? I'll text you which flavours."

The empty suit nods and speeds off.

"Thanks, but I don't really want any."

"You love ice cream."

"It's eighteen degrees outside."

"Fair point."

Bruce pulls out his phone and texts something to JARVIS, then snatches the glasses from Tony's face.

"Hey!" He protests, then snuggles against the scientist.

"J, can you also send us the package?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks dude."

Bruce puts the sunglasses in Tony's pocket.

"Did you just call my AI 'dude'?"

"You've called him much worse."

"Touche."

The scientist undoes his tie and fastens it around Tony's eyes.

"Ooh kinky. I wouldn't have taken you for a blindfold kinda guy, but hey, I'm down."

"Shut up, babe."

"Yes sir," he clicks.

There's the sound of thrusters and rustling fabric, and Bruce steps away for a minute.

A small, irrational part of him (well, most of him is small and irrational) is afraid that Bruce will leave him there.

Instead, he's guided onto a soft blanket, his shoes removed along with his coat and the blindfold, a warm blanket thrown around his shoulders.

Bruce prods a circular pod on the ground in front of them. It unfolds and bursts into flames-a portable campfire. He'd made it a couple of years ago when he, Pepper and the kids had gone camping.

They were sat on a massive blanket, with pillows propped against the tree behind them.

Tony curls up against Bruce's side in the frigid air, tossing half the blanket over.

"Thanks." He smiles gratefully up, and the scientist just grins back.

"You said we needed to make it special."

They're interrupted by a familiar british voice.

"Sir? Mister Stark?" JARVIS calls out from the shades in Tony's pocket. They sigh in unison.

"Yeah?"

People shout in the background of the audio.

"Sir, I'm being attacked by fans."

Tony slides the glasses on deftly.

"J, activate facial hologram projection and patch me into the suit's visual interface."

A nodule in the frames scan his face and the lenses show the view through the helmet. Tony retracts the helmet so a projection of his head is in the suit.

"Hey assholes! Believe it or not I'm human and I eat as well, so please fuck off. Thank you."

He pilots the suit toward the door of the restaurant, stopping at someone's comment.

"But do you?"

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you eat?" A woman squeaks.

"Of course I eat. What kind of question is that?"

"The papers...there are rumours-I mean-is there something you aren't telling us?"

Other voices join in and Tony rolls his eyes.

"Do you have an eating disorder?"

"Are you anorexic?"

"Can I get your autograph?"

"Are you on drugs?"

"What aren't you telling us?"

"-volume up," he murmurs.

"Okay, listen up!"

The small mob around him finally shuts up, and he figures he's got about ten minutes before the press shows up to crash the party. A teenager whips out a cellphone and he narrows his eyes at her.

"Put that away or I swear to god I'm going to fry it."

Her eyes widen and she shoves it back in her bag.

Huh. That worked. How come my teenager doesn't listen like that??

"Listen up. I've got the flu and I pulled an all nighter-or...three, watching MASH so yeah, I look like shit. But that's not the point-my health is none of your goddamn business. So...I hope you all have a lovely evening, but I'm gonna go get my ice cream now. Bye-bye."

He sends the suit inside the ice cream place.

"What's that name-oh my god." The kid at the cash register gulps.

"Yeah, it's me. Hi. It's under-oh my god, he put the order under Tony Stank. That motherfucker," he laughs.

"Um."

"Yeah, how much?"

"You're a hologram."

"It's a look. Whaddya think?"

"I-it's cool."

"Thanks. How much?"

"Um...forty-three even."

For ice cream and hot chocolate? Maybe he's just overcharging because it's me. That's obnoxious.

He hands over a credit card and attempts to sign off on the receipt, the pen scrawling across the table underneath it, slipping between the thick metal fingers. The cashier raises an eyebrow.

"It's-it's a work in progress," he says, glancing down at the suit. The guy nods, and hands over two big plastic takeout bags stuffed obscenely.

So...not just ice cream and hot chocolate. Also not obnoxious.

"Alright. Thanks, man."

"Yeah..." he breathes.

"Bye." Tony stalks out.

"Bye Iron Man!"

Outside the shop, he's attacked once again by the same crowd from earlier plus at least three reporters with recording devices  in his face. He stops and grins inside the helmet, and turns to face one reporters. He's young and blonde, and grins when he sees that he'll get answers from the man himself.

"Who uses dictaphones anymore? Really? I thought you kids used smartphones for everything these days. I'm surprised you even know how to use that thing." He takes off with a smirk, the kid behind him looking amused yet crestfallen.

Tony taps the frames again and the view fades away.

"Alright J, bring it home." The glasses are returned to the inside pocket of his jacket and he sits cross-legged next to his lover, knees protesting.

"How much fucking food can two people eat?"

"I texted JARVIS to add to the order...you never ate dinner."

"Yeah I did."

"You had three bites."

"I also had a glass-and-a-half of OJ."

Bruce glares daggers at him, pulling Tony close.

"Come here, dumbass."

The engineer nuzzles into his chest and fiddles with his gauntlet ring, ionising air particles with his finger. He watches the little flashes of light, drawing in the air with a path of light.

"What is that?" Bruce asks.

"You." Tony twirls his finger around and soon there's an angry head of broccoli in the air, little stick arms with two lumps for muscles.

"Really?" He snorts.

"You bet, Broccoli Boy."

JARVIS and the suit show up with food, the bags dripping.

Bruce gets up and Tony quickly takes his warm spot between the blankets.

Chapter Text

Dinner had been delicious, up until Tony regurgitated it off the edge of their cliff.

They'd spent hours just talking, then settled into a peaceful silence, a silence broken by Bruce.

"So why do you do this?"

"Mm?"

"Y'know...hurting yourself."

"I-you've already asked me this."

"Yes, and your answer was a fallacy, borne of unreasonable self-hatred."

"I think that the aforementioned self-hatred is entirely justified."

"True-to an extent. But it's still unreasonable."

"You still haven't answered my question. Why?"

"Why does a fox chew its paw off when caught in a trap?"

"I'm not the press. You don't get to pivot questions like that."

"As I told you before, I deserve it."

"That's false."

"You of all people should be able to make the distinction between fact and opinion."

"Tony, stop fucking with me."

"We haven't gotten quite there yet. Is there something you want to tell me?"

Bruce roughly pushes the frail man away, holding him by the shoulders.

"Please. If not for yourself, then for me. For Peter and Morgan."

Tony's eyes cloud over at the mention of his kids.

"I-I miss him."

"We all do."

"Is it sick of me to say I almost want to confide in him?"

"He'd certainly be able to relate."

"I'd never do it, obviously. His life is hectic enough, and I'm well aware that I'm one of the only pillars holding up the Parker duo."

"You seem to be holding up most things."

"Atlas ain't got nothin' on me."

"Yeah, well, Atlas never had someone to help him. You do."

"No, I-everybody fucking hates me."

The tender scientist looks just a little bit hurt.

"Except for you," Tony corrects, softly.

"And Pepper," Bruce adds.

"Speaking of which, how in God's name are we going to explain this?"

"Explain what?"

"Us."

"Please, I don't even understand this myself."

"I think we should cross that bridge when we get there."

Bruce wasn't usually one to ignore his problems, but he actually agreed with Tony.

I suppose that's a testament to how weird the situation is. To me, at least.

And so the billionaire climbs back into Bruce's open arms and once again, a thick blanket of silence hangs heaver than the orange woollen one in their laps, only this time it's suffocating.

"I love you," Tony blurts.

The other man smiles, carding his nimble fingers through the engineer's hair.

"How much?" He asks.

Tony ponders this.

"More than there are leaves on the trees."

"-there aren't any. It's winter."

"Fuck you, I mean in general."

"Mhmm. Continue."

"More than there is sand on the beach. More than there are stars in the sky. I mean, it'sNewYorkand...light pollution, butthey'restilltherethey'rejustwearingconcealer."

Bruce laughs heartily.

"More than...more than there are grains of sand on Venice Beach. More than there are books in the Library of Congress. More than there are molecules of water in all the world's oceans combined and quadrupled. More than the amount of stupid shit Trump has said."

The scientist chuckles.

"Your turn."

Bruce thinks.

"I adore you a decent amount."

Tony laughs.

"Love you too, smartass."

They kiss, leaning back and rocking back and forth in a slow dance on the ground.

Tony fumbles desperately for Bruce's belt buckle, but the scientist stops him.

"Your stitches. Not until you're feeling better."

"Oh come onnn," he whines.

"If you’d stop tearing yourself apart for like, a fuckin’ nanosecond, we could. But I don’t want to hurt you."

"Okay that's really just making it worse. I really don't mind."

"I know you don't, and that's what I'm worried about."

"Ugh. Fine."

The engineer rolls dejectedly off of Bruce's chest, lying on his aching back, staring up at the place where stars should be.

Tony deliberates internally on what he says next.

"This new core...there's a good chance I'll want to take it out. If I break down again. And I don't know...I just don't know. But I don't want you to freak out. Or feel bad for me. Or...help, although I'm pretty sure you will anyway. I just...it's gonna happen again, and I don't think I'll be able to stop me."

"I'm glad you're telling me this."

"I can't say I agree, but I do know that Pepper wouldn't be able to handle my bullshit, so I guess that's good."

"I'm glad that I'm here, and I'm sorry that I wasn't before."

"You don't have to, you know. You can walk away if it's too much."

"Sure. Then you'll die, and Morgan will probably be pissed as fuck when she's old enough to understand that it was my fault for leaving you, and Pepper will attempt to murder me multiple times, and Peter...I don't even know what Peter would do, but I'd probably move away from heavily populated areas to keep them safe."

Tony sighs.

"But that's not what matters," Bruce murmurs.

"What matters is you. You and me."

The engineer nuzzles further into Bruce's embrace.

"I know you're right. That I don't deserve it. I get it. I know. But I don't believe it. I don't know how to make myself believe it."

"You will. I'll just have to prove it to you."

They both smile.

Everything was okay, and then Tony got the itch. The darkness creeping like fog over the hills of his mind, his demons trying to take over.

Well, I know what I'll be doing tonight.

He smiles sickly to himself, brooding anticipation washing over him.

He felt so goddamn numb.

A hand snakes up to his chest.

Maybe if I'm really quiet, he won't notice?

He presses down oh-so-lightly, his fingertips tingling. Tony grits his teeth, hiding the shudder that ripples through his body by squirming a little in Bruce's lap.

The engineer gives up when Bruce holds his wrists, kissing his hands.

They wrap everything up, stuffing the blankets and pillows back in the basket before sending it off.

"Shit, where's my car?"

"In the garage. We walked, remember?"

"Oh yeah."

Tony calls the suit and flies the two of them down to the ground, Bruce opting to walk the rest of the way.

"Oh come on. A nice stroll.”

"But-why walk when we have the suit?" Tony found his penchant for foot-travel more than a little arbitrary.

"I honestly don't relish the idea of flying across the whole of New York City with you carrying me bridal-style like Princess Peach."

"Who?"

Bruce huffs.

"Nevermind..."

They walk hand in hand down the busy streets, Tony shoving his cold fingers back in his pocket in panic.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Tabloids," Tony explains.

"Right." He nods.

They talk about sciencey stuff that the author doesn't want to research, and their eyes lock more times than Bruce can count. After about thirteen blocks of walking, Tony complaining about his feet the whole time, they make it back to the tower. The engineer presses a certain sequence of buttons and the elevator rockets upward all 92 floors to his apartment. The living room is unusually desolate, and Tony heads upstairs to his room.

"G'night, Bruce."

"I'll see you in a few. I gotta shower."

Tony shuts the door behind him slowly, eyes shut tight. He feels a fluttering in his stomach, like nervousness or excitement. The feeling you get right before you jump into a cold pool, or the moment before collision in a car accident.

He breathes slowly, sauntering over to his closet. The engineer strips to his boxers and puts on a thin cotton t-shirt with long sleeves, leaving his clothing on the ground before plopping unceremoniously into bed.

"JARVIS is Bruce in the shower?"

"It would appear so. He's asking about you right now."

"Tell him I'm fine."

"For now," JARVIS quips.

Tony rubs his eyes.

"J, don't tattle on me."

"Sir-"

"That's an order."

"Yes sir," the AI responds, dejectedly.

The devilish grin from earlier returns, only this time it doesn’t reach his lips. He looks down at his chest in anticipation.

"I don't..." His facade cracks just a little and terror flashes in his eyes, but he grits his teeth and spins the reactor to unlock it from its chamber. He winces just a little, and pulls it up gently.

Tony's breathing picks up, and he pulls just a tiny bit more, trying not to break the circuit. The reactor still connected, he fiddles with some switches under the rim of it. Satisfied, he slides the reactor back inside, locking it quickly. He shuts his eyes, then taps the left side of the reactor twice. Pain ricochets around his bones, throbbing and burning until it stops abruptly. He sighs.

"Hey."

Tony freezes, then pretends to relax.

"Why aren't you under the covers?"

"Dunno. Just...I don't know. Can't sleep."

"Here."

The kind scientist pulls him close, and they're lying beneath the comforter nose-to-nose.

"Hey Bruce?" He whispers.

"Yeah?"

"I feel like a kid at a sleepover."

Bruce giggles.

"Truth or dare."

Tony's eyes widen, and he snickers.

"MMmmm dare."

The scientist shuts his eyes, thinking.

"I dare...I dare you to tell everyone you love me over the intercom."

"What!"

"What?"

"I dare you."

Tony grins, shoving Bruce playfully. He kneels against the headboard to face the intercom unit on the wall. The scientist watches him, his head on his hands.

"Go on," he teases.

Tony selects every room, broadcasting through the team apartments on the top floors of the building. He turns on the mic and giggles, slipping on his perch atop the pillows. His own boyish laughter fills the room as the scientist makes a move to tickle him.

"I, Tony Sta-Bruce, fucking stop it-confess my love for Bruce Banner..."

They both start guffawing, and everyone hears that, too.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

"Oh come on, it's me! How could I not! I have a reputation to uphold, goddammit!"

They break down in laughter, and Tony whacks the 'off' button with his foot, lying in a tangle in the bed. He can practically feel the eyes rolling from the rooms next to them.

"Okay okay okay, it's my turn," Tony says, and pins Bruce down under the covers again.

"Truth or dare?" He whispers.

The scientist opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and makes up his mind.

"Truth."

"Okay, I truth you to-"

"That'snothowitworksTonyandyouknowit," he whines.

"You're no fun. Okay."

He shuts his eyes and chews on the inside of his lip in thought, his face settling tenderly.

"Have you ever been with a guy before?"

Bruce nearly chokes.

"Sorry what?"

"Have you ever," Tony grins slyly. "Been with a guy before?"

The scientist's face is bright pink.

"I-uh-I mean, I-I guess, but like-I don't-actually no, not really."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I-" He sighs. "I had a crush on a dude in uhm...in high school, and then he said he kind of liked me back but not really but that erm...he said he was flattered, and wanted to meet me after school and spent the whole day flirting with me only so he and his buddies could beat the shit out of me in the locker room."

Tony swallows.

"Oh. Fun."

"Yeah. It was...sure."

"I'm sorry, that's awful. Did no one...?"

"Nope. I had gotten into an argument with my only friend, so I was on my own."

"Jesus Banner, I'm really sorry. That sucks ass."

Bruce chuckles.

"Anyway, my turn. Truth or dare?"

"Ummm....well, it's warm under here and I don't wanna get up so I guess truth."

"Okay."

Bruce decides to take this opportunity to get him to open up, and Tony isn't quite sure if he's relieved or terrified to do so.

"Do you ever-I mean, when you...y'know, do you ever wanna die?"

Tony chokes, and he snuggles into Bruce's chest. The scientist pushes him away just a little bit to look into his eyes, but Tony hides again.

"If I'm going to talk about this, I don't think I can look at you."

"Why is that?"

"I make you sad."

Bruce just hums a little, messing with his hair.

"So? You gonna answer my question, hun?"

"You kidding me? I'm no pussy, Green Bean Brain."

He chuckles.

"Tony?"

"Yeah. I um...I mean, I'm not trying to...to die."

"I know."

"Then why-?" Tony murmurs.

"You know why. Tell me, please."

"I don't really want to leave. Not always, at least. I mean, sometimes...sometimes I do. A lot. Sometimes, I can't help it. It's involuntary-I'll just be watching Doctor Who and find myself wondering if it would be possible to shock myself to death with the TV."

He sniffles, and Bruce pulls him tighter.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It's also not yours."

He hasn't the energy to argue with Bruce, so Tony just breathes, which is actually harder than he thought it might be.

"What was that supposed to be, with the hydraulic press?"

The engineer stifles a whimper.

"Tony?"

"Idunno. I mean...I wanted it to hurt, but I also wanted to leave...but I wasn't really-I mean, if I did end up dying, it would have just been a happy little accident."

"Don't you dare drag Bob Ross into this."

Tony giggles, then stops.

Yeah, that's what I do. Suck other people into my problems like a fucking black hole.

"Not him too, you're right." He doesn’t really mean to say it, but his head’s a mess and up is down and Tony doesn’t know what’s in his mind or his mouth.

"Tony-"

"I know, it's annoying, I'm sorry, I can't help-I'm sorry."

Bruce sighs.

"Please don't let me leave her."

"What?"

The broken man's words were dripping with sadness like a leaky tap, just steadily plinking on and on in the cracks of his voice.

"Morgan. Don't let me leave her. She's so young..."

Bruce's eyes start leaking rivers, Tony still calm. He'd been thinking about this.

"Tony, I-"

He moves away from the scientist and watches him, his heart twinging with guilt at tears glittering in the moonlight.

"Promise me. Promise you won't let me go."

"I won't. Never. But Tony-"

"You might fail, and that's okay. If you do...just step in for me, yeah?"

"Tony, you're not going to-"

"But I don't know that, Bruce! I don't know what I'm going to do! I don't-I don't know..."

He shakes his head and buries his hands in his hair, burning pain in his scalp.

"Tony stop. Tony!"

Bruce grabs his wrists and pulls them away from his head, strands of hair in his palms and on the sheets.

