Chapter Text
His spiral began after Pepper left.
Though she was Tony's one and only, Pepper had reached her wit’s end with him. They had argued over his work habits of all things. Sure, Tony regretted some of the things he said, and he would absolutely take them back if he could. Hell, he had tried begging for his girlfriend's forgiveness with countless phone calls, but she was practically off the radar. When confronted with radio silence, he gave up.
Tony suffered in silence. Giving a voice to his grief would only complicate team relations, and he knew they had better things to worry about. So the first day of his self-imposed isolation went relatively smoothly as he developed a strong, flexible alloy for SHIELD’s requested armor. Seconds trickled into hours that he spent ignoring the outside world. He couldn’t do human interaction anyway, but he had mastered the art of production in his workshop. His mind drifted as he worked.
“You’re acting like a robot, Tony! You have to treat yourself better. We’re all seeing you wilt away, and I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore!”
Tony’s brow furrowed. “A robot? Can’t you see that I have responsibilities, Pep? I’m doing great. You of all people should know how much shit there is to do with SI, let alone SHIELD and the Avengers. There’s only so much I can do here-”
“I told you, you need to take a break from the Avengers! We can’t handle the strain, and you need time to bounce back from the last battle.”
He winced as his bruised back smarted in response to Pepper’s concern.
“No. People need saving, and what are the Avengers without Iron Man? I’m sure they could handle themselves without me, but I couldn’t stand it if they got compromised without me. So no, thanks, I think I’ll just keep on keepin’ on.”
Pepper inhaled deeply, clearly practicing patience. Her technique failed, however.
“Them or me, Tony. Choose.”
She held his gaze steadily...
.
.
.
“Pep, you know how important this is to me… why can’t I have both?”
Pepper Potts whipped around and sauntered out of the workshop, leaving Tony with his head cradled in his hands.
His hand slipped and his screwdriver clattered to the cold floor of the workshop. A feeling of guilt curled in his stomach while he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, eyes wide. The deep pit of guilt slowly built as his thoughts began to spiral.
Does she even care?
Fuck, is she even coming back?
What if I lose her forever?
...Is it me?
Tony saw how the team felt about him. He felt like an impostor to the dynamic of the group, like he was interfering in the easy comradery of the team. They had given up any real attempts to interact with him. Not that he blamed them. His humor, his being was grating to be around. Which was probably why Pepper left.
At this realization, Tony’s breath quickened.
“Sir, I am detecting an elevation in your breathing and heart rate. Do you need me to call someone?” JARVIS chimed into his train of thought, causing Tony to jerk in surprise.
“N-no! Nobody upstairs, ever! C-call Pepper!”
JARVIS complied, and Tony listened as the phone rang.
And rang.
And went to voicemail.
His heart plummeted.
I blew it.
Frantically, Tony glanced at his surroundings for something, anything to alleviate the guilt. At first his gaze passed over it. And again. But the third time he scanned the workshop, he caught sight of his cabinet.
The cabinet, and the goods held within it.
The craving for a drink crashed down onto him. He had been doing so well up to that point, avoiding drinking to stay in Pepper’s and the team’s good graces. He could not deny its influence as a coping mechanism proven to work for him, no matter how the others tried to control it. They all hated it when he drank, be it through past bad experiences with drunk assholes or just intolerance of anything below their bar of perfection.
Yep, that’s it. Bar. Now. Just one drink.
Shakily, Tony stood up and, with a hand bunching the fabric of his beat-up shirt, he made his way over to the bar. He wanted comfort. His world was falling apart around him, and he didn’t think he could take it anymore. Tony grabbed a wine glass from the cabinet and a bottle of red wine, knowing that he could moderate his drinking more effectively with his choice.
Or so he thought.
He poured his first glass nearly to the top. If he was limiting himself to one drink, he wanted to get a lot of bang for his buck. The deep red color was mutually calming and frightening as he remembered the drip, drip, drip of blood, leaking from his head as he-
No. Not remembering that.
Before he knew it, the glass was gone.
“Sir… I highly recommend you step away from the bar. You are not currently in an acceptable state of mind to-”
“JARVIS, mute.”