The scientist wraps his arms around him protectively and leans into the pillows.

"I don't want to hurt her."

"I don't want you to either."

Tony composes himself, shaking the wetness from his voice.

"But if I do, I need you to fill in for me. It's a lot to ask, but...it's also a lot to take from her. From either of them."

"Yeah, of course. But I don't want it to come to that."

"I know."

"You're not planning on dying, are you?"

"No, Bruce. I'm not. But I just want to be sure."

They stay like that for the rest of the night, Bruce wrapped around him like armour. If Tony was being honest, it was probably the most uncomfortable night of his life. But it made Bruce feel better, and so he stayed, worried if he breathed the wrong way he'd freak out.

Bruce is sprawled out across the bed and Tony cautiously detangles himself from him before grabbing his glasses and sneaking downstairs. He turns on the coffee machine and puts in the filter and beans, before leaning against the fridge and grabbing his phone from his pocket. It's dead, and he turns it off with surprising patience. The coffee drips steadily into the pot behind him and Tony absentmindedly runs his thumb over the cracked screen, glass splintering into his thumb. He doesn't bother taking his eyes off the floor when he grabs a mug from where he remembers the cabinet being, or when he pours the coffee into said mug. By some miracle, he doesn't spill any on himself. Tony leans against the counter again, concluding that he hates miracles and drip coffee will always be gross. He sips the scalding hot brew, jumping just a little at the burn. The knife drawer opposite him eyes him, and the engineer squints back.

"No," he says out loud.

The sciencebros had been in the lab, working on Tony's suit for the past few hours.

Bruce sat with a screwdriver jammed into the mechanical torso, listening intently to the engineer's instructions. Since it was his dominant hand and arm he’d broken, it was virtually impossible for Tony to use his left without stabbing the delicate wiring.

Tony stretches, his left arm gracefully swinging at the sky, linen shirt hanging loosely from his marred skin. He yawns.

"Jesus, I'm tired."

"You're not doing anything," Bruce points out.

He makes a face, but the goofy expression fades when his sees the scientist's eye widen comically.

"Banner? You good?"

He swallows, following Bruce's gaze down to his left forearm.

"Tony," he starts, an even keel voice barely masking his panic.

"Tony what is that?"

"What is what?"

"Your arm. What happened."

The engineer squeezes his eyes shut and tugs his sleeve back down.

"It's-they're old."

"No they aren't."

"Yeah, they are."

Bruce's eyes are full of concern, Tony's brimming with hot, salty tears ready to burn a path down his chapped cheeks.

"Can I see?"

"It's really not necessary. I'm fine. As I said-it's in the past, and I'd like to leave it there."

"Nice speech, but I know when you're bullshitting me."

"Bruce, I really don't need you to take care of me. This is my own problem. I can do this."

"You don't have to. You've got me."

"But you'll leave too. Everyone does."

"Not this time. You can't get rid of me that easily."

He offers a wan smile to Tony, who remains maudlin as ever.

"So...can I see?"

"I really don't need you to."

"I think you do. I just need to make sure it's healed up."

"It has. I'm okay."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Bruce pulls Tony's arm forward, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt and the engineer doesn't even bother resisting anymore.

Angry red lines spell ‘monster’ down his arm, staining the skin around them a dark brownish-red. More cuts are littered all over his arm. Bruce sucks in a breath, fishing out an alcohol wipe from the cabinet under the sink to clean his wounds. The disinfectant stings and Tony cringes pathetically.

"It's true, y'know."

"No it isn't. Don't say that."

Later, Tony finds himself sitting on the balcony just outside the porch and hears the door slide open behind him. He recognises the gait, the pattern in the person’s footsteps.

"I thought you were in Santa Fe?"

"Not anymore."

Tony smiles as Rhodey's hulking figure joins him to sit on the ledge, then his smile falters as he remembers how Rhodey ran off to get away from Tony's drama.

"Rhodey...I'm sorry."

"I know."

"No, I fucking suck. And I get that I can't control everything I do, but I reacted poorly, and I know you're mad, you have a right to be, and-"

"How could you have known?" The colonel cuts in.

"I would have reacted just as badly-we all would have-just in different ways."

They let his words linger in the air.

"So I suck a normal amount?"

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

"We all suck. You actually suck less. But I'm trying to tell you that this is normal. Yeah, you reacted badly to negative stimuli. Who wouldn't? Shit happens, and it often causes other shit to happen. That's life. I was wrong to criticise you for it."

"That's a relief."

"I'm serious."

"Sure you are."

Rhodey sighs.

"I know you know I am."

The traffic roars below them, and Tony remembers who Rhodey is. He didn't try to talk him down from the ledge. He climbed up there with him.

He rests his head against Rhodey's shoulder, a silent "thank you".

"I'm sorry for dragging you through my bullshit," he whispers.

"And I'm sorry for being an asshole about it."

"You're fine. Are you gonna ditch me again?"

"No. The real world is surprisingly boring."

Tony chuckles at that.

"I'm dating Bruce," he blurts.

"I knew it. Goddamn, I knew it was gonna happen. Ha!" Rhodey laughs.

"What-what do you mean?"

"It was so obvious. Unbelievably obvious."

"Shut up."

He grins. Meanwhile, Bruce watches from inside, pondering.

Chapter Text

"Tony, it's dinnertime"

"Mm."

"Tony let's go."

"Hold on."

"Tony!"

"Okay, okay, I'm coming! Jeez."

The engineer leaps up from his seat and tiredly wipes his hands on the napkin in front of him to join Bruce at the bottom of the stairs.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, Tony. Normal people eat three meals a day."

"Actually, one could argue that of the seven-point-five billion people, the majority of-"

"Stark, shut up."

"Yes sir," he giggles, following Bruce up the staircase to the kitchen.

The team's lounged around the living room, a few boxes of pizza and a massive container of mozzarella sticks and steamed vegetables on the ottoman in the middle. Some are talking, while Wanda and Nat are watching a movie, the volume way down. Bruce drops a plate in his left hand and slaps a giant piece of pizza in front of him. "Eat," he says. The billionaire cringes at the grease settled atop the cheese and starts soaking it up with a paper napkin.

"Hey, Tony," Steve says, with arms draped across the back of the couch next to Bucky. Bruce sits on the sofa opposite them, and the engineer plops down next to him. Clint nods at them from the other side of our couch.

"How're you feeling, Tony?"

"I-"

His leg starts shaking a little, and he gets up briefly to sit cross-legged on the couch. He knees protests but dammit, I’ve already sat down. That’d be awkward. I’m not gonna fucking move. 

"I'm good. Just working on not using retroreflection panels on the quinjet."

He narrows his eyes accusingly at Bruce.

"What? Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong."

The scientist sighs turns to face the three other avengers.

"Guys, don't you agree that the jet needs retroreflection panels?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah."

"Or, at least some sort of cloaking device."

Tony feels exasperated.

"Okay, fine! But not the panels."

"Why not?" Steve asks. "The Air Force uses-"

"Steve, I don't care what the Air Force uses. We're better than the Air Force."

The soldier raises an eyebrow and sips his bourbon.

"The Air Force would have made a decision already."

"Yeah-you've seen their bombers, right?"

Bucky interjects.

"Yes-and they're fine!"

"You aren't supposed to see them, that's the fucking point! It’s called a stealth craft for reason. "

Arguing voices continue and tension slowly rises until Bruce changes the subject.

The conversation drones on, and it's not nearly as controversial as their last.

Tony yawns. Borrring.

"I thought you liked pizza, Tony?" Clint asks.

His slice sits untouched in his lap, and the engineer swallows dryly.

"I-I do. Yeah."

The archer raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Tony takes a bite and chews thoughtfully, not really recognising the taste.

They continue talking, and the engineer's stomach growls oddly. He puts the pizza aside.

Bruce leans in, but before he can say anything Tony cuts him off.

"It's greasy. I'll eat something later."

He can tell the scientist doesn't buy his excuse, but he gets away with it for now.

Tony forces himself to join the conversation, just putting his mouth on autopilot like he used to.

Half an hour later, he can't stand it.

Steve is up grabbing a beer for Clint, while he, Bucky and Bruce are in a heated argument about...Tony isn't even sure. Something about foreign policy.

"Hey, I'm gonna...I'm gonna go rinse off."

"Ok. See you tomorrow morning?"

"Ehh I might come back. We'll see."

He wasn't.

"Well, g'night Tony."

"Night."

"You ok?" Bruce whispers.

"Yeah."

Bucky and Clint wave as Tony stalks off upstairs to his room, grinning until his back was turned.

As soon as his bedroom door closes, he slumps.

God, this is exhausting.

He reaches to take his shirt off, then remembers the cast on his arm. Tony rolls his eyes.

"Shit."

He walks over to the couch and falls backward, gritting his teeth as the overstuffed cushions hit his broken ribs.

Right, forgot about that.

Tony looks down at his chest and thinks.

He presses down the reactor with the palm of his hand.

Okay, not too painful at all.

He keeps prodding, then stops.

Let's try this.

The engineer taps the left side of the glowing module twice, and nothing happens for a few seconds. Then, shocks ricochet around his bones and he squeezes his eyes shut.

It only lasts half a minute, though, and at the end he breathes out through pursed lips.

"Huh," is all he says.

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm good, J."

"If you say so."

He does it again, only this time the pain is twice as intense, and a full minute. He chokes back a cry.

"Holy shit," he croaks.

That wasn’t supposed to happen...

Tony shakes his head and stumbles off the couch, wondering how many times he'd have to do it to kill himself. Not that he would.

Obviously.

He calls Butterfingers over and manages to pull his shirt off, the robot's claws around the hem of the garment.

Tony drops his pants and grabs a watch from his drawer, activating the waterproof shield around his plaster cast.

The engineer clumsily pours shampoo in his hair and lets it wash the rest of his body.

Soon, his watch starts flickering and the Low Battery message flashes, so he turns off the shower and dries himself off. He tosses his towel in his closet and changes into sweats, unable to put a shirt on.

"Fuck. Oh well."
Tony saunters back to bed only to find Bruce sitting there, reading.

"Thought you were eating dinner?"

"I finished. How'd you get your shirt off?"

Bruce puts his book aside.

"Butterfingers. I've got a watch with a built in shield for acid rain and flying debris, so it kept my cast dry."

"Cool."

He climbs under the covers and places his glasses on his bedside table.

"Tony, we need to talk."

"About?"

Bruce moves closer.

"About this."

He taps twice on the engineer's chestpiece, and Tony's eyes widen as the light flashes.

"Nonono-fuck, Bruce that's not-"

"What?"

"N-" Tony collapses into the bed, squeezing the sheets tight. He claws at the reactor, which flashes rapidly.

"Oh god what did I do?"

The engineer screams, Bruce freaking out.

"Tony tell me what to do?"

"I-I-I-" he pants, then calms down a bit.

"Is it better now?"

He grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

"N-not really."

"What the hell just happened?"

"I-I did something."

Bruce smacks his forehead.

"Of course you did. Oh Tony..."

The engineer smiles, his breath still hitching. Perspiration glistens on his forehead.

"Does it still hurt?" he asks, tenderly.

All Tony can do is nod.

"Scale of one to ten?"

"Nine."

"Shit. Okay. I'm sorry, I don't-I don't know how to fix it..."

"It's ok, it's getting better," Tony chokes out.

Bruce offers him water, and he drinks it gratefully.

"Number?"

"Five."

"Okay, that's...that's better."

He nods and hands the glass back to Bruce, pulling the covers over himself with shaking hands.

The scientist lays his head on the pillow next to him.

"How can I stop it next time?"

"I-you can't."

"You're lying."

"You have to pull it out first."

"What?? Are you crazy?"

He winces.

"I-I'm sorry Bruce."

"No, I shouldn't...but I just-I don't want you to hurt. That's all."

He pulls Tony close.

"We'll figure it out, babe."

"Yeah."

It had been a long day.

Tony had suffered through three meetings in Pepper's absence and he'd torn his favourite sport coat.

He sighs. Bruce was downstairs on the phone with the woman herself, and god only knows what they were they were talking about.

The engineer flops down into bed, and stares at his chest.

I really need this

I'm not gonna die

It'll be fine

Sighing, he taps the reactor twice and screams into a pillow.

His body rebels against him, and Tony's thrashes against the covers.

The module sizzles and sparks, and the engineer smells something burning.

Oh shit.

Barely able to lift his head, he somehow manages to dislodge the mechanism from his chest.

Tony tosses it to the floor, and breathes.

"Okay. Okay, okay. It's okay."

I'm going to head downstairs, I'm going to put in one of my old reactors, and I'm going to pretend that I'd just forgotten my coffee mug.

Breathing hard, he pushes himself off the bed and creeps downstairs, past Bruce. 

He felt the cavity in his chest more than he thought he should.

Once in his garage, Tony rifles through drawers and cabinets until he finally finds it.

Flicking a few switches on it, the engineer watches the energy core hum to life.

Recalling how painful reinsertion can be, he pockets the reactor and heads back upstairs.

Oddly, Bruce was nowhere to be found. The engineer runs into his room, panting. He's growing weaker. Wiping off the chestpiece with his sleeve, Tony slides it back into place and his head fills with bubbles, dizziness sending him spiralling onto the pillows.

That’s when the pain hits.

He screams out, panicking as he hears the toilet flushing and the sink running.

Fuck.

"Tony what are you doing?"

Bruce comes running in from the bathroom, concerned.

"What happened?"

"MMMMMmmmmm!"

Tony bites down on his lip, drawing blood.

Bruce wipes the man's face.

"I-" the engineer gasps for breath, and Bruce notices the reactor.

"This one's different-why did you switch them?"

"C-can't-AAAAAAAAHMY-GOD!"

Tony howls in agony through gritted teeth, and takes nearly a minute to calm down.

He breathes heavily, and lazily wipes the sweat from his brow.

"What happened?"

The engineer licks his lips.

"I-it was burning."

"It did that on it's own?" Bruce asks, gesturing to the blackened core on the ground.

Tony's breath hitches, and slows.

"No."

"You tapped it?"

"Yeah..."

"Tony, you can't keep doing that."

"I know, I know. I burned it out. Had to replace it."

Bruce nods sadly, mildly horrified at the fact that holy shit, it was so bad that the whole thing literally fried itself whatthefuck?

"Well, dinner's ready. You feeling up to it?"

The engineer nods.

"You don't have to, Tones."

"I'm good. It's okay."

The scientist sighs.

"You wanna change?"

"Yeah. I got it, Bruce. See you downstairs."

"No way I'm leaving you alone."

"Fine."

Tony stalks off to his closet to change, emerging a minute later in casual pants and a shirt in his hand.

"Give me a hand?"

He glares at the spot where Butterfingers used to be. 

Must’ve wandered off...

"Of course."

Bruce helps him into his twin set sweater and top and the two head down to the kitchen.

Soon, they're cuddled up on the couch watching The Great Gatsby, a bowl of pad thai in everyone's laps.

Tony slurps down a few noodles and puts the bowl on the coffee table, getting up and sitting down in Bruce's lap. Everyone stares at them briefly; Sam angrily hands Clint a twenty.

The engineer giggles and cuddles up to Bruce, ignoring the movie. He can feel him smiling.

The movie's over in half an hour, at which point Tony's sound asleep.

Steve turns on the lights and everyone gets up, Sam grabbing people's bowls and everyone grinning at the slumbering man.

"They're adorable!"

"I told you so." Clint elbows Sam.

Steve winks at Bruce, and eventually the rest of the team is hanging out at the bar next to the kitchen in the next room over.

Bruce nudges Tony.

"Hey, you gotta wake up, hun."

"Mmm?"

"C'mon."

Tony opens his eyes groggily.

"G'morning."

The scientist chuckles.

"Not quite yet."

He stands up and carries Tony bridle style upstairs.

"Bruce! I can waaalk," he whines, earning snickers from the team only a wall away.

He gently lies the engineer down in bed, and creeps in next to him.

"You good?"

Tony just nods.

Liar.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Tony wakes up alone, smiling at his recollection of the previous night.

He steps into some slippers and heads downstairs to the kitchen.

"Hey."

"Morning."

Steve is sipping tea, leaning against the counter.

Tony grabs a mug and starts pouring himself some coffee.

"You guys are adorable," Steve states smoothly. Tony nearly drops his mug.

"What?"

"You and Bruce."

Tony sips his brew.

"Oh. Yeah. Um...thanks?"

Steve smiles.

"No problem."

He gives the engineer a friendly pat on the chest, then freezes when he sees Tony's knuckles turn white around the handle of his cup.

He frowns.

"You okay?"

Tony swallows and nods, his hands shaking. Steve plucks it out of his hand and puts it down before the man drops it.

"Did I-I'm sorry, I thought the new reactor didn't hurt?"

"I uh...I switched it out."

"Oh. Why?"

"The other one...burned out."

"Huh. Didn't know they did that."

Tony shrugs.

"Nor did I, Steve."

The soldier spins around and Tony looks up to see Natasha peering up at them over a bowl of oatmeal.

"How long have you been there??"

She just grins.

"You seen Bruce?" Tony asks.

"Yeah, he's on the balcony.

The engineer nods.

"Thanks."

But Natasha stops him at the door.

"You gotta stop, Tony."

"I have, literally no clue what you're talking about."

"You're lying. Just..." her lashes flutter and she thinks of what to say, knowing she can't stop him from doing anything.

"Just know that you don't deserve it. Any of it."

Tony wrinkles his brow in faux-confusion.

"If you say so. I'm gonna...go now?"

The woman's grip on his bicep falls away, and she merely nods.

Bruce is leaning on the wide concrete railing of the balcony, and Tony appears beside him.

"Hey."

"Morning, beautiful."

Bruce blushes.

"You sleep well?" Tony asks.

"Yeah. You didn't, though."

"Didn’t I?"

"Yeah, you were crying out in your sleep."

"Oh. What did I say?"

"I-" Bruce's features darken.

Great, I've already cast a shadow over the day, Tony thinks.

"The general."

"Oh," is all he says.

They're quiet, until Bruce speaks.

"How's your arm?"

Tony wiggles it.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Tony."

"That is in fact my name, yes."

He rolls his eyes.

"Tony."

The engineer puts his coffee aside and sits up on the little wall, facing Bruce.

"Yes."

The scientist's eyes widen, but he quickly beats it down.

"Don't you dare fall."

"I'm not, dummy. So did you say my name because it sounds nice, or...?"

The man smirks.

"We need to talk about that." Bruce nods toward Tony's chest.

"What about it?"

"What really happened yesterday?"

"I told you-it burned out."

"No, you told me you tapped it."

Tony nods.

"Did I."

"Yeah, yeah you did-why the fuck would you do that?"

"Why not?" He counters, eyes scanning the horizon for something, anything that isn’t him, anything he could talk about instead.

Bruces rages on. 

"Because it's fucking painful! And you know the whole system's unstable. It was a brand new reactor."

"So? I des-"

"No, Tony, how many fucking times do I have to tell you? You don't deserve it!"

The engineer stubbornly looks away.

Yeah I do.

"Anyway," Bruce continues. "Tell me what happened."

"I did."

"Not completely."

"Ugh, fine."

Tony explains how he'd gone upstairs, how tired he was, how he'd figured out that somehow the pain and duration would double exponentially every time he'd activated the shock system.

"The whAT?"

"Y'know...the...shock system..." He mumbles 

“That was intentional? The double-tap thing?"

"Obviously. None of my creations just randomly malfunction. Anyway, it was too much for the coil I guess, 'cos it started smoking and sparking and shit-"

"Jesus..."

"-so I took it out."

"You couldn't just turn it off?"

"The switch was on the inside. So anyhow, I took it out because I mean, it's not really fair that I burn the place down with you guys inside, and self-immolation isn’t a..."

He stops when Bruce glares at him.

"I thought you took it out because you were being responsible."

"No, I just didn't want to start a fire on the ninety-third floor of a building with eight hundred registered heat signatures below."

The scientist's eyes sparkle sadly.

"So I went downstairs and this old thing," he pats the skin around his chest and grimaces, ignoring how Bruce grabbed his hand to keep it away from the arc reactor.

"And then I realised that reinsertion isn't very fun-or quiet, because Ican'tkeepmyfuckingmouthshut-so I ran upstairs and locked the door and put it back in-thinking that you were still on the phone. But you weren't. And I should have checked. But I didn't. So, I'm sorry."

Bruce's eyes were wide and glistening in the morning sun.

"Tony don't-don't apologise! Why...oh my god..." he breathes.

The engineer's brow creases in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?? Tony-I thought that-but you were screaming-"

"I know, it's...annoying. I'll work on it." Tony chuckles.

"Tony that's not the fucking problem. You could have come to me!"

"I didn't want to bother you."

"What does that-you could never bother me. I want to help you. I really do."

"Oh. Ok. Well, thank you. I'll try to talk to you next time. I just didn't want you to see me like that."

Bruce sighs sadly.

"I'll always want to see you."

Tony smiles.

"I love you, Bruce."

"I love you too."

The scientist pulls him down from his perch and kisses him, both of them bathed in golden sunlight on the balcony.

Tony hears people cheering from the windows of the next room over, so he flips them off.

Laughter.

"Let's go watch a movie." Bruce says, dropping a DVD next to him on the table.

"Um...okay. What-oh. ET?"

"I'm making popcorn."

"Alright. Thanks?"

Tony crosses the room and puts the DVD on a specialised tray.

"Uh...JARVIS? Do your thing."

"You don't have a DVD player?" Bruce shrieks, incredulously.

"No I don't have a-I don't keep useless stuff. I got rid of that thing years ago."

Bruce looks horrified.

"But-it had sentimental value."

Tony rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, they're sitting on Tony's couch in the garage watching ET on his new TV, the one that wasn’t a bomb.

"Wow, this really didn't age well," the engineer comments.

"Just shut up," Bruce chides.

"Fine."

They cuddle up together, Tony eyeing the place where his hydraulic press used to be. Bruce got rid of it after...after last time.

The man remembers the feeling of the steel on his chest, of it crushing him. He presses on the reactor gently, relishing the familiar ache that follows. It's somehow worse now. Like getting a blister from your shoes, sitting down, and then walking again. He coughs.

Throughout the course of the movie, Tony eats most of the popcorn and Bruce falls asleep. The engineer feels disgusting-the fat from the snack settling in his stomach.

The more sleepy he gets, the more weight the scientist puts on Tony's chest.

The man smiles.

I mean, it would be rude to move him, right?

As the movie progresses, the pressure on Tony's chest increases and the pain intensifies. The man coughs, wiping his mouth. To his alarm, he sees blood.

Shit.

I'm dying.

Like, actually dying. 

Again. 

Well, "fuck," he says.

Why does this shit always happen to me?

The movie finishes, and Tony tries to wake his man up while the credits roll.

"Bruce? Bruce honey, you gotta wake up. It's over."

"Mm."

The scientist opens his eyes and tries to get up, fumbling and accidentally putting his weight-bearing hand on Tony's reactor, increasing the pain from irritating to fucking blinding. 

"Oh my god I'm so sorry Tony-"

The engineer's eyes widen impossibly and he strains, veins bulging and face turning pinkish. 

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself.   

"I-it's okay."

Out of nowhere, he starts coughing uncontrollably.

"Here-let me-holy shit...”

Bruce sees the blood he coughs up, and Tony opens up a drawer built in underneath the couch to grab some tissues. They turn red too, and he only stops when Bruce offers him water, which he gulps down, the metallic taste dissipating.

He quickly closes the hidden drawer, hoping Bruce hadn't seen.

"JARVIS, what's going on with him?"

The scientist tries desperately not to sound panicked.

"It's the arc reactor, Doctor Banner. It's killing him."

"Shit," Bruce hisses.

"Okay. Arrange an appointment with Dr. Cho tomorrow at ten."

Tony groans in protest. She was brilliant, but nice. Not nice like Pepper or Peter, but nice like a friend who’ll tell you that yeah, sure, you look great in traffic cone orange. He didn’t like her that much. 

"Shut up. You're not getting out of this. Okay..." he checks his watch.

"It's six. Let me go get us dinner. You pick another movie, okay?"

"I'm full of popcorn."

"Too bad."

Tony rolls his eyes and settles into the comfy cushions.

Retrieving food had taken longer than expected, and Bruce returns to find a sleeping Tony. He smiles, then his eyes dart to the hidden drawer he’d pulled the tissues from. Careful not to wake him up, the scientist creeps around the couch to open it up. It slides and Bruce's heart breaks a little. A bloodstained miniature screwdriver, one of Natasha's knives, bandages, a box of tissues, a sewing needle, thumbtacks and an empty bottle of whiskey sit in the drawer, glaring up at him. The scariest of all of them was a used stitching-needle and nylon string that had been put back in the packaging.

Bruce quickly grabs a ziploc bag from the kitchenette a few feet away and takes every sharp object in the drawer, stashing it away under the sink.

Tony stirs in his sleep, and the scientist quietly shuts the drawer.

"Tony?" He gently caresses the man's face, waking him up.

"Hey. I brought some pad thai from last night."

"Mm."

"Just have some."

"Fine."

Tony accepts the bowl and Bruce takes his, sitting on the opposite side of the couch.

"So I found the drawer."

Tony almost spits out his water.

"You-you what?"

"The drawer. In the couch."

"Yeah, I know what drawer you're talking about. Why are you going through my stuff?"

"For your own safety! Why was there a knife in there??"

The engineer gulps.

"It's a work knife."

"It had blood on it. What about the needles? The bandages? The stitching thread?"

Tony chokes back a panic attack.

"I'm going to bed." He leaves his bowl on the coffee table and strides breezily upstairs.

He found out he found out he found out

Why do I keep fucking things up?

Why am I freaking out?

It's really not a big deal

I have other stashes

I know I have other stashes

I'm safe

I have backup

So why am I freaking out?

The man shuts the door softly and paces around his bedroom, just breathing.

Shit.

I can't believe I keep fucking things up...

Tony's mind is swirling, and he dashes inside his closet, locking the door.

Blue coat, blue coat, blue coat...

He fumbles through his wardrobe and pulls a few silver thumbtacks out of the pocket of his teal blue coat.

They glint evilly at him, and he smirks back. He knew what was about to happen. Only this time, he didn't feel in control, oddly enough.

Well, let’s do something about that.

Panting, the man sinks against the wall, lifting up his shirt.

Tony just sits there against his closet door for a few minutes, lost in time.

He closes his eyes and pokes his skin with the tapered point of the thumbtack, piercing the skin. He'd sliced up the needle of it to perforate it, so it'd be harder to push in. He almost regrets it now.

Tony whimpers, remembering how surprisingly painful this is. Trying to relax his abdominal muscles. Pushing it in deeper. His body begs him to stop.

This really, really hurts. More than it used to. I deserve this.

"I..deserve this," he mutters, stabbing the rest of it into his flesh and moaning in pain.

"Why...why does it always hurt so much?" he whispers to himself.

After doing this four more times and staring listlessly at the ceiling, he gets up shakily and thanks the blue coat for its gift. Tony slides on a zip-up sweatshirt with a ridiculous amount of difficulty and shaky legs carry him to bed where he curls up in a ball, hoping he might disappear. Not forever, just for a little while. The thumbtacks dig into the muscle of his abdomen as he tries to curl up into a tighter ball, his knees pressing into the arc reactor. Before he can tell JARVIS to turn the lights out, he hears footsteps in the hallway and his door opens.

"Hey, Tony?"

Bruce's voice is cautious and apologetic as he shuts the door with a soft thump. He walks over and sits down on the bed; Tony can feel the mattress dip. The engineer turns to face him.

"Hi."

"Yeah, hi. Listen, I'm sorry for...for getting upset with you. And...y'know. Being so confrontational. And going through your stuff, and...I'm just sorry."

Tony nods.

"I'm sorry for storming out like that."

"It's okay. Leftovers aren't that great anyway."

Tony snorted.

"Unless-"

"Unless it's Rhodey’s jambalaya," they both say and laugh.

Bruce gives him that crinkly smile again, and Tony feels guilt rest heavy on his shoulders.

"Come to bed."

"Yeah, lemme brush my..."

Another annoying yet somehow endearing thing about Bruce-he had the tendency to not finish his sentences sometimes. Leaving Tony no choice but to finish them for him. He considers this for a moment.

Maybe it's intentional...

He comes back mere moments later in one of Tony's shirts snug against his chest and slips under the covers. The engineer shudders at the sudden rush of cold air.

"Hey," he says to the scientist.

"Hey."

Their mouths collide, and Bruce's hand slides down the man's torso, stopping when Tony ‘mmph’s in pain.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just uh...nothing. I'm fine."

The scientist kisses him again, and Tony breaks it off.

"Hey, can we maybe not do this right now?"

"Uh...sure. Of course."

His lover's eyes are so sympathetic, it makes him sick.

"Arc reactor pain?" he asks. Tony just nods.

"It's alright Tones, we'll get rid of it soon."

That scared him.

As Bruce pulls away, his hands brush across something small and hard-multiple somethings. Tony closes his eyes shut, trying not to cringe away.

"Tony...Tony what did you do?"

"Nothing. Just-"

"What's that?"

Bruce slides up the man's thick sweatshirt and sees the dried blood. The engineer relaxes, giving up.

"Jesus..." he mutters, and walks off, leaving Tony in bed, exposed. He fiddles with one of the pins, groaning at the ache. Bruce comes back with disinfectant, napkins and bandaids.

"Lift up your sweatshirt, please."

"Bruce, I'm fine."

"No you aren't! Let's get those things out of you. Come on."

"Bruce please, I-I need them, I de-"

"You don't deserve anything like that! So don't even...just lift up your shirt, come on."

"Please? Just leave me be, and we can pretend you never saw anything."

"Not a chance."

"Okay, what if I get rid of them in the morning?"

"I'm not negotiating."

He shuts his eyes.

"Fine."

Tony slides the thick fleecy fabric up to his ribcage, knocking them around on the way.

Bruce reaches to pull one out and the engineer pulls the man close instead, kissing him deeply.

The scientist leans into it, and Tony rolls them over so he's perched on top of him, then puts a finger over Bruce's lips.

"Shhh..." he whispers and drapes himself across Bruce's chest, the thumbtacks stabbing into him.

The scientist realises what's happening and quickly lies Tony on his back, whose eyes are squeezed shut.

"You're no fun." he croaks, sticking his lip out. Bruce rolls his eyes and unzips the hoodie, helping Tony pull it off and casting it aside. The thumbtacks jut out from his stomach and leak blood. There were five embedded in his flesh, but they were surrounded by at least a dozen tiny stab wounds.

"Did you..."

Tony nods. He's met with an incredulous and heartbroken expression.

"What? I was mad!"

"At whom? What did I ever-I apologised, and I know that-"

"At myself, dummy," he grins.

Bruce looks down at the mess in front of him and sniffles, gently holding a tack by his thumb and forefinger.

"This is gonna hurt."

"I’d be disappointed if it didn’t."

The scientist just shakes his head and rips out one swiftly.

"That wasn't very fun-the least you could do is go slow," Tony whines.

Bruce wipes the blood off of the tack and presses a napkin down onto the wound, eyeing the needle.

"It's...perforated."

Tony looks away guiltily.

"Jesus christ..."

"Not quite, but I'm flattered."

"You diabolical bastard."

"You know you love me."

"I do, god help me." Bruce tosses the tack into the garbage.

"Here, put pressure on this."

Tony takes the small square of paper towel and presses his finger down.

"Not-not that much pressure."

The scientist does away with the other three tacks, with only one left.

"Can I keep it?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

Bruce glares at him and throws the last tack into the trash can, smacking Tony's hand to the side-the hand that was twisting and jabbing the small pin.

He quickly gets rid of that one and disinfects all the little puncture wounds, earning a lot of hissing from Tony. Bruce puts Morgan’s My Little Pony bandaids on all of them and hides the trash can somewhere in the bathroom. The engineer smooths his hand over the little bandaids on his stomach and Bruce comes back from the bathroom, turning out the lights and laying down next to Tony.

"Any more surprises?"

"No...that was it. Sorry."

Bruce scoffs, and pulls Tony close.

After awhile, the scientist asks the question that's been lingering on his mind for ages.

"Don't you ever get sick of it?"

"What?"

"Don't you ever get sick of the pain?"

Tony nearly chokes on the air, and presses his face into Bruce's soft cotton shirt.

"I-I don't know. I think so. But only when it's happening. After...I just want more. But not."

"I thought you said it was punishment?"

"It is. I just...it's not that I enjoy it, I think. It just feels right. Like getting revenge on someone you hate."

"Tony...I think it is getting revenge on someone you hate."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess so."

"Don't you think it's enough?" Bruce's voice is wayyy too sweet, too human. Tony's eyes spark.

"The pain?" His voice cracks. The engineer curses mentally.

"Yeah. You're torturing yourself. Don't you think it's enough? Haven't you paid the price by now?"

Tony chuckles wryly.

"Not really, no. In fact," he says, propping his chin on his hands. "I don't know if I ever will."

The sadness and pity in Bruce's eyes is tangible. He hates it.

"I'm sorry Bruce..."

"Don't apologise to me. Apologise to yourself. Because there was never a price to pay in the first place."

He strokes Tony's hair, wiping the silent tears from the engineer's expressionless face.

"Yeah there is."

"Not any more. You need to stop. You're...Tony you're killing yourself."

"...so?" Fresh tears cascade down the broken man's face.

"So you have a child-children. You've got a family. You've got the team. You’ve got me, and I hate to break it to you babe, but the world needs you too. You don't get to just leave. The price isn't...this. The price for being alive and safe is doing what you can. And you can't do that if you're dead. Or in a coma. Or whatever the fuck."

Tony sniffles, clinging onto Bruce like a child.

"Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for...y'know. Not running away from me."

The scientist's face falls.

Right.

His wife and daughter had run, his best friend had run, and his...his son(?) was half a planet away.

Everybody had run.

Tony felt alone.

"I'd never run. I'm always here. No matter what."

The engineer struggles to suppress the urge to sob freely at the tenderness and sincerity of Bruce's voice.

"Yeah," is all he can manage to say.

Chapter Text

The meeting with Dr. Cho had gone surprisingly well.

They'd finally agreed that as long as he got the shrapnel removed and had implants put in for support, he could keep the reactor.

Because he made the argument that he needed it to function properly as an Avenger.

Because Tony always gets what he wants, even if he, himself doubts whether or not he should. It was all bullshit, of course. Sure, the reactor made it easier for him physically; more stamina, strength-his budding arthritis was gone-but he didn't need it.

It just made him feel less...old.

Not to mention it was useful. For...reasons.

"Tony what the hell was that in there?"

He sighs deeply as the door swings shut behind himself and a very angry biochemist.

"What?"

Tony keeps walking.

Maybe if I ignore him, he'll leave me alone.

"You know full well that you don't need it. You're safer without it."

"Bruce-"

"It's dangerous! You've seen what it's done to you!"

Stark walks into the elevator, his finger waiting on the button. It occurs to him that in the elevator, there's nowhere he can run.

And that's never a good thing.

"Bruce, it's helpful."

"How do I know you're not going to...y'know. Again."

Tony crosses his arms and watches the floor count on the screen in front of them. 

"You don't."

"Exactly! And that's-"

"I'm an adult, Bruce. I can make my own decisions about this stuff."

"I know you can-wait, why are we going down?"  

"Lunch?"

"We're having an argument here!

Tony smiles.

"No, you're having an argument with me and I'm-quite frankly not...paying attention-you want the bolognese?"

"I-are you seriously looking at the menu right now?"

"It look delicious."

Bruce snatches Tony's glasses off his face.

"Wh-I'm sorry, I didn't realise pasta was such a touchy subject."

"Tony."

"That is, in fact my name. Congratulations. A lot of people confuse it with 'rat bastard' or 'son of a bitch', but you got it on the first try."

"I'm serious. It's having a negative impact on your health."

"I mean, they're not completely wrong. Mom was a bitch sometimes."