Tony still felt the pull for more alcohol. The warm curl of anxiety was only amplified by the wine he had consumed, much to his chagrin.
I...I have to have another. I’ll just drown it instead.
The bottle sat on the counter, gleaming under the fluorescent light of the lab. It was inconvenient to continue pouring the wine into the glass, so he grabbed the bottle by the neck and walked back over to his seat, the body armor waiting. Tony took a swig straight from the bottle. He wanted to make himself useful. The warm, full feeling of the wine settling in his stomach provided him the support he craved as he dove headfirst into his work, slowly losing his grasp on control.
Tony blearily awoke with a distinct pain blaring in his head. The bright lights of the lab pierced his vision as the sound of the Avengers call-to-action blared. He didn’t register it at first, his attention occupied by taking in the aftermath of… of… of the night before. Tony honestly had little memory of what had happened, but he guessed from the empty bottles of wine littering the workshop that it had not been pretty. Only then did he register the shrill screeching of the alarm beckoning him out of his lab.
Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
He rubbed at his eyes as he crossed over to his fleet of suits. In his limited spare time he had been working on a new model, but such an endeavor had fallen to the backburner as SHIELD and SI became more demanding. It was like a feedback loop in how his work load seemed to increase exponentially day by day as he provided more and more product, the mountain of work building and building to ungodly proportions-
Shut the fuck up, brain. Those are literally the only distinguishable ways that you are useful.
Heaving a sigh, Tony chose a suit on the newer side of the spectrum, not particularly caring which one he picked. The design at its most basic form was relatively constant, but each suit had small improvements. Nothing world-changing. With a final exhale, he made his way into the opened Mark XLII and winced as the sharp blue lights engulfed his vision.
“JARVIS, make a note to add a red light filter onto the display of the next suit. My poor, delicate eyeballs aren’t loving the blue.”
“Certainly, sir. May I suggest avoiding substances that encourage headaches to curb the problem in the future?” JARVIS drawled.
Tony rolled his eyes, his headache smarting in response to the AI’s cue. “Haha, veeeeerrrrryyyyy funny. Where did you learn how to have such a great concern for my well-being?”
“Clearly not from watching you, sir.”
He felt a slight pang of guilt in his chest at that quip. If even his AI can tell that he is horrible at thinking of others, let alone himself, it must be the only acceptable truth. Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, asshole . The seed of guilt bloomed upward and into his chest, causing his breath to hitch.
In his self-pitying state, he had neglected to actually move into action. Only after he stopped contemplating his actions did he hear Mr. America himself, Steve Rogers, summoning him through the comms.
“-ark! We need you to drop whatever you’re doing and join the real world for once. Do you copy?”
“Calm your tits, Spangles. I’m up, arriving in three shakes of a little lamb’s tail.” He could tell from the dead-inside tone to his voice that he sounded incredibly hungover, logically so.
Laughter from Clint pierced his ears through the comms. “Stark, is that flying under the influence I hear?”
“Fuck off, Birdbrain. Not quite under the influence… right, JARVIS?”
“Due to the considerable lack of sleep you partook in, sir, your blood alcohol level is currently at a comfortable .04. I would advise further rest before-”
“Not necessary, thanks,” Tony grimaced. “I feel perfectly fine, no need to worry any of your pretty little faces!”
“If you don’t shut up, Stark, I’m gonna take your pretty little face and throw it in a blender,” Natasha deadpanned. Tony bit back a retort in fear of losing his world-renowned beard.
After a drawn out silence on the comms, Tony hesitantly announced his arrival on the scene. Cap had explained that there were rogue cat-like creatures roaming the streets and terrorizing pedestrians at any scent of food. He almost felt bad for them, until he remembered just how much he despised felines. The hair, the haughty nature… it was his thing, damnit!
He refocused while Steve was in the middle of giving orders.
“-ow, you’ll be on the ground with me. Iron Man and Hawkeye, watch our six and try to use non-lethal force. Fury says the… Hemingway estate? Is looking to pay good money to SHIELD for any polydactyl cats.”