The elevator comes to a halt and the engineer pulls out another pair of glasses from inside his coat pocket and lets the blazer hang around his shoulders. The two are instantly swarmed by people on the floor of the building, and they are promptly ignored.

"Mister Stark, can we talk about the budget this month?"

"Sir, why are there four million dollars missing from the company account?"

"Yeah-sorry Shirley, my bad, I bought a statue for the lobby."

"But-we have a statue. You had it commissioned literally last month."

"Well, we've got a new one now."

"Mister Stark!"

"Josh, gimme my hat-thanks!"

A narrow-brimmed hat comes sailing through the air and he catches it, flipping it onto his head like an asshole.

"Mister Stark."

"Wait a minute are you two dating?"

Tony stops with his hand on the door handle.

An intern stands a few feet away, fidgeting with her hands.

"I-sorry, I just read a thing online and-"

"Yeah," he says plainly, and casually holds the door open for Bruce.

The intern's mouth drops open, just a bit.

They walk up to the curb and Tony fishes out a remote from his pocket. Part of a decorative panel outside the building opens up and out rolls a sleek sports car.

A few pedestrians stop and murmur as the two of them climb in. Tony throws up a peace sign as the engine growls and they hurtle forward, wind whistling.

"Tony what the fuck was that?"

"What was what?"

"That! You don't-you can't just tell them that!"

"Why not? Was I wrong?"

"No."

"Do you have a secret girlfriend I don't know about? Boyfriend? Spouse?"

"No, obviously-I just...I didn't think that was something you'd...y'know. Tell people."

"Should I have asked you?"

"Yeah."

"Would you have said no?"

"No-"

"Then I was right."

Bruce lets his hand slap against the outside of the car in exasperation.

"Why did you do that?" 

"Drama," Tony states blandly.

"Really."

The engineer straightens his glasses and gives Bruce a look.

"They would have found out anyway. Better I say something then Christine Everhart write a scandalous expose. I mean, she will anyway. She's like that. Great tits, though..." he mutters, and Bruce smacks his arm.

"What? You're just jealous."

"I'm really not-"

"She'll write something anyway. But at least I'm not caught with my pants down."

"Ah. And what of my professional career, Tony?"

His tone is scathing.

"Bruce the last thing you were working on was making a chocolate milk cow."

"It's important!"

"Mhmm."

"And no, it was Ronan's-"

"Ronan's staff is entirely unimportant. The guy’s dead."

Tony swerves into another lane and the engine growls obnoxiously. He sighs and flips a switch to put it on silent.

"So flashy when it makes that noise..." he mutters.

"Tony you're driving a two million dollar supercar. I don't think that the noise it makes is the flashiest part."

He rolls his eyes and runs a red light, accelerating to avoid running over a guy with a suitcase in the crosswalk.

"You're not supposed to do that."

"Sorry Mom."

"Thought your mom was a bitch."

"Precisely."

The engineer grins smugly and Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Why are you in a good mood." 

"Is...that a bad thing?" Tony asks.

"Just suspicious. You're usually more..."

"Pathetic?"

"No..."

"Self-destructive?"

"Meh."

"Sexy?"

"No...just maudlin."

"Well, I offer you my sincerest apologies, monsieur Banner."

He cuts in front of someone and they screech to a halt at a stoplight.

"You're an asshole when you drive, you know that?"

He gives him a shit-eating grin.

"Only when I drive?"

"I hate you."

"Hate you more."

Tony smiles that special smile at him, and Bruce pecks him on the cheek. Multiple people in cars next to them start screeching.

The engineer bats his lashes and hold a hand to his chest.

"Doctor Banner, don't you know I'm a married man?"

They both giggle.

"JARVIS, put on some Duran Duran."

"Oh come on," Tony whines.

"Duran Duran is amazing!"

"Not enough guitars."

"They have ample guitars."

"Or screaming. There's no screaming."

"That's because it's pop, Tony."

Simon Le Bon sings to them and Bruce hums along, mouthing the words. Tony finds the music growing on him, much to his chagrin.

He presses a button on the dash and the roof quickly shoots up over them, and hands Bruce a credit card as the windows tint black. He parks outside a shop.

"Wait-this is Delmar's?"

"Yeah. Can you go pick it up?"

Bruce hesitates.

"You know I avoid human interaction as much as possible."

Tony pouts.

"Please? They'll recognise me."

"They'll recognise me too."

"I know. But you're you. And I'm me."

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

”Means I’m a goddamn attention whore and you’re a cool dude.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, only a little bit offended.    

"Fiiine."

"Thanks!"

Tony sighs just as the door shuts, resting his head against the seat. He whips out his phone and texts Peter.

Tony: Hey, you guys through customs yet?"

Pete: Yeah. Just got out.

Tony: alright. See you soon

Pete: got it. Bye!

Tony: love you kid

Petey-pie: Love you too mr stark! <3

Seconds later, Tony gets a selfie of Peter smiling and May looking happy but caught off-guard, going through her purse.

Someone knocks on the window and he rolls it down.

"Tony! Kinda got my hands full..."

"Right! Sorry. Hand it over," he offers, hands outstretched. Bruce gives him the boxes and sits down. Tony puts it on the floor behind his seat so it doesn't slide, and they pull away from the curb.

"Where are we going?"

"Airport."

"W-is it Pepper?" Bruce's eyebrows shoot up and his eyes are wide as saucers.

"Pete. And listen-she's tall and gorgeous and she wears really scary shoes sometimes but Pepper doesn't bite. Believe me, I've requested it."

Bruce smirks.

"Oh. No, I just..."

"Anxious to face her?"

"Yeah."

"It'll be okay."

"Sure it will..."

Tony taps the button on the dash and the top rolls back again. They pull onto the highway.

"But just in case it doesn't and she tackles you, she's got a sore spot on the back of her left shoulder."

"What!?"

Tony shrugs.

"Just sayin'..." He grins. Bruce looks terrified.

"JARV, play whatever gay shit Brucey had on earlier.

"Tony you're literally gay."

"No...what gave it away?”

"Oh shut up."

It takes a couple songs until they hit gold. Tony's been tapping the steering wheel to the beat and Bruce pretends not to notice. Until Rio comes on.

"Oh, I know this one!" Tony says.

"Yeah, everybody knows this one."

"I like this one!"

"Cherry ice cream-smile, I suppose it's very niiice!" they both sing.

They laugh, speeding down the freeway. 

It occurs to Tony that at least he can actually satisfy that urge to sing along with this music-something his fragile vocal cords would not allow with Metallica. It also occurs to him that holy Christ, if Bruce were blonde and a chick, this’d be so fucking cliche...

"It means so much to meeeee, like a birthday, or a pretty view..." Tony belts out.

SO THIS IS THAT SONG THAT KEPT COMING UP ON THE RADIO BACK WHEN I WAS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL, he thinks.  

He is suddenly aware of the fact that Bruce is no longer singing along.

"What."

"I-nothing, I just...I didn't know you could sing."

"Oh...yeah, I was in a band like, a million years ago. Still got it, I guess."

"I-I didn't know that."

"Yeah...used to sneak out on Fridays and Wednesdays. Perform at the local dive, only place my father couldn't find us. It was shitty, but we were pretty decent."

"Oh. Why didn't you keep it up?"

He laughs.

"Because I was a choir boy, and my father beat the shit out of me when he found out."

"I'm sorry. That's-not very nice of him."

"Nope. I punched him back though."

"Good for you."

"I mean he threw me into a mirror after that, but..." he mutters, just barely under his breath.

Bruce's eyes widen.

"Tony-"

"Let's turn this shit up." He pushes his shades up his nose and clears his throat, boosting the volume. They spend the rest of the drive in silence-well, without talking. Bruce hummed.

Tony lifts a hand to chest height and Bruce immediately smacks it down.

"Jesus-I'm just putting up the roof, relax."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Just don't do that shit when the kid's here, okay?"

"Only if you don't do your shit. You know. The hovering."

"Fine."

They roll into the pickup line, and Tony realises that a tiny sports car probably wasn't a good idea.

"Tony."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"How are you going to fit it all?"

"I have...no clue."

He hops out of the car and runs around to the trunk under the hood of the car. There's enough space for a suitcase and maybe a carry on, since his old suit was all folded up and taking up most of the room.

Fuck.

"Why didn't you bring the Rover?" Bruce whines from inside the car.

"This was the one I had parked out front!"

"Why not just go the other way then?"

"Well I-it wouldn't have looked smooth," he pouts. The scientist rolls his eyes.

"Okay shut up. I got this."

He holds up his watch and talks.

"FRIDAY, send us drone A-47, please."

"Sure thing, boss."

"Thanks. I'll text you the landing spot."

Tony whips out his phone and finds a random open field nearby.

"Tony that's someone's property."

"So?"

"So...you might get sued."

"No I won't."

Bruce sighs.

"Wait-Tony it's them."

His head snaps up immediately to see a worn looking May and a springy Peter walking through the doors.

"Peter!" He shouts. Tony jumps out of the car like a child and runs-like actually fucking sprints up to see them with open arms.

"MISTER STARK! I was just about to text you!" He pockets his phone and runs to meet Tony and tackles him in a hug.

"Ohmygod Mister Stark I missed you somuchyouhavenoidea-"

Tony wheezes, his still-bruised ribs creaking plaintively.

"Kid-loosen up a bit-"

"Right, sorry!"

Tony takes a big gulp of air and Bruce walks forward.

"Heyyyy, Parkers!"

May smiles warmly and Banner also gets a hug.

"Doctor Banner!!" Peter shrieks.

"Hey, May."

"Hi Tony."

He hugs her and offers a hand.

"Luggage?"

"You really don't-"

"You have no say in this." He grins.

She sighs and hands him her carry on, rolling the suitcase behind her.

"Okay. So. Here's how we're going to do this. I was stupid, and I didn't feel like grabbing the SUV because I had this car hidden in the-well, parked out front. But, fear not, I called a drone over and it's landing in some poor sod's yard nearby. So I'll have the suit put your stuff in there and it'll meet us back at your place."

May nods.

"It's okay Mister Stark-this car's cooler."

He grins.

"Cool. Great. Okay."

Tony looks around to see how many shocked people he'll have to deal with, and takes his old suit from the trunk. He opens up the brief case and a dust cloud rises, making him cough. He smiles, nostalgia sweeping over him. It was still a little busted up, the suit unfolding around him. He fiddles around with the touch screen on his arm and steps out of it.

"OH. MY. GOD. Isn't that the suit you fought the Hammer things in-and then you did the thing and I was a kid, and we were at the expo and you saved me from the thing?"

Tony grins.

"Yeah. Except you're still a kid."

"Oh come on..."

The engineer plants a small device inside the helmet of the suit and latches it back on.

People were starting to whisper.

Hurry up...

"Alright JARV, you in there bud?"

"Hello, Mister Stark."

"Everything working in there?"

"Yes sir. Ready when you are."

"Good. I've put a transponder ch-I gave you a thingy so you should be able to remotely pilot the thing. Take the luggage to the drone. FRIDAY will tell you where."

"Of course."

The suit clumsily walks up to May, hand outstretched, it's movement choppy and robotic. It nearly steps on her.

"May I, madame?"

"Uh, sure. Thank you...?"

"JARVIS."

"Right. Jarvis."

Peter puts his small suitcase in the suit's other hand and they use the remaining space in the trunk for their carry ons.

A woman starts toward them excitedly.

Tony stiffens.

"Okay guys, in the car. Like, now."

The two clamber in the back seat.

"J, what are the thrusters at?"

"Only five percent power, sir."

"Okay, should be just enough. Seeya later."

"Goodbye."

The thrusters fire and Tony's reminded of how loud the old ones were.

Ugh...

A weird, familiar smell fills the air as he watches the suit blast away.

I hope to god he doesn't drop them...

"Oh my god are you Tony Stark?"

The woman shrieks.

"Okay, that's our cue."

He waves as the car speeds away from the curb and out of there before anyone else comes after them.

"By the way, I got everybody food. Bruce?"

"Yeah."

The scientist reaches to the back and hands out everyone's food, noticing Tony had only ordered for May and Peter.

"Awwwww Mister Stark you ordered my sandwich!"

"Did I get it right!"

"It's perfect!"

It wasn’t-he forgot to ask them to ‘smush it down real flat’, so Tony’s forced to watch as he crushes the damn thing into a slab with his bare hands.

He grins.

"So, how was it, you guys?"

"It was great! Mister Stark I met a cow! Her name was Eloise, and-what?"

May grinned and Tony and Bruce were laughing.

"You guys, cows are surprisingly sweet. She helped me with my math homework. Well, I say helped. She hung out with me, though."

"You were doing math homework??" Tony asked, incredulous.

"Um...yeah."

"But it's a vacation."

"I was trying to be responsible."

Tony gives him a weird look, is glared at by May and turns back around.

"Okay. Fair enough. Good job, kid."

The entire ride home, Peter yammers on about the cow, about the food and all the people he met, how he had a sip of whiskey-and it was at that point that Tony yelled at him. But that was after congratulating him on the first step of passage into manhood. Not those words exactly, but...you get the point. May fell asleep almost as soon as they hit the highway, snoring softly with her head against the window.

Tony dropped them off at Peter’s apartment, who insisted he come and pick up the luggage himself later. The engineer allowed it, knowing full well he just wanted an excuse to come and hang out.

He and Bruce depart after lots of hugging and Peter crying happy tears and Tony pretending he wasn’t crying too and Bruce giving him the  “he’s totally your kid” look.   

“Where do you wanna eat?”

“Anywhere that isn’t a cliff,” Bruce muses. 

“What, did you not like my cliff? I’m offended.”

“No, it’s a great cliff. I’m just a sucker for chairs.”

“And cute waitresses,” Tony adds. The scientist snorts.

“That too.”

They pull up to a little Italian restaurant on the outskirts of the city, near the docks.  

“What’s this?” 

“You’ll see.”

Tony parks his car around the back of the restaurant in the employee parking. Some kid who was smoking a joint in the back door drops it and runs inside. 

They walk back around to the front and the place is running at about half capacity. Oddly enough, nobody asks for autographs. Or selfies. Or...anything, really. It’s weird. It’s mostly filled with really old people, and a few couples. A guy who looks suspiciously like Andy Garcia is hiding under a pair of shades with some other guys in a booth towards the back.

They’re led to a table by a man who recognises Tony instantly, and gives him a hug. They have a brief exchange in Italian and the man walks off. The only acknowledgement he gives Bruce is a tight smile. 

“Am I-what’s going on? I get the feeling I’m not supposed to be here.”

The other customers look at him oddly, completely ignoring Stark. 

“That’s probably because you’re not.”

“Ah.”

“It’s okay, though. You’re welcome. Perhaps not appreciated by all, but welcome.”

“So...what is this? A secret Spectre meeting place?”

Tony laughs. 

“No...this place’s been around for years. My mother’s mother went here with her mother when she was a kid. It’s that sort of place.”

“Oh. So they all know you.”

“You could say that.”

The place looked pretty shitty, and Bruce’s hand stuck to the vinyl covering when he sat down.

He looked around. Linoleum floors, there was shit written on the walls but-

holy shit, is that Tiffany?

Over one of the walls was a long, stained glass panel.

That’s a motherfucking Tiffany window. Holy shit. 

This is trippy...

The food came soon despite the fact that they hadn’t ordered. Bruce tried not to find that strange, taking a thoughtful bite.

“Holy shit Tony...it’s...sensational.”

The engineer smiled. 

“Yep.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the engineer mostly just pushing his food around on his plate.

Bruce broke the ice. 

“So Peter’s back.”

Tony’s face lights up. 

“I know, right? I’m so excited. It’s been too long.” He grins like a madman. 

“Aww….he’s totally your surrogate son.”

He nearly spits out his iced tea. 

“My what? I mean, we’re close, but...no.”

“Oh come on. Everyone sees it. At the very least you’re a father figure.”

“Mentor.”

“You love the kid to pieces, Tony.”

“Yeah, but...he doesn’t feel like that. Besides-he’s got May. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

The scientist takes a bite of calzone. 

“I’m not. I’m also not going to butt into his life.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. 

They finish up, still arguing about Peter. Tony finally agrees, though he remains uncertain how to approach the situation. 

“I’ll let him come to me,” he said. 

They slide into the car and head back to the tower after Tony hugs multiple old women and they both cry a little, talking about someone named Maria.   

They play an odd mix of Prince and Iron Maiden on the way home. 

“Tony? Tony. Tony!” 

“Mm?” 

Tony’s head snaps up. 

“Come on. Pete’s here.”

“Yeah.”

His voice cracks, hoarse and broken.

Peter  

He wipes his hands and follows a cautious Steve upstairs. 

The soldier holds a hand out to stop him before they reach the top. 

“Hey Stark?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep it together for him.”

Tony nods. 

“Always.”

He walks into the kitchen to the smell of something sweet. 

“W-what are you doing?” 

Peter’s fiddling with the oven, hands clad in oven mitts and Morgan’s pink baking apron. 

“Hi Mister Stark! I made cookies. Well, I’m making cookies. They aren’t done yet.”

Tony can’t help but grin, walking over and getting a bear hug from the teen. 

“That’s-that’s really sweet of you.”

“Yeah. You seemed kinda down. Everything ok?”

Wh-how is he so perceptive? Goddamn.  

“I’m...just tired. Thanks for asking.”

“That’s what they all say,” he says and pulls the tray of cookies out of the oven. “Whew!” 

He fans the cookies, admiring his work. 

“Not bad, not bad at all…”

Tony pours himself a cup of joe.

“Coffee?” he offers. 

“Um..sure. Thanks, Mister Stark.”

The engineer fills the cup half full with milk and sticks it in the microwave. Peter sends him a look. 

“Really?” 

“What? It’s a lot of caffeine.” 

He sighs and starts moving the cookies to a cooling rack with a spatula while Tony takes the milk out of the microwave. He fills it the rest of the way with coffee and puts it down on the counter, takes a sip of his own. He knows Peter’s only pretending he doesn’t like milk and sugar. The last time he drank coffee in front of the avengers, he had it black, and the entire time the kid looked like he was drinking dish soap. Tony didn’t miss how the plant by the window suspiciously smelled like coffee and somehow, Peter’d gone from a full mug to an empty one during the time it took him to turn on the AC. 

“So Mister Stark what happened to your arm?”

PATHETICPATHETICPATHETICPATHETIC

Tony’s eyes shoot open, the pale skin on his left arm throbbing with his heart rate. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

He internally rolls his eyes. 

Right, the cast. God, I’m stupid. 

“Oh yeah-uh...fell down the stairs.”

“Really?”

Peter isn’t buying it. 

“Sure.”

“That’s obviously-” 

He clears his throat. 

“So how was Ireland?” 

The engineer narrows his eyes at the kid for a brief second, making it clear they weren’t going to pursue that subject. 

And Peter found himself rambling on about his cousins, and how different food was there, and how he went yarn shopping with his uncle and ‘ did you know how many colours of yarn they had? It was insane!’. 

Tony ate a cookie out of respect, and another two because fuck, they were delicious. The two of them ended up downstairs in the garage. Peter’s monologue turned into their dialogue, and then silence as they settled into the jazz in the background because contrary to popular belief, Tony’s more than just a metalhead. They’d been working for around two hours when Happy walked in. 

“Hey. It’s time. Kid’s gotta head home.”

“Oh come on!” Both Tony and Peter say. They laugh. 

“Seriously. It’s a school night.”

“But-”

“Now Parker, or May’ll have my ass.”

Tony flashes a shit-eating grin. 

“But...doesn’t she already?” 

Happy rolls his eyes, and Peter’s face goes red.

“Oh my god Mister Stark stoppp!” 

He giggles, tossing his welding mask down and grabbing Peter’s backpack and jacket from the couch. 

“C’mon, kid.” 

The boy drops his pencil and slides his arms into the jean jacket Tony holds out behind him. 

He swings the bag over his shoulder and tackles the engineer in a bear hug. 

Owwwwwwwfuck. 

Tony just smiles and hugs him back, wincing. 

“I love you Mister Stark,” he whispers. Tony’s eyes light up and his grimace turns to a genuine smile. 

“Love you too, Pete.” 

He gives him one last squeeze and runs off after Happy, who’s already started down the hallway. 

“Wait wait Happy hold on-” he calls and slides into the closing elevator doors. Tony just stands there, smiling at the ground. 

I love you Mister Stark. 

He turns back to the iron spider boot he’d been working on and sat back down, this time leaving the protective helmet where it was. 

“Love you too, kid,” he whispered to it. 

About three hours passed and he’d moved onto another project-not because he was finished, just bored. The engineer rubs his eyes; it’s getting late. Well, not really. But he hadn’t properly slept in...god knows how long. He sighs and stands up from the table, schlepping himself over to the sofa. 

His tired eyes gaze up at the ceiling, and he briefly wonders how cool it would be if his blood were golden ichor. He digs at his wrist with a nearby fork until it turns red and angry, just to check. 

“Dammit.”

He drops the fork on the scratched up coffee table and knocks his head back. Three minutes later, he hears the door open. 

Ugh, go away. 

He adjusts his position on the couch minutely, just in case it’s Bruce. 

Of course it’s Bruce. 

“Tony?”

Yep. 

“No, Eeyore the donkey.”  

Tony can practically hear the scientist’s eyes rolling. 

“Have you eaten today?”

“Peter made me eat cookies.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“I beg to differ. I had like, six.”

Bruce chuckles and walks up to the couch, looking down at Tony-

Who nearly chokes. On air. Because Bruce. 

“You’re really pretty. Let’s watch Battlestar Galactica.”

“I-” The man’s ears turn red and he stammers. 

“Uh-o-okay. Yeah. Let’s do the um...let’s do that. That’s what we’re gonna do. Mhmm.”

He mumbles. Tony cracks up. 

They end up cuddled up on the couch, until Tony hears faint footsteps behind them. 

“Tasha?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Dinner’s ready. Come on, boys.” 

Bruce sighs and fumbles for the remote before pausing and staring at the engineer. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Just...just you.”

Tony grins. 

“Just me?”

“Yep.” 

He leans in and their lips meet, mouths melting like chocolate. A fire sparks in their bowels and Tony slides into his lap; they practically vibrate with potential energy. 

“Now!” Tasha yells. Tony just giggles and leaps over the back of the sofa like a goddamn rabbit, landing on his ankle and nearly face-planting. 

Bruce tries not to laugh and fails. 

“You good there? I know you’re still getting used to those new legs...”

Tony hauls himself to his feet and grumbles. 

“Fuck you Bruce.”

Chapter Text

The kid had been passed out for over three hours on his couch back at the tower after only forty-five minutes of tinkering, and Tony remembers that he doesn’t sleep well on planes.

“He looks so peaceful,” Bruce says from the doorway, holding two glasses of wine. He sits on the chair next to the sofa and leaves a glass on the coffee table in front of Tony, who takes it gratefully.

“He certainly does. I thought you disapproved of my relationship with alcohol.”

Bruce shrugs.

“Figured you needed it.”

The engineer nods.

“You feel any better?”

Tony pauses, watching the pale yellow liquid orbit the insides of his glass as he swirls it. The colouring reminds him of clear gummy bears.

”Not particularly. You?”

”I’m just fine.” Bruce sighs.   “But yours is a different story.”

Tony sips his drink contemplatively, says nothing.

“How’s the pain?”

At that, he shifts uncomfortably.

“Not great.”

”We need to set a date for the surgery.”

“I know...”

”Don’t think I’m letting you forget about it. You might be able to delay it, but it’s going to happen whether you like it or not.”

The engineer raises an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure you need my permission to cut me open.”

Bruce shrugs.

“There are loopholes.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“I’ll get it done, I’m just...”

”A little nervous?”

The man puts his pride aside, for once.

“Yeah, what’s-what’s with that?”

Bruce frowns.

“I’m not sure. You’re never nervous about shit, even when you should be-except when it come to him.” Bruce nods toward the slumbering teen, who’s arm had rotated a good seventy degrees and was now dangling off the armrest. “ Seems logical, though. You’ve always harboured an aversion to change, and this’ll be...very different.”

Tony considers this.

“Perhaps.”

”Maybe.”

”Mayhaps?”

”Perchance...” Tony drawls in a thick Edwardian accent. Bruce smirks.

Peter stirs in his sleep next to him on the couch.

“He’s an odd one,” Bruce remarks.

“Yes.”

”But brilliant.”

Tony just smiles proudly.

“You’d better stick around for him.”

The billionaire sucks in a breath.

Well that was sudden.

”Yep.”

~three hours later~

A/N it is imperative that you read this like the time cards from spongebob. This is very important.

He blinks at the ceiling. One of the light bulbs is out. He looks to his right and Peter is gone.

I must’ve fallen asleep, too.

His watch tells him it’s five in the evening, and he wants to disagree with it. In fact, he’s raring to have an argument with it.

“Where do you get your info, exactly? What are your sources?” He’d say.

God, I’m losing my mind

Tony gets up, his joints audibly complaining.

Nobody’s around so he sneaks downstairs to melt into his work. He’d been building new repulsors for his suit-the previous design was horribly inefficient.

He worked for a good hour-and-a-half before his vision started to melt and his hands cramped up. He sighs and sips his stale coffee, glaring at his still—packaged flatscreen.

Tony decides to send it to Peter and May instead of it meeting the same fate as its predecessors when he inevitably rages against the media at it.

I think they still have a box set...

The engineer massages his temples before jamming his eyes into his skulls until he feels like they’ll pop and he sees fractals in the static beneath his lids.

God, I hate Mondays.

It wasn’t long before he walked over to his couch and proceeded to stare at the empty space where his TV used to be. His mind travels back to Yinsen and the Ten Rings, back to Jericho and how obnoxious he was.

Is.

Am.

He fidgets with his fingers before relenting and reaching down to open that little drawer in his sofa, only to find an empty glass.

“Dammit,” he mutters.

So he gets up and grabs his laptop and works. And works. And works, until Bruce waltzes in and startles the shit out of him.

“Jesus Banner, ever heard of knocking?”

“Nope.  Come on. We’re getting dinner.”

“Can’t we just stay here?”

“No, Tony.”

He grumbles.

“Steve’s making salad and I don’t want to suffer through that.”

“Fair enough.”

Tony types for about thirty more seconds, rapid fire and then snaps his laptop shut, marching up the staircase after Bruce. He throws on a jacket and looks out the window to see that it’s pouring. The engineer turns on his heel and digs his rain jacket out of the closet, shoving assorted capes and battle axes out of the way.

Bruce stands in the elevator and Tony follows.

“No weapons in the coat closet, people!” He shouts to the kitchen as the doors close.

The capsule shoots down; they get out at the garage and Tony calls up a Tesla roadster with his phone. Bruce drives to a rustic little restaurant on the outskirts of the city; one of those places that are cramped and hidden, but the food is insanely good, places where nobody expects to find two superheroes. Five Guys used to be a favourite, until Obama showed up there. They sit down and order quickly.

“So when can you schedule the surgery?”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“This again?”

“We gotta do it.”

“Why?”

Bruce narrows his eyes at him.

“You know why.”

“And you know I’ll always find a way to get what I want. Need.”

“You don’t need it.”

The engineer props his chin on his hand.

“It makes me who I am.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“So’s your argument.”

The waitress drops their plates off kindly, grabbing a selfie with the two avengers in the process.

They bicker more, only ending in Tony being an asshole. They’re standing outside the restaurant now, and cold rain beats down outside the overhang.

“Look, Bruce, you’re great, okay? But I don’t need you to protect me! I’m fine! ”

“No you’re not! You couldn’t be further from fine!”

“And who are you to judge that, huh?”

“Someone who cares, Tony. You tear yourself apart but you’re hurting the people around you, and I don’t understand how you can’t see that! You are so, incredibly narcissistic that you wallow in self pity and assume the worst about yourself because then, then you don’t have to worry about other people!”

Bruce stops his tirade to breathe, and Tony’s face is stone.

The scientist pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I-I’m sorry, I just...I care.”

Saying nothing, Tony walks around to the driver’s side of the car and waits for Bruce to follow. He does, after a minute and the engineer speeds away from the curb, then continues driving in an eerie calm. Finally, he speaks up.

“You think this fun, for me?”

His voice is hushed, his features betray nothing. The rain pelts down on the windshield like it’s trying to flood in and drown them. Tony finds he wouldn’t entirely mind that.

“As a team, we have to make sacrifices that sometimes hurt people. Greater good, and all that. It’s not exactly fun for us.”

Tony swears he won’t say anything, fearing he might lose control, fearing some demon he’s hiding will slither out of his mouth and scare the scientist away. Bruce breaks the silence. 

“But it’s necessary.”

“Except when it isn’t.”

“As you well know, it still doesn’t pardon what we did. Sure, we’ve saved more lives than we can count. Billions, indirectly. But what about all the casualties? What about all the people Hulk hurt? What about Ultron, what about Bucky, what about-“

“Banner.”

Tony’s voice is steely and resigned, barely containing something.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Can it.”

They pull into the garage and Tony doesn’t even bother parking properly. He gets out and takes the elevator up, leaving Bruce behind in the passenger seat.

The scientist sits in the car with his head in his hands, thinking.

Boy did I fuck up.

A/N 

Yes, I’m a terrible person for not updating. Just balancing all my summer shit, work, school shit and this is kinda difficult.

Chapter Text

The elevator dings and Tony’s palms are sweaty. 

(A/N knees weak arms are heavy, there’s v-ok I’ll stop)

“Heyyyyy!”

Bucky and Natasha are sprawled across the couch recounting old war stories. Tony is suddenly aware of the fact that he looks like absolute shit.

The soldier takes a swig of beer.

“What, did you get hit by a train or something?”

That’d be nice.

“ Thanks, Barnes.”

He stalks upstairs, far from Natasha’s rolling eyes.

The engineer shuts his door and slides down the wood to the floor, staring at the tall mirror in front of him.

So, incredibly narcissistic-

I trusted him. I trusted him.

“Trusted him...” he mutters.             

His body moves without his permission and he finds himself breaking a glass bottle against the sink, tying it to a piece of leather cord. He locks the door and nearly rips his shirt off, tossing it aside in an angry tangle of limbs and cast.  

Wallow in self pity

Testing the waters, he drags the bottle against the skin over his spine. The jagged edges scrape at his flesh. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brings the whip down hard on his back, making him grimace.

Lash

after lash

after lash, until his skin is a mess. Blood is everywhere and the bottle is now actually sticking out of his flesh. He yanks it out and smiles, replaying everything in his head. Exhausted, Tony collapses onto his stomach and stares at the stained bottle, letting the warm, syrupy liquid pool in the small of his back. His casted arm aches under his weight.

Disgusting.

He wakes up without having slept, the blood now crusted over on his back. He knows it’ll crack and the rivers will flow once he gets up, like subterranean magma seams. The engineer sighs and wraps the stained towel around his waist and kicks his new tool under the bed, too tired to dispose of it properly and afraid of what’ll happen to the taut skin on his back if he bends down.

Tony stumbles to his bathroom with blood running down his leg and on his hand like the red gauntlets of his suit.

So much blood on my hands...

maybe my own will wash it off 

A matching red watch extends a shield around his arm. He doesn’t have the energy to freak out about the bloodstains on the white of the plaster cast. 

When can I get rid of this damn thing...

The marble floor is cold under his feet and the water shoots out with a hiss, hitting him square in the face.

Great.

The billionaire wipes the water from his eyelashes with the corner of the towel so he can see, and steps a single foot out the door to throw it in the trash can.

Tony finds a new meaning of pain when the warm water jet hits his back full-force.

Swearing, he turns around and quickly rotates the shower head to a lighter setting, instead of “massage”.

After a while, his back goes numb, just raw flesh and torn skin.

What did I just do?

Bruce is gonna be so disappointed.

Tony tilts his head back and rinses his hair with water, deciding to spare himself the torture of shampoo running down his back.

Bruce doesn’t need to know.

But he’ll find out...

he always does.

The man steps heavy-footed out of his shower and reaches for a charcoal-coloured towel. He turns around in the mirror and looks over his shoulder to survey the damage.

Jesus...

Nasty lacerations run across his back, but mostly there are smaller, deeper wounds. They’re jagged and dark. He feels them in his bones.

That’s probably not a good thing...

Tony sways into his closet and pulls on a pair of sweats and grey shirt-hopefully dark enough to conceal bloodstains-and smiles satisfactorily at the lack of red on his new towel.

The knock at his door startles the shit out of him, and runs to the bathroom as fast as he can, covering up the towel in the trash can with countless paper towels and a near-empty box of tissues on top of the toilet. The knocks become more urgent.

“Tony, I can hear you. Can I come in?”

Shitshitshit

He hurries to his bed and practically rips the duvet off his comforter, spotting a couple of drops of blood.

No evidence no evidence

“Please?” The door asks.

Yeah, yeah

The engineer shoves his bedsheets into the cupboard under the sink and all but throws his laptop on the bed, nearly breaking it as he rips it open and unlocks it.

“Are you okay?”

Tony ruffles his hair with the towel and tosses it at the foot of the bed before unlocking the door and opening it, no more than two inches.

Bruce peers through the crack looking morose. The billionaire eyes something bright yellow and red in his hands.

“Are those-?”

The scientist gently pushes the door open all the way.

“Yeah, I brought you flowers.”

All the anger Tony was prepared to throw at him fizzles away .

“That’s...very thoughtful of you.”

Bruce hands him the bouquet and clasps his hands together as if he’s an eight-year old preparing to present his project to the class.

“I have come to apologise for my words. I was...really mean. And I’m sorry. You aren’t narcissistic. Sure, you can be self-absorbed, but it’s not as simple as hurling an insult at you and hoping it’ll stick. You’re also the most brilliant, kind-hearted, stunning man I know, and-“

His speech is cut off by Tony’s lips on his, earnest and warm. He holds the scientist tight and rests his head on his chest. Bruce reciprocates, tenderly grasping his back. Tony winces and tries his best to betray nothing. He breaks away when he’s worried Bruce might tear something open again.

How would I explain that?

He stares at the decorative vase in the corner.

Well, I can’t exactly leave him alone here to poke around...

Tony takes the priceless artefact off its pedestal and brings it to the bathroom to fill it up with water, rinsing the dust out first.

This thing probably hasn’t been used for hundreds of years, maybe even a thousand..

“Wait a minute-Tony are you fucking serious? That’s worth-I don’t actually know, but I’ve seen ones from the same collection at the Smithsonian with like, bodyguards.”

The engineer rolls his eyes.

“There are teapots that are thousands of years old, but if they aren’t used like they were made to, they’ll dry out and crack. Besides, this thing isn’t doing much good in the corner.”

Bruce blinks in disbelief.

“Only you Tony, only you.”

They both start arranging the blooms artfully in the vase and Bruce tries not to notice how Tony quietly grumbles at the placement of the flowers and moves them around.

“And to be fair, when I’m gone, if my suits are later on put on display in some museum and never used, never learned from I just might come back and die all over again.”

He unwraps the golden and red blooms and pours in the packet of flower food.

”The teapot thing, you got that from Sherlock, didn’t you?”

Tony just smirks. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“And to be fair, when I’m gone, if my suits are later on put on display in some museum and never used, never learned from I just might come back and die all over again.”

The flowers are place delicately in the ancient vessel and Tony carefully puts them on his nightstand. It doesn’t slip by him that they’re golden and red-the colours of his suit. Bruce is thoughtful like that, in the little things you only realise after a moment of hmm, there’s something about this...

They crawl into bed and talk some more, Bruce apologising incessantly, only to be countered by Tony’s self-deprecating ramblings-eventually settling on the silent realisation that while Tony hates himself and Bruce lacks confidence in pretty much every goddamn situation, they’ll always have one another to offer that moment of blinding truth when one thinks “hey, I  was actually  right after all” or in one case, “maybe I deserve a little more than I give myself credit for.”

His secret lasts a grand total of three days.