“Why the hell does one estate need so many weird ass cats? Did he not get enough good pu-” Tony drawled, unable to help himself.
“Can it, Iron Man! Avengers, roll out.”
The battle itself was fairly simple. Battle was even an exaggeration, especially when the main source of conflict was tearing the feral cats off of the innocent citizens of New York. The dander from the cats did, however, sneak into his suit through his filtration system and cause him to start sneezing.
Damn, forgot about that allergy. Cats are the wooooorst.
But of course, with every sneeze his headache responded with sharp pain. And with Steve nagging him for being too aggressive with the merchandise, Tony didn’t notice until too late that the cats had started to mold together.
Well, he did notice when the blob leapt at him. About 300 pounds of claws and mange collided with the suit, which wasn’t necessarily a big deal, but it caught Tony off-guard in his hungover state. His leg collapsed under him as the mass of cat scraped into the cracks of the armor and tore at the wires. Tony knew cats had a thing for destroying wiring, but his display’s incessant blaring was sending him into a daze.
“Sir, you need to clear these off of you! I am losing vital connections for controlling the suit. At this rate, functionality will be reduced to 35% without access to the limbs of the suit,” JARVIS warned, concern as evident as possible in his voice. Clearly something was wrong with his creator, and it was culminating in a failure to deal with a simple, non-lethal threat.
“A little- uh, a little help here? Anyone got… catnip?” Tony quipped, wincing. His focus was waning as his lack of restful sleep began to catch up with him.
All around him, the cats continued to join the ball of rage that was focusing on the bright red suit. As the pressure in the suit increased, Tony’s anxiety began to rear its head again.
Is anyone going to help me? Did I… annoy them that badly? Christ, am I stuck? Why can’t...I...move?!
The stray wire zapped him as they plunged their surgery tools into his gaping chest cavity.
The car battery burnt his skin as the water poured from his face and into the live wires.
The sparks of the haphazard suit scalded his skin and singed his hair.
The weight on his suit had long since left his chest due to a convenient concussion arrow from Hawkeye. Tony was notably still crouched down and clenching his chest, much to the confusion of the team.
“Iron Man, status?” The Captain demanded, brow furrowed.
He was met with silence from the billionaire.
“Stark!”
Tony startled suddenly at that, jerking in place. He noted his need to control his quick panting that was making him lightheaded. He couldn’t catch a break, so he put up a mask portraying himself as calm and collected.
“Sorry, Capsicle. The cat hair was making me sneeze beyond all belief. Did you know that sneezes are capable of travelling up to 100 miles per hour, which is actually kind of the basis for-”
“Save it for the debrief, Tony. We gotta round up the living cats for Director Fury, and then we gotta clear up the carnage. Iron Man, deal with the dead ones. All hands on deck otherwise for rounding up the other ones. Are we clear?” Cap fired off.
At the sound of three other affirmatives, the team took off to complete their tasks. Tony flipped up his face-plate and winced at the light of the great outdoors, his eyes adjusting slowly. He could tell from practice that his mask was solidly in place, so any press or outsiders would see him as strong. Even though the feeling in his chest was ever present, he was glad for the easy routine of cleaning up the few bodies.
Tony did feel bad for the lost cats. They clearly were suffering from whatever had been injected into their bodies, and he didn’t mean to fall short and cause their deaths. He was uncomfortable with his shortcomings in the situation, and he hated it. His weakness was laughable. He was laughable.
He was laughable to the point that he booked it out of there as soon as he scraped the last cat off of the pavement. Tony was oblivious to the calls of protest from Cap and the rest of the team, lost in his spiral.
Frantically, Tony burst out of the claustrophobic grasp of the suit as soon as he touched the landing dock. Never had he been more thankful for the automated removal of the Mark XLII. He shakily navigated himself to the safety of his bedroom, knowing he would only be heading for the bar if he went to his lab.
Can’t fuck it up again. Have to be perfect.
The billionaire collapsed onto his expensive mattress, not particularly aware of his surroundings. He could only stare as his mind struggled to maintain any semblance of order. Tony’s eyes were blown wide as he took deep, shuddering breaths.