It’s a Monday, and Tony’s in and out of meetings for four hours straight, until he meets up with Bruce for lunch.

(A/N Just realised this fic is like, 30% Tony and Bruce eating, 40% Tony falling apart and 30% Tony falling apart during/after he and Bruce are eating/have eaten. But hey, you’re still reading, right?)

He finds the scientist sipping iced tea in the secluded left corner of a little bistro on 32nd when Tony gets the call.

“What’s wrong?”

The engineer looks anxious.

“Uh...just got a call from the boys at Langley. One of their people just got caught in some shit, and-anyway somehow there’s a hostage situation, and you know how those work out for the authorities, so they want me to head there.”

“That’s...way below your pay grade.”

Tony shrugs as Bruce leaves a few bucks for his drink and follows him out the door.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really mind.”

“Yes you do.”

“Okay fine, I do, but-“

He holds the door open for Bruce, and the two men find a nearby alley.

“But there are lives at stake. And the government is absolutely hopeless when it comes to these things. Ross says it’ll be good publicity.”

“Since when do you give a fuck what Ross thinks?”

“I don’t. But occasionally, he’s right.”

Tony flips a few switches on his reactor and the suit encases him. Bruce starts unbuttoning the shirt Tony bought him so he doesn’t rip it when he hulks out, but a metal hand stops him.

“It’s fine, I got this.”

“Tony I can help-“

“Seriously. It’s just one well-aimed missile.”

And hulk is damn near uncontrollable,  he doesn’t say.

Bruce nods.

“Okay. Do you think we’ll have time to-?”

The engineer considers things for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. Sorry.”

“It’s cool. I’ll see you back at the tower?”

“Uhhh yeah. Bye.”

He turns away, but Bruce pulls him back and promptly places a kiss on his metal cheek.

“Don’t die,” he tells him.

Tony beams.

“I’ll try my best.”

With that, he takes off, thrusters leaving the air around Bruce twelve degrees hotter. The man buttons his shirt back up and walks the sidewalk, hailing a taxi with a smile on his face.

Rule number one of being Tony Stark: Don’t just try, finish the job. Effort means nothing if nothing is all you’ve got to show for it.

Chapter Text

“This’d better be good, I just passed up a hot date.”

General Ross doesn’t laugh on the other end, but his aged voice crackles over the speakers in Tony’s helmet.

“Good isn’t quite the word I’d use.”

“Did they not introduce you to humour in the Human Societal Assimilation course?”

Silence.

Okay fuck you Ross, that was funny.

“Alright, what do we got?”

“Male, Caucasian, mid forties. Can’t give you all the details, but we had an agent on him, CIA. She went dark, and coincidentally, so did all the cameras in the building.”

“How many?”

“Sixteen, three children.”

Well shit.

“Armed?”

“We have no idea.”

“Just a reminder, it’s called the Central What Agency?”

“Just get him and get out, okay?”

“Right. Well, I’m here-wanna say goodbye on three?” He jokes.

The line goes dead.

Well then.

Tony lands inside the police barrier just outside the front door to the law firm, the address Ross’s people had given him.

Who the fuck brings their kid to a law firm?  

Random cops start yelling at him, and he melts back his mask to give them a look.

“Really?”

Tony turns and waltzes in the first set of glass doors, only to find the second one locked. So he knocks.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

A sweaty guy with a neck beard holding an AR-15 looks up to see him and points it at Tony’s head.

A bullet goes straight through the glass and bounces off his armour, still leaving a sizeable dent.

“Oh come on, there’s no need to be impolite.”

The engineer sighs and blasts the door open and steps through, broken glass crunching underfoot.

The guy with the gun starts sweating even more and points his gun at one of the hostages.

Shit.

Tony follows the long barrel of the gun where it pokes against the soft skin of a little girl.

Shit...

“Do you want her to end up like that?”

The man shouts, nodding toward a woman lying dead on the ground. A badge lay next to her hand with a bullet shot cleanly through.

Must’ve been the agent they sent after him...

Tony frowns.

“Alright, fine.”

He considers using the missiles in his shoulder panel like he did that one time in Gulmira, but realises quickly that if the man sees them, he’ll shoot the kid.

Probably.

“Step away, slowly!” The man shouts, prodding the little girl in the ribs with his firearm. She sobs.

Fuck...

The girl looks like a blonde Morgan-she’s even wearing the same stupid charm bracelet, and it’s all Tony can do not to march on up and beat the shit out of the guy.

“Alright, JARVIS tell me about this asshole. Just show me,” he whispers, quiet enough that the mic in his suit barely picks it up. 

Tony reads the info on the heads-up display.

Ex-Marine.

Discharged. Reason: Mental Instability, suicidal ideation.

You and me both, pal

“You were a marine, right?”

The man with the gun’s eyes widen.

“How-how do you know that?”

“Your stance. It’s very distinctive...a buddy of mine is the same way.”

He’s lying through his teeth, but at least this way he’s making things more personal. Throw emotion into any situation, and nothing is predictable. Usually, predictability is a good thing, unless the only outcome to be predicted is bad one. And this is very, very bad, if the quiet little whimpers coming from the kid in front of him are anything to go by. She’s wearing those light up shoes, and when she shifts her weight nervously, it bathes the shooter and his predatory snarl in like, pink and purple disco lights. It’s almost enough to make him laugh. 

“Yeah...he got sent off to god knows where a few years ago, came back a different person. Never talked about it again. Tried to kill himself a week after he showed up at my door.”

The man shakes, gun dropping just a little. Tony silently switches the weapon in his suit panel to stun using eye-tracking tech.

“He uh...he never told me what happened back there, but he’s good now. His daughter...just graduated fifth grade.”

Tony lingers on the word daughter, and the man glances down at the little girl with her hands clasped over her mouth, eyes pleading.

Somebody’s daughter, the man thinks.

The AR-15 drops just a few more inches and Tony takes his shot, not caring to wait for him to change his mind. In one swift motion, he point’s his arm at the man and a small bullet shoots out with a loud bang and clamps onto his chest, the electricity from it knocking him out.

Tony’s ears ring, and he stops.

Wait a minute.

It’s supposed to be silent...

He looks in horror at the girl falling to her knees, a man in the back of the room gagged with his arms and legs bound screaming.
Oh my god...

Tony rushes forward and grabs the girl.

“J, is it-where did it hit-what-“

“The bullet deeply grazed her subcutaneous tissue and did not hit any vital organs or major blood vessels, though I suggest you take her to a medical facility immediately.”

“Yeah...” he breathes and picks the girl up bridal style, angrily blasting a hole in the roof and flying as fast as his boots could take him to the nearest hospital, where he hands the child to a nurse.

“Wait, what room?” He shouts.

”Sir, I-“

”What room are you taking her to??”

“Forty-three!”

Tony nods and flies back to the law firm and back through the ceiling, where multiple police officers are untying people.

The man who was screaming before-he could only assume to be her father-was shouting.

“No, you don’t understand-he took my daughter! She was-“

He turns to look at Tony, and the engineer is suddenly grateful for his armour.

“You!” He shouts and runs at him, ready to punch. His eyes shine like daggers.

“Countermeasures ready,” JARVIS chirps.

“Do not engage!” Tony tells him.

The dad comes at him full force, bruising his hands against Tony’s suit.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER!”

Tony sighs.

“I need you to cal-“

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Dude! Listen to me! She’s at a hospital. She’ll be fine.”

Without warning, Tony wraps an arm around the guy’s waist and takes him just outside the hospital and retracts his mask.

The engineer knew it was important that people see Iron Man and Tony Stark as two different people, but...

“I scanned her, she’s gonna be fine. I’ll cover the bills.”

The man is fuming, quiet now.

“You killed her.”

What?

He’s obviously upset-

Tony doesn’t see the fist coming until it hits him, hard. He reaches a hand up to his eyebrow, his fingers coming back red.

“Feel better?”

The man keeps shouting, but Tony clamps his mask back on.

“You know what, sue me if you want but I got a conference call in five minutes. I’m sorry about your kid.”

With that, he shoots upward to the tower.

Tony tumbles onto the landing pad.

“Sir, I suggest you contact your lawyer.”

“It’s fine. He’ll get me for a few million and I’ll settle.”

It’s the least I can do...

Tony closes his eyes and all he sees is Morgan in the girl’s place.  He looks down, and the blood on his suit is Morgan’s, too.

Oh my god, I could’ve killed her.

“Sir? Mister Stark? I suggest you regulate your breathing, you’re-“

“Yes, I know!”

He shouts and sheds his suit. Bruce is waiting for him.

“What happened to you?”

He’s at his side instantly with a tissue, wiping the blood from his eyebrow. Tony bats him away.

“I’m fine.”

They get to the elevator and the engineer announces his immediate need for espresso.

The walk into the kitchen and Bruce beats him to the espresso machine, making him a double-shot.

“Didn’t you have that conference thing?”

Tony stares at the counter.

It could have been Morgan

“Tony?”

“Mm?”

“The conference call, the one you had scheduled for seven minutes ago?”

“Yeah, I’ll...I’ll skip it.”

“Good. You look tired.”

”I’m fi-“

“If you say what I think you’re about to say I will punch you in the face.”

“Go right ahead. Though I charge a fee of twenty bucks a hit. Forty if you use brass knuckles.”

Bruce expects to see a smile on his face but hands him his steaming espresso and finds just a small smirk, one that doesn’t really reach his eyes. 

Like psh, obviously I’m kidding. But if you did it, I wouldn’t stop you.

“Uh-huh.”

Tony sips it and Bruce eyes him cautiously.

“So how’d it go?”

“Well, the agent they sent in is dead. The guy had hostages...um. Yeah. Nobody else died.”

Not really lying.

“Good. How are you, though?”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“I’m just dandy.”

He gets up and walks downstairs to his workshop without another word, stopping halfway down the staircase at the sounds of Bruce’s voice. It’s cold and terrified.

“Tony...Tony what is that?”

Chapter Text

Fuck.

Fuckety fuck.

He keeps walking down the stairs and throws his silk blood-soaked dress shirt into the trash can. It distantly registers in his mind that hey, that was an $800 shirt and I really liked that one, but he remembers he went and bought four more afterwards and this isn’t the time to feel guilty about wasting shit, Stark!

I should’ve bandaged it...

He rifles through his closet in a frenzy, grabbing a Guns ‘N Roses tee and slipping it over his wounds.

Tony walks over to his desk.

Please don’t follow me Please don’t follow me

He barely has time to wake his computer up before he sees Bruce walking down the stairs, first-aid kit in hand.

The billionaire ignores him, and gets to work on the render for his new boots.

He doesn’t get far.

A hand on the back of his chair spins him around to face Bruce, who’s got the first aid kit open on the edge of the desk behind him.

“Bruce, I’m busy.”

“You changed your shirt?”

“I was...sweaty.”

“I didn’t know your sweat was red.”

“Hippos sweat red. Why can’t I?”

“You’re not a hippo.”

Tony smirks.

“Are you assuming my species ?”

Bruce takes his hand and prompts him to sit on the other side of the desk. He follows reluctantly.

“Tony, please take your shirt off.”

“I really don’t need you to help me, I’m fine, I sw-“

His words are knocked out of him by a hard slap to the face. He winces and rubs his jaw.

“I told you, if you said you were fine one more time-“

“ You’d punch me. That, my dear, was not a punch.”

Bruce glares at him.

“Take off the damn shirt or I’m never sleeping with you. And I’m gonna hide all the coffee grounds in the house.”

The engineer rolls his eyes.

“I hate you.”

He pulls it over his head, and Bruce sucks in a breath.

“Jesus, Tony...”

His skin is a bloody mess. The scientist takes in the sight cautiously.

“How did this get through your suit?”

Hmmm

“I uh...it was new hardware, and I forgot to melt down the jagged bits.”

“Ah.”

The man pulls out his phone to text Peter.

A few minutes pass before Bruce pauses.

“Tony you lied.”

“What?”

“You lied.”

“About what?”

“The suit.”

“I have no idea what y-“

The scientist hold’s out his hand, a shard of glass in his palm.

Tony breaks for a single second, then pulls himself back together hurriedly. It was terrifying to watch.

The scientist’s caring hands wipe his whole back with antiseptic, and Tony shivers. Bruce walks around the desk to stand in front of him with gauze bandages in-hand.  The engineer hangs his head low; a single, lonely tear slips down his cheek. He watches it with fascination, Tony with disgust as it trails down to his chin, is joined by another one and the two of them collide, plummeting off his fuzzy chin and onto his arc reactor with a nearly audible plink. But that wasn’t the sound of a tear-no, that was the sound of his pride falling to pieces, of Tony Stark being found out once again as an angsty little shit who’s leaving other people to clean up his mess. He was disappointed.

Thought I’d go out with more than a ‘plink.’

I figured when I went out, it’d be with a bang, or perhaps a nice string-ensemble. Not a motherfucking teardrop.

There was something final about this incident. Bruce hoped it was the good kind. 

 The scientist kneels down and places his arms on the engineer’s knees, saying nothing. Tony shudders and weeps silently. Bruce is a little unsettled, mostly heartbroken when he sees that Tony’s features are hard as stone and cold as ice, but the pain in his eyes...

He wraps his arms around Bruce and their lips meet, mingling with his salty tears.

“I’m so sorry Bruce...” he mumbles.

“It’s okay, it’ll get better.”

Tony stops, and looks him in the eyes.

“But...I don’t really want it to...”

Bruce dies on the inside, just a little bit.

“People change their minds, Tony, and I think you’ll find we can be very persuasive.”

“We?”

The scientist hands him the Polaroid he keeps in his breast pocket of the whole team at the shawarma place, after the wormhole. It was taken by the restaurant owner’s daughter; she’d been sheltering under a collapsed chunk of rebar and concrete. The girl was thirteen, had one of those stupid new Instax cameras that all the kids carried these days.

Tony’s face darkens at the memory, but it just might be what he needs to bring him back.

Bruce lifts the man’s arms and wraps him in the bandages, and the two settle down on the couch to watch NCIS.

Tony kicks back in his seat, wincing.

The scientist glares at him and he relents, opting to lay on his side in Bruce’s lap, head on his chest. The episode runs its course, and only long after Tony’s tears have dried, will the scientist allow his own to cascade down his face, landing in sandalwood-scented hair.

I wish you saw yourself the way I see you

Chapter Text

~a couple of weeks later~ 

Tony opens his eyes-which, for some reason, takes a considerable amount of effort. He’s alone in his room, but it’s clear someone has been here and he knows exactly who. A familiar coat is draped over the back of the armchair from his adjoined living room, as well as a battered copy of Douglas Adams’ Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy. He hears the toilet flush and for reasons he can’t understand, he picks up his tablet on his nightstand and checks his reflection, trying to get his hair under control. The sound of the tap squeaking as it’s turned off floats to his ears and he carefully drops his makeshift mirror back on the table, rests his head back on the pillow and watches a weary Bruce in the socks he bought him (they had bacon on them) plod back to the chair and seats himself with an air of resignation. The book is picked back up. The scientist’s empty hand is shaking a little; the tea on the little side table next to the chair long cold. He sips it anyway. 

“What part are you on?”

Bruce’s eyebrows shoot up and suddenly, he’s as animated as a four month-old puppy. 

“Tony! You’re awake!”

“Yeah...don’t remind me…” He grumbles. Bruce just grins, slyly.

“How you feeling?”

Tony considers this. 

I hadn’t given it that much thought…

He reaches a hand up to his chest, relieved to find they hadn’t gotten rid of his reactor. But something’s not right.

It’s…it’s different.

Tony pushes against it, steeling himself for the familiar throb. 

But nothing comes. 

It doesn’t hurt. 

“Bruce…”

The engineer looks up at his boyfriend, who is elated. 

“No more pain!” He exclaims. 

Tony panics a little.

“Isn’t it great?”

“Yeah, great…”

He presses harder and harder, feeling nothing but his entire rib cage shifting ever-so-slightly. It’s as if the reactor’s really a part of him. 

This was never supposed to happen.

Blood rushes in his ears and Bruce is saying something about an implant and nerve damage.

“I have to say, Tony, it was...pretty horrific.’’

“What was?”

“Well…”

The scientist removes his reading glasses and puts them in his lap with the book. 

“The tissue surrounding the reactor...it was a mess. We were in the operating theatre above the OR when it happened...nobody trusted the doctors not to fuck up the arc reactor. But uh...yeah, you really did a number on yourself. They ended up doing something with metal, and your rib cage...anyway, there’s no getting rid of it now, so I guess you got your way in the end.”

No, no…

“I’m going to be like this...forever.”

Bruce frowns. 

“Well...yeah. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I don’t...I don’t know.”

The scientist plucks a leaf from the red and gold bouquet, flattened it between the pages as a bookmark and closes the novel. He puts it down on the little bronze table with his glasses and walks over to sit on the side of the bed, next to Tony. 

“‘Guess it’s too late to change it now,” the engineer remarks. 

“Yeah.”

He lays back down and breathes out through pursed lips. 

“Well shit.”

“What? You didn’t actually... want the pain, did you? Not forever? ‘Cause I was under the impression you were just taking advantage of an opportunity.”

The billionaire shuts his eyes. 

Why does he have to be so incredibly blunt?

“Subtlety’s really not your strength, huh?”

“Never said it was.”

“Touché.”

“You never answered my question.”

“No, no I didn’t.”

“How come?”

Tony twiddles his fingers, then sits up rather suddenly, instantly regretting it. 

“Jesus..” he mutters, clutching his head. 

Bruce looks at him expectantly.

“I uh...truth be told, I don’t really know.”

“Yeh, well, let me know when you do.” 

Tony smirks. 

“Y’know, I answered your question. It’s your turn. What part are you on?”

“What?”

“In your book, what part are you on?”

“Well, technically since it’s from your library…”

Tony bats a hand at him. 

“Meh. Semantics. Wait, lemme see which copy it is?”

“You own multiple copies?”

The engineer shoots him a look. 

“Of course you do. Here.”

Bruce tosses the book at him, and Tony fingers the worn binding, and flips to the first page. 

Dear Anthony,

I hope this finds you well, and that you enjoy whatever party you’re undoubtedly going to throw tonight. (Don’t worry, I won’t tell. In fact, you’ll find the fridge in the garage fully stocked.) Your father and I will miss you on such an important day of your life, and we’ll celebrate as soon as your back. I’ll telephone you as soon as Howard is finished, and we’ll wish you a happy birthday. I can’t wait to see you!

            Love, 

                Mamma

“You good, Tony?”

The man squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, nods, and flips briefly through the book, seeing his sixteen year-old self’s notes in the margins. 

“What an asshole….”

“Mathematically improbable  absolute horse shit…”

He smirks, and tosses the book gently back to Bruce. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“How old were you?”

Tony smiles at the ceiling. 

“I was sixteen years old. My god…”

He chuckles. 

“I’m sorry they weren’t there.”

Tony breaks out of his trance. 

“Hmm?”

“For your birthday, I’m sorry they weren’t there.”

A strange sort of sadness flashes through Tony’s face-he looks for a moment like a five year-old who’s lost his mother in a shopping mall, fearing abandonment. 

He shrugs. 

“It’s fine. Threw one hell of a party, more than made up for it.”

I doubt that, Bruce thinks. 

“Anyway. Enjoy the book, and the erm...commentary.”

The scientist laughs. 

“Yeah, I noticed that. It’s actually rather amusing. Like a...like I’m looking into the past. Your past.”

“Mmm. Not sure there’s much to see there,” Tony chuckles. 

The two men continue talking, laughing cordially. The engineer writes something on a piece of paper, fucks it up and crumples it. He throws it at the wastebasket in the corner and misses. 

“Oooof,” Bruce comments. 

“Oh shut up.”

The billionaire sits up again, but finds himself dizzy and something hurts, god only knows what…

“It’s fine, I’ll get it.”

“Just leave it, I’ll pick it up later.”

“That’s exactly what you said about your garage, and now it’s a fucking mess.”

“Touché.”

The man goes back to sketching the specs for a new comm system on his tablet, chewing on his knuckle contentedly. 

“Jesus, Tony.”

“What.”

He doesn’t look up from his screen. Jesus, Tony! had become a rather commonplace exclamation in his life. 

“What the hell?”

The man rolls his eyes and looks up to see Bruce holding the bottle. That bottle.  

His stomach drops to his feet, but he swallows and maintains composure.

Tony looks back down and continues sketching. 

“Please put it back,” he asks, perfectly calm. 

“What the fuck?”

He sighs.

“Is this how you got those marks on your back?”     

The engineer shrugs. 

“I thought it happened when you were fighting, and you were just being a moron!” 

How much longer is he gonna go on about this?

“Well, you thought wrong.”

Bruce inspects the glass again, noting the dried blood. He throws it in the trash can. 

“So let me get this straight. You broke a glass bottle, found leather cord, tied it around said bottle and flagellated yourself with it?”

Tony looks up from the drawing and squints at the window. 

“Mmmm...yeah. Sounds about right.”

The scientist makes a noise, and Tony is pretty sure it means frustration, though it sounds rather like a walrus mating call. 

“What the fuuuuck…” He moans through the hands he’s dragged over his face. 

“You didn’t do it again, right?”

Tony freezes briefly. 

“Right?”

“Right. Nope. Didn’t do it again.”

“You’re lying.”

He huffs.

“Yess, yes I am. Goddammit.”

Why am I excellent at lying to literally everyone under the sun except Bruce and Pepper? God, it’s annoying. 

“How many times.”

“Three.”

“Three!”

Tony winces. 

“Three times?!”

“Yes, that is, in fact, what I just said.”

The scientist sighs. 

“Wow. Okay. Well, you’re not going to...I mean, we’ve done the surgery now and you should be feeling…”

“Bruce, the surgery isn’t magic. It didn’t change anything! It just-“

“It took away your control,” Bruce finishes. 

Tony says nothing but Tony agrees, he agrees so much. 

Chapter Text

About an hour passes and Bruce is asleep. 

God, this is boring. 

He told me to stay in bed, but…

Tony eyes the doorway, smelling something delicious wafting up from downstairs. 

Damn, I’m hungry. 

He eyes the sleeping man in his chair. 

Aww. 

Tony drapes a blanket over him. 

Knowing him, he probably hasn’t slept since we got back from the hospital…. 

The engineer opens the doors to his massive closet and grabs some jeans and a shirt, struggling to get the jeans on. Dum-E helps with removing his shirt (he ripped it), but putting one on is a whole ‘nother story. 

Shit. 

Tony walks over to his bathroom mirror and sees a person. He removes the bandage covering the blue module.

He doesn’t want it to be him. 

The arc reactor sits, as it always has, not quite in the middle of his chest-rather, two millimetres to the left of where it should be. It drove him absolutely mad sometimes, and you could really see it when he wore a button-down. At least, he could see it. 

He has another funny moment where he sort of stares, and he sort of dies, and he sort of loses his mind, just for a moment.

Only ever for a moment. 

He looks over his shoulder. He looks and then he stares again, for a moment. He looks like he’s watching a car crash, and then he stares like he’s seeing the damage. When he turns away, and turns rather quickly, for a moment, he is fully running away.

He is always running away, but for a moment, he sprints. 

Bruce is still sleeping in the chair. He saw nothing. He sees nothing. 

No, muses Tony. He sees far too much. 

Tony’s spots a large shawl in his closet, and he figures it’ll do the trick. 

Wrapped in the mini-blanket and semi-confident it won’t slip and he won’t fall and land himself and everyone else in an exceptionally sad and awkward conversation, Tony pockets his phone and heads downstairs. Steve thinks he’s teaching Bucky how to cook sesame duck breast. Really, he is doing something complicated that smells delicious in front of Bucky.

Ah, so that was the smell…

The tired engineer walks around the counter to the coffee maker, and is dismayed to find the pot empty. 

“Hey Ice Cube, why is there no coffee?”

“Who’s Ice Cube?”

“A musician. And I am still coffee-less.”

“Well, it’s five o’clock in the eveni-wait a minute, you’re up already?”

Steve finally looks up from the pan to see an oddly bright-looking Tony. Wrapped in...what appears to be a blanket. 

Okay?

Bucky frowns. 

“Seems a bit soon to be up...I mean, you just got back from surgery?”

Tony puts in a new filter and scoops the grounds, only to throw it all out and grab the French press from its hiding spot in the cupboard. 

“Well, you know, given the lack of caffeinated beverages in the immediate vicinity, I just might go back to bed permanently.”

It was a joke. It was a mildly funny joke. But all Tony got was faked chuckles and Steve and Bucky exchanging worried glances. 

What do they know?

Bruce I swear to god…

The engineer fills the kettle up with water and waits. 

Steve starts talking to Bucky about how to prepare the sauce, and no, that’s way too many sesame seeds. All is calm and all feels normal, until someone smacks him in the head from behind. 

“Owww-“

“What are you doing up?”

Natasha looks…

Holy shit she’s actually angry what the fuck

“I needed-“

“Tony you literally just got out of-“

“Yes, the hospital, I’m aware-can we not talk about that place, please?”

Her gaze softens a little bit. Just a little, not a lot. 

It’s never a lot. 

“Hey Tony. Nat, lay off. You’re not his mom.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. 

“Well it would seem I’m the only one here who’s got his best interest in mind!”

“GUYS! I am a grown man! Dear god…” The engineer shouts, flailing his arms in frustration. 

“See? Told you.” Clint jeers, and plucks a plum out of the fruit bowl. 

Natasha makes a face at him and turns back to Tony, her face blanching for a moment, then returning to normal.

“What?” He asks, then realises the shawl has slipped. 

Shitshitshit

The engineer pulls it over his neck roughly and walks back over to scoop the grinds into the french press, leaving the spy standing there. 

Just a fuckup, I’m just a fuckup

The kettle clicks off and steam shoots from the spout. He picks it up and pours it, then presses the skin of his wrist to the metal, quick and hard. 

“Gah…” he whispers, pulling his arm back quickly. 

The fuck did I do that for?

Clint looks at him worriedly and meets Tony’s eyes, only to bite obnoxiously into his plum. 

“JARVIS, timer for five minutes,” he tells the ceiling before wrapping the shawl around his shoulders and stepping out onto the balcony, blowing cool air onto his wrist. 

Five minutes flew by like the pigeons overhead that occasionally pause to take a shit on the building. 

“Sir, your coffee is ready.”

“Alright, thanks J.”

“And might I say, sir, it is a pleasure to have you back.”

“Um...thanks?”

“You’re quite welcome.”

Okey-dokey then.

He slides the door open and steps inside, and he feels Nat’s eyes on his back, following him. Tony pushes the plunger down and fills up a mug from the shelf above his head, subconsciously tugging at the cloth that wrapped ‘round his torso. He turns to head back to the balcony, but Natasha stops him. 

“Tony? We need to talk.”

Oh god. 

“Y’know, last time someone said that to me I almost had to hire a divorce lawyer so please-“

Her eyes darken. 

“Okay then.”

She takes him by the elbow and leads him to the living room, where Rhodes and Thor are both sitting on the couch. 

Natasha gestures for him to sit down in a chair in the middle, and she takes the sofa opposite the other two. 

Is this a fucking intervention? 

They all stare at him. 

Be cool, be cool. 

Tony just sips his coffee, looking bemused. 

“Y’know, I would make an intervention joke but-well, low hanging fruit-and, there’s really no intervening that needs to be done.”

He smiles assuredly, and the three start doing this weird thing where they talk to each other without talking. 

Alright, enough. 

“Oh for the love of god, use your words.”

Natasha nods, and looks to Rhodey. 

“Well, erm….while you were in the OR,” he begins.

Tony sucks in a breath. 

Chapter Text

‘“We saw something that was….something that was…” 

They spy rolls her eyes and never in his life has Tony seen a woman’s face depict the thought ‘dear god, men are hopeless’ so incredibly clearly. 

“The arc reactor. The tissue damage was...extensive. And, well, JARVIS isn’t quite as tight lipped as you might like him to be.”

Okay, that I can fix. I can fix the AI. Thank god Bruce didn’t say anything. 

“And even Bruce admitted you weren’t doing so hot, so when we check the tapes,”

Goddammit.

“We found that you had erm…” 

He’d never seen her speechless before. Never. Ex KGB assassins don’t get speechless. They don’t choke up. 

She did, for a second. 

“You were pressing on it. To cause pain. Intentionally.”

Tony’s grip around his mug grows tighter and tighter, until his knuckles are white. But that is, literally the only sign that he’s suffering any mental or emotional strife. Once again.

Rhodey interjects. 

“Not just pressing...Tony you were-you were fuckin’ pounding on that thing…”

He won’t meet his eyes. 

Shit, what do I do

The engineer cracks a smile, then a look of false betrayal. 

“JARVIS, you traitor,” he whines at the ceiling. Nobody’s laughing. Nobody’s even smiling-worse than that, they look worried. 

Jesus fucking Christ 

“Jesus-you guys, why can’t I make a joke around here without people looking at me like I’m about to blow my brains out.”

The worry only grows. 

Oh for the love of-

“What is it? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Rhodey slams his glass down on the ebony coffee table, and Tony winces internally. 

Don’t worry, it’s only a 500 year old table...no worries….

“Because we’re fucking worried about you! Because that’s what we do, we worry!”

“Why.”

“BECAUSE WE’RE YOUR FRIENDS, YOU ASSHAT!”

Tony frowns, and shrugs. 

“Huh. Well, I appreciate you uh...emotional investment in my wellbeing, but I’m just fine.”

The engineer calmly sips his coffee, but this time, Thor speaks up, not making eye contact. 

“Why,” is all he utters, under his breath. 

“I don’t know what you’re referring t-“

“Oh you know exactly what I am referring to. Why. Did you. Hurt yourself.”

Shitshitshitshit

Not now, not now

“Well, I…”

Tony’s breathless now and his vision narrows in as he desperately focuses on the gold filigree of the table.

The walls close in. 

God no, not here. 

“I’m gonna need a minute,” he says curtly, before practically dropping his mug next to Rhodey’s, the coffee spilling over the sides, probably staining the wood. 

But the man had other worries. 

He clutched his head in his hands as he panicked his way down to the garage. 

“No, no no no…” his whispered. 

He makes his way to the elevator near the kitchen, and Steve frowns from the stove. 

“You okay, Tony?”

“Yep. I’m um...I’m great, I just...yeah.”

With a glance over his shoulder, he runs into the elevator and presses the “Door Close” button repeatedly, when he hears a familiar voice. 

“Oh hey Tony, you’re up! How’re you feeling?”

Oh god oh god.

“Uhhh...not now Bruce, I gotta-I have a call to erm..bye.”

The doors close, and the last thing Tony sees through them is Bruce frowning.

You are a grown man, stop stuttering like you’re twelve. 

He smacks himself in the forehead. 

Bad, bad, bad….

The elevator dings and the sounds ricochets around his skull. 

Tony walks over to the farthest corner of his room and slides down the wall, wishing the thoughts away. 

Acting like a twelve year-old, I’m acting like a twelve year-old

” Why. Did you. Hurt yourself?”

“Tony? We need to talk.”

“Does it always hurt this bad?”

Thoughts and words swirl around in his minds periphery. 

Broken glass, whiskey on the floor

“Tony...what did you do?”

“Tony...is it painfu?”

“No no no...Tony, what did you do?”

“Tony, Jesus, what happened?”

“Tony, don’t ever do something like this, never, ever again.”

“Tony, stop.”

“Tony, die.”

No, he didn’t say that, he’d never….

“Tony, die.”

“Tony please, you’re killing me.”

“Tony, I can’t handle your bullshit.”

“Tony, it’s too much.”

“Tony, you’re too much.”

“Tony please, please help me!”

“Tony!”

“Tony, die.”

Tony, die

Tony die

Tonydie

Tonydiediediediedie diediediedie”die,die die…”

“Die, die, just die…”

“Tony, are you okay?”

Bruce approaches him cautiously, like he’s a wild animal who could take off at any second.

The engineer looks around him. 

I’m in my garage, Bruce is here, I’m alive, I’m here, I’m here…

“I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here…” 

Bruce murmurs in his ear, and Tony finds that he’s sobbing...hysterically. 

What?

When did that happen?

He sits up and aggressively wipes his eyes with his sleeves, and stands up. 

“What the fuck is my problem?” He mutters. 

“I don’t know, but we’re going to figure it out,” Bruce tells him assuredly from the floor. 

“I’m the problem…”

“No you’re not, don’t be ridiculous.”

I’m the problem. 

I like problems, I can solve them. 

Solving a problem, eventually the problem is gone and all you’re left with is the solution. 

Solution. 

Tony turns around to see the tired scientist, staring at his shoes. 

Solution. 

He shakes his head, allegories twisting in his mind into snakes that nip at his heels if he ever stops moving.

“Panic attack, I assume?” 

Bruce murmurs. He sounds tired. 

Really tired…

“Yeah,” Tony breathes, and he can’t shake the feeling that to Bruce, he’s like a child with a disability. Absolutely fucking hopeless, and it’s not like you can just leave them-even if you could, the guilt would bring you right back again. So you’re stuck, taking care of them.

He sighs. 

Shut the fuck up. 

The engineer walks to his desk to answer emails, because what the hell else is he gonna do?

“You know they just want to help, right?”

The man just smiles, but it’s the same smile he wears when he swears it’s just one more night, just one more glass, just one more punch. The smile he gave his father in return for all the times he was promised just one more hour, and all the times those missed hours turned to missed birthdays and Christmases spent in his dorm with those shitty grocery store cookies, puking up green and red. 

“They really do, Tony. They want you to get better.”

The engineer laughs- actually laughs, and cradles his head. It feels like it’s raining in his head and he’s running out of space to keep the tears in as the lump of hot coal in his throat swells like it wants to choke him. 

That’d be nice.

“...Tony?” Bruce asks, concerned.

“No, Bruce. They want me to feel better, not be better, let alone even mention the process by which I would get there. They spray concern on their faces like it’s lotion to saturate their fucking egos and they expect me to play the part-“

“Tony shut the fuck up.” 

The engineer just chuckles and tries to focus on his computer screen. 

“Not everybody is out to get you. Don’t be so paranoid. They’re your friends.”

“They are my colleagues. We work together.”

“It is, in fact, possible to work with your friends.”

He rolls his eyes. 

“Well, whatever. I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t.”

The man glances down at the perfect little bruises on his hands. 

“Okay so maybe not, but what does it matter?”

Bruce huffs, and his face says you are fucking impossible, you know that?

He lets Tony work peacefully for the next few minutes, and doesn’t even comment when the letter opener goes under the desk and comes back bloody. 

“You know what? Why don’t we go to a concert.”

The man wipes his hands off with a tissue and continues typing, ignoring him. 

“Nobody I like is on tour right now.”

“Well, have you checked?”

“No…”

The scientist scrolls through his phone. 

“Cage the Elephant is.”

Tony smirks. 

“Only teenagers and college dropouts listen to CTE.”

“Yet you do, and you’re familiar enough with them to realise it’s easier to say CTE instead of their full name. Besides, you’re more teenager than you realise.”

“Maybe I just seem teenager-y to you because you’re so boring.”

“Maybe you seem teenager-y to me because you don’t behave like an adult.”

“Or maybe we’re just fictional characters in a story written by a teenager, and said teenager can’t help but project a bit, since it’s all they know.”

Bruce frowns.

“Where did that come from?”

Tony just shrugs. 

“I dunno. Came to mind. Maybe ask the author.”

The scientist rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, enough bullshit. I’m buying us tickets, and you are going to that concert.”

“Where is it?”

“Vegas.” 

Tony groans. 

“You don’t like Vegas?”

The engineer glares at him. 

“No, I groaned like I’m dying because I just fucking love Vegas.”

“Huh. I thought it’d totally be your scene.”

“Maybe Tony the billionaire, but definitely not…” He tosses his hands in the air. “Anthony Edward the...adult teenager.”

Bruce smirks.

“I never really liked Vegas either...too tacky.”

“It’s awful.”

“Then why’ve you been?”

The engineer takes his reading glasses off and rubs them cleaner with his shirt. 

“Well, where else was I supposed to go for Christmas? The frat house again? No thanks.”

The scientist clenches his jaw, giving him a look that begs for elaboration.

“He uh...I was twenty, and I thought I’d be able to come home for the holidays; y’know, like fucking-everybody else. But apparently, I wasn’t welcome.”

“Why?”

Tony slides the glasses smoothly back on his nose, and his voice grows noticeably bolder, stronger. 

“Oh, god only knows. I think...I think what it was-my old man hadn’t been answering my phone calls so I started failing my classes, because why the fuck not, right? Well...he didn’t get the memo, ‘guess he legitimately thought I was incompetent, so…”

His voice trails off and his focus does too, leaving his eyes to wander listlessly in their sockets. 

“That’s...awful.”

The engineer smirks, and his voice is dark, and you can hear the secrets it hides. 

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Chapter Text

Tony’s words from last night echoe in Bruce mind. 

You don’t know the half of it.

He always knew there were parts of Tony’s past he’d rather not reveal, just like himself. But the monsters in Bruce’s past are long dead and they leave him in peace. Tony...Tony isn’t quite so fortunate. 

At first, Bruce thought that maybe he just needed to talk. But he never opened up to him. He tried to get him to talk about it, dropped hints by mentioning his own father, even asked him straightforward. He still does it, whenever the engineer gets that look in his eyes and that telling twitch in his hand, like he’s preparing to run away from whatever creature might come bounding through the door. 

“Do you need to talk about anything?” He’ll ask. 

Some days he got “ Fuck you,” or “Fuck off.” Others he was ignored, or was only met with a sardonic smile, bleeding help me, for the love of god, please help me. On good days he’d get an explanation. This only ever happened once. 

Bruce had walked into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall in the spot where he always leaned, and watched Tony. He’d seen the man storm angrily up the stairs and throw something off the balcony, and he immediately wanted to talk to him because “there are people down there, you can’t just do that, you could kill somebody!”

But instead, he stopped at the top of the steps, looking down as he watched Tony unravel.

He paced around the couch, sat down in it just to stand up again and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. Bruce watched in horror as he pouring the liquid into the cup in the sink-and missed, dousing his hand instead. The scientist rushed down the stairs as Tony began to wipe himself off with a paper towel. 

“Here, let me see.”

The man shook his head.

“It’s fine, it was cold.’

He sounded... disappointed. 

“You didn’t know that! What if it had been fresh coffee!” 

Tony glared at him and poured what’s left of the pot into his mug and popped it in the microwave. 

“Doesn’t matter. Besides, it’s three in the afternoon. Why would it still be hot?”

The scientist shook his head. 

“Do you need to talk about anything?”

Tony shot him a look, forcefully shutting the little door and punching buttons on the panel. The room was immediately awash with the steady hum of the fan.

“Why do you always ask me that?”

“Because I want to listen. You never tell me anything, and I wonder if maybe talking about it will help.”

Tony looked at him wide-eyed, like he wasn’t expecting that. He sighed, and dropped his head into his hands. 

“I uh...Pepper decided she wants to stay in Chicago for awhile longer.”

“Ah. Why..?”

“I don’t-no, that’s not true, I do know why, but I don’t...I don’t know which why is the truth.”

Bruce cocked his head. 

“I’m not-“

The microwave shrieked obnoxiously and Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, then opened it and slammed it shut to silence it. 

“I’m not following,” The scientist finished. 

“Yeah. Well, either it’s because she just wanted a break from New York, and the team being here and, well, Morgan’s never properly seen Chicago.”

The man yawned. 

“Or...or it could be me. Because I’m…falling apart.” Tony waved his hand as if to mimic a leaf falling through air.

“And the drama’s too much for her. More importantly, it’s too much for Morgan.”

The microwave beeped once more and he pulled it out, much more calmly this time. But it’s akin to a pallbearer’s calm, or the calm of a terminal cancer patient. 

“I drove...my own daughter away.”

He sipped the coffee dejectedly and Bruce rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What is it then, Bruce?” His tone is biting and it bites hard, nearly making the scientist flinch. 

“It’s not that simple, Tony. I think...I think it’s a bit of both.”

A beat. 

“I think that Morgan’s never seen Chicago, and it’s an amazing city. Well, it’s Chicago. But erm...I think that Morgan is young, so young and the world is falling to shit. I don’t blame Pepper for the urgency. And well...she knows how you’re feeling and I think she’s worried she doesn’t know how to help you. So, she gave you some space.”

Tony stares at the marble countertop and thinks. It’s obvious he hasn’t considered this possibility; the one possibility where he isn’t a monster. At least, in his own eyes.  

“Maybe,” is all he says. 

Bruce smiles and fills the kettle up again. 

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m not the one who’s married to her.”

Tony smirks. 

“Yeah.”  

He turns his attention back to the laptop in front of him to finish booking the tickets to the concert. He’d have picked a different location, if it weren’t for the fact that Vegas was the last stop on the tour. The second-to-last concert was happening in thirty minutes in Seattle. 

He sighs.    

I’ll get a hotel room next...wait, I should ask Tony. He’ll know which one. 

Bruce walks downstairs to the garage, only to find Tony and Peter working on a new spidersuit. So he lingers in the doorway. 

Tony keeps pointing at things and muttering something, his hand in his goatee. 

“But what if…” he says, and the teen starts gesticulating wildly. 

“What if we put it there, and then…” he’s grinning and Bruce sees him take a step back, watching him. 

God, he loves that kid. 

Tony looks up to meet his eyes. 

“Bruce! Wonderful, come here.”

The scientist cocks an eyebrow and leaves his spot at the doorway to join them. 

“Come, come.”

Tony plays up a quick animation of what the suit would look like in action. It glides through the air and Bruce motions for it to pause. 

“No, see there’d be too much fabric here. If we pull this over to the left…”

They talk for about forty-five minutes until Peter announces that his aunt wants him back home. He grabs his bag and tries to run off, but Tony’s not having that. 

“Excuse me, where do you think you’re going, Parker?”

The boy turns on his heel and comes running back to Tony’s open arms. 

“Bye Mister Stark,” he says into the engineer’s shirt. 

“Bye, kid.” 

Peter tears away from him and jogs back to the elevator, waving as the doors close. 

“Tell May I said Hi!”

As soon as he’s gone, the smile from Tony’s lips falters just a little, but for the most part, he seems...happy. His face doesn’t show it as much, but you can tell there’s a slight glow beneath his skin. He turns to face Bruce. 

“So? What’s up.”

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Tony’s face does a thing. 

“What do you want, Bruce.”

“In Vegas. What hotel should we stay at?”

He fiddles with something onscreen. 

“Uh...the Palms has a new room...I think it’s called the Empathy Suite? Yeah, the Empathy Suite.”

The scientist nods. 

“Erm...do you want to reserve it?”

Tony pauses.

“Just because, y’know, you’re you, and...I don’t know.”

“Yeah no, it’s fine. I’ll call them.”

“Right. Okay.”

Bruce pecks him on the cheek and heads back upstairs. 

Tony sighs, and sits back down at his desk, watching the render of Peter’s new suit.   

He smiles.

~The next day~

Rough hands find a glass jar and soon forget it in the dusty closet that sulks in the far corner of the room. 

“Twenty-three...twenty-three…” 

Drawer after drawer creaks open, revealing more than he wanted. 

“Dammit!” 

Socks, empty bottles and tiny, filmy empty plastic bags slide around as the drawer is slammed shut and after it, the door. 

The hands wander back to the jar, turning it upside down and shaking vigorously, knowing it was empty. 

“Twenty-three…”

“What are you-“

“Twenty-three, Rhodey! I need twenty-three…”

The soldier looks down from the stairs at the mess in front of him. The furniture had been upended, papers had been strewn everywhere and Tony was crouched over a handful of beads. 

“What’s that you got there?”

“A smoothie,” he retorts, almost immediately. Rhodes frowns, and the engineer beams up at him. 

“No?”

“No...that’s not a smoothie. Looks like...beads.”

He rolls his eyes. 

“Never mind. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Let me guess; Peter?”

Tony nods. 

“His sense of humor is so...odd.”

“They’re all like that. You get used to it. Or so I’m told.”

“Ah. Well...I need twenty-three of these and-“

“What are they?”

“Miniaturized biometric monitor and data storage-“

“English, Tones.”

“Right. It uh…” He groans, a hand on his knee as he hobbles up from the floor. 

“It watches your vitals and makes sure you aren’t dying. If you are, it tells you why. If you’re unconscious and something’s wrong, it alerts the right people and gives them the information needed to avoid wasting time on all the initial poking and prodding necessary for a diagnosis.”

He breathes, and follows Rhodey up the steep staircase.

“So like...LifeAlert, but...but not.”

He frowns.

“Yeah, I guess-hey Aragog what are you doing?”

The boy was standing over a cluster of grapes, scrutinizing them. 

“Are these edible?”

“They’re...grapes.”

“So…?”

“Yes, they’re edible.” 

“ Great!”

He shoves a good three or four grapes in his mouth and bounds toward Tony, catching up with him to the elevator. 

“So did you find-“

“No. Sorry, kid.”

“Nah...it’s okay. You tried, Mister Stark.”

“What, you think I’m just going to stop?”

Peter blinks, eyes darting to the control panel briefly, where the engineer had pressed the garage button.

“Why would I-I’m not gonna just give up on her, kid. Why would you think that?”

The teen cast his gaze downward.

“I don’t-“

“It’s fine, I just-she’s important to you, therefore she’s important to me, is what I’m trying to say.”

He claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“Right…” the boy shoves a shaker hand in his pocket and the elevator stops, opening to reveal Bruce. 

Peter grins. 

“Doctor Banner! Ohmygawsh, hi!”

The scientist nods, and Tony offers a curt “Hello”. 

Bruce rolls his eyes. 

The elevator glides down floor by floor, all too smoothly for Tony’s comfort.

“We were just about to grab lunch, wanna come?” 

He asks, smoothly. Bruce smiles. 

“Of course.”

They end up at some Michelin-star restaurant where Peter found the food too beautiful to eat.  

“But Mister Stark, it’s so pretty!”

He rolls his eyes. 

“Peter it was made to be eaten. That is its purpose.”

The kid sighs and takes a bite of artichoke heart, smiling.

“Told ya so.”

The science bros dropped Peter off at his apartment and headed home. Tony stands with his head on Bruce’s shoulder in the elevator. It’s one of those little things that makes his heart happy. Dinner that night was delicious and Tony almost forgot what it was like to be broken beyond repair. 

Almost. 

His hands were shaking before, but now, they’re steady as ever. 

Tony stands at the top of the staircase, eyeing the marble floor at the bottom. 

Not gonna die, I’m not gonna die. 

He’s been standing here for at least ten minutes. 

Why can’t I do it? 

He shakes his head. 

I got this. 

A leg juts out over the edge and he begins to shift his weight towards the ground, tentatively. 

“Oh there you are. I was wondering if-Tony!”

He falls forward, tumbling down the stairs and landing in a heap at the bottom. Natasha runs down to meet him, shoes clacking loud on the hard steps. The engineer quivers a little, but pulls himself to stand on shaky legs and a hand braced against the railing. 

“What the fuck was that?” She demands. 

Tony flounders. 

“Uh...I fell. The fuck is that?” He shoots back, pointing to an ugly hummingbird brooch on Nat’s lapel.

“It’s-I was a schoolteacher. Coulson sent me in. Can’t tell you about it.”

She takes off the stupid pin and shoves it in her purse. 

“Tony, why did you do that?”

He gulps. 

“I fell. It wasn’t voluntary.”

She narrows her eyes. 

“Yes it was. You threw yourself down the stairs; you did not fall .”

Natasha grabs his wrist and he yelps. 

“Shit...just-come on.”

“Where?”

“Where the fuck do you think?”

“No, Nat, I don’t need you to patch me up. I’m fine.”

“You think the rest of the team will agree with you?”

He glares at her. 

“Don’t you fucking dare tell anyone.”

“Then come. With. Me. You’re not getting out of this, Stark.”

He rolls his eyes and follows her. 

“But disinfectant smells weird...” he complains. 

“You smell weird.”

They walk in silence to the main bathroom, where there’s a fairly impressive first-aid kit, for when the avengers are too stupid or too prideful to go to the medbay. Usually it’s either that or nothing, so he stocked the whole damn thing full of Hello Kitty bandaids. He deeply regrets that now. 

“Nat, I’m okay.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He frowns and looks in the mirror. 

There’s a swollen bump and a cut just above his forehead, and his wrist feels like it’s burning at a million degrees Kelvin and aching something fierce. Nat squeezes past him with the kit in hand and points at a lounge chair. 

“Sit,” she orders. 

He plops down in the chair and Nat dabs at his head wound with an alcohol wipe. He’s taken back to when she was Natalie, putting concealer on his bruises. 

He smiles.  

“What?” She asks. 

Goddamn woman, I’m just smiling. Why’s she so suspicious. 

“Nothin’. Just remembering shit.”

She smiles too, and he knows what she’s thinking. 

The dabbing turns to full-on wiping and he winces. 

“I wish I could say you were less of a mess then. You’ve just gotten better at hiding it.”

He grumbles at that. 

“I’m not... that bad,” he offers, weakly. 

She stops and grabs a bandaid. 

“Tony, you just threw your own body down the stairs. Intentionally. Those are not the actions of someone who ‘isn’t that bad.’” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“Or maybe, your perception of what is ‘not that bad’ is skewed.”

“Doubtful,” is all she says. 

The wrappers are tossed in a nearby trash can and Natasha returns the box of supplies to its spot underneath the sink. Tony’s about to leave his chair and escape downstairs but she pushes him back down. 

“Take off your shirt.”

He frowns. 

“Wow Nat, I didn’t know you felt that way-“

“I need to make sure you didn’t break anything.”

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“Natasha. I don’t need you to mother me! I’m fine. Nothing hurts.”

She raises an eyebrow and punches him in the ribs. It’s not hard, but it’s not soft either and he groans low in his throat, feeling an unnerving clicking in his ribcage and a blinding pain. 

“That’s what I thought. Take off the shirt.”

“I can’t, Nat. I-I’ll leave it on. I’ll be fine.”

“What don’t you want me to see?”

He flails. 

“I don’t-maybe I don’t want to disrobe in front of my colleague?”

She laughs out loud. 

“Bullshit. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing. I’m not hiding anything, I just resent being hounded.”

She straddles his lap and holds a hand by his neck. 

“I’m not leaving until you remove. Your shirt.”

“Tasha-“ he mutters, reaching to shove her off. 

“Try it, I’ll choke you.”

He sighs in exasperation. 

“Okay, fine.”

He struggles to peel the top from his skin under Natasha’s weight. 

“Can you-can you fucking move, please? I’ll behave.”

She nods and stands in front of him, looking down, her whole body screaming ‘ don’t fuck with me’.

Tony drapes the shirt over the armrest and can’t seem to meet her eyes. 

Scars, dozens of them, line his chest and torso. Weird scars. Spots and wide, shallow scars that look like they might be stretch marks, but far too violent for that to be the case. She reaches out and runs a hand along the raised and dippled marks, his warm, patterned skin. She feels along his ribcage and Tony winces. 

“Yeah, you cracked a couple ribs. You’ll be fine, just be careful. Maybe use the elevators.”

Her gaze flits down to his gauged out wrist, the word ‘monster’ spelled out in scar tissue. She gulps. 

“Don’t think you got that from the fall, right?”

Natasha nods toward his forearm. 

He sighs. 

“No, no I didn’t.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and spins him around, despite his protests. 

“Nat, I really don’t think-“

“Holy shit,” she breathes. 

“That’s what I was trying warn you about, but-“

“Holy shit-what the fuck…” 

He can hear her breathing hard, and he realises that she let her guard down.

She’s being herself, now. This isn’t a front. 

“Tony, please tell me you didn’t do this to yourself. Please, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

He turns around to look at her and he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. 

I guess she’s human after all. 

“Depends on what-“ he starts, but thinks better of it. 

Now’s not the time to be a snarky asshole. 

“It’s just an old battle injury.” 

“Don’t bullshit me. You know that’s not true. You did this, didn’t you? To yourself?”

He just nods. 

“God, Tony...why the fuck would you do that?”

He sighs and quickly throws his shirt on, over the scars that crisscross his back. 

“Because it’s what I deserve.”

She looks at him with-

Wait, that isn’t pity. 

...understanding?

The fuck?

She sighs and plunks down on the ottoman. 

“I get it,” she says. 

Something clicks. 

Natasha shoots back up onto her feet to grab a bottle of vodka and a glass from the shelf and pours a shot, hands the glass to Tony and takes a swig from the bottle herself. It hangs heavy from her thin wrist. 

“I get it. You know I’ve got red in my ledger. And yeah, I don’t mind some of it being there. Some of it should be there,” she murmurs with a curl of her lip, followed by another sip of alcohol. 

Nat bites her lip and covers her mouth with her hand. Her eyes meet his. 

“But I know mine will only make it redder.”

With that, she pours another shot in Tony’s glass and heads upstairs  with the rest of the bottle. 

Chapter Text

Hello there!

I’m not dead, I swear. This story is still going, but I just need to find the time. It occurred to me that I just didn’t really enjoy writing scene after scene of Tony being miserable, so I started some new fics both here and on my wattpad (@Kimber135) for Doctor Who. I’ve also got a little Harry Potter thing going on. Anyway, I promise I’ll update within the month, because I really want to continue this. So far, I’ve got to write their trip to Vegas and I might throw in a little more Natasha. I think the main problem with this fic is that there’s no B story, it’s just Tony and Bruce being sad and eating a lot. That said, Vegas and an ex-KGB spy aren’t much to go on, so please message me or comment if you’ve got any ideas or requests, for this story or even just for oneshots. 

Stay safe, and take care of yourself. Summer’s coming up and it’s important to remember that clothing should look the way you want for you and your body, not the other way around. It’s good to have goals, but have them for the right reasons. ;)