I...I need…
Feebly, he curled in on himself. He needed contact , not isolation, but he knew that he couldn’t, wouldn’t ask anyone for help. Tony went through phases of a need for human contact, and after his breakup, he had not had his fill. The craving washed over him, slick and bitter and ever-so-heavy. Tony moaned in desperation and climbed under his blankets, trying to simulate the presence of human contact. They weren’t remotely heavy enough to pass as a hugging sensation, but as he inwardly hugged himself, the combination of warmth and pressure took the edge off. He knew it would only get worse, but…
They can’t know.
“...Sir?” JARVIS hesitated, knowing Tony wasn’t in the best state of mind. He was concerned for his creator, and he felt like a helpless witness as the man broke down, impossible to console. Tony remained curled in on himself.
“Sir, Dum-E is bringing Object Cobalt Minted Knox momentarily. It should help alleviate the...symptoms…you are experiencing.”
Tony groaned unintelligibly, shifting in his spot. He frantically burst out of his curled up position and glared upward at the ceiling.
“Override it, JARVIS. I don’t need a fucking baby blanket.”
“Unfortunately I cannot, sir. You wrote into the clause that the delivery cannot be cancelled unless your breathing and heart rate are stable for a period of twenty four hours.”
“Did I? God damn, it’s like I think of everything,” Tony frowned, momentarily distracted.
He heard whirring to his left, and he felt a glimmer of amusement witnessing Dum-E carrying the cumbersome blanket. Weighing in at sixteen pounds, the blanket had been a one-off suggestion from a past therapist he had confided in regarding his...situation. He couldn’t bear to be under the blanket out of a fear of the constriction, but he liked to wrap it around himself in order to simulate a warm hug, only to be used in extreme privacy combined with a vulnerable moment.
“JARVIS, please lock the bedroom down and black out the windows. Make sure no one can finesse their way in, no matter what it takes. Only release the lockdown if there’s a banshee barrelling down Broadway Street,” Tony requested.
The room dimmed considerably, lit mainly by the arc reactor in his chest. Coming off of the adrenaline he had been experiencing, his chest sore due to the pain in his lungs from his hyperventilation. Before he let his eyes droop shut, he grabbed the blanket from Dum-E and awkwardly wrapped it around himself, open in the front. Tony reached down and gave Dum-E a pat in thanks, the robot spinning in circles happily before whirring away back to his domain.
With the weight of the blanket on his shoulders, Tony was almost able to imagine the presence of another, comforting him without pushing his boundaries. It felt fake, but he decided it was all he wanted to allow himself. His eyes drooped shut, dry from his earlier staring session.
It wasn’t enough.
He craved it. Contact kept him grounded, and cutting himself off from any potential team interactions was decidedly not helping.
...don’t want to be a bother.
Tony had no motivation to shower, let alone get out of bed. He had stopped responding to JARVIS and his pleas for his creator to take care of himself, instead staring off into space. The pangs of hunger he felt had disappeared… recently. Tony realized he had no idea what time it was or how long it had been. It wasn’t as if he cared.
What he didn’t know was that it was nearly time for JARVIS’s protocol to call Colonel Rhodes if Tony went any longer without taking care of himself. The man had taken to urinating in a bottle. If JARVIS had the capacity to feel disgust, it would absolutely be present. But of course, he held his creator in the highest regard. He would absolutely help him if he had a physical body.
Alas, it was time. JARVIS voiced his intention to call the man’s best friend and was met with a lack of acknowledgement from the mass on the bed. He was thankful that he had found a loophole in Sir’s command to not let any of the Avengers help him out, as he hated witnessing these cycles. JARVIS could only monitor his creator’s vitals and maintain the workshop as time marched onward.
Colonel Rhodes entered Avengers Tower looking like a man on a mission. The stern, purposeful look he had on his face only enabled him to travel quickly through the lobby, people dodging out of the way. His face did not show the concern that wormed in his stomach. The soldier made his way into the elevator and pushed the button for Tony’s private floor.
“JARVIS, how’s he doing?”
“Sir has... seen better days. It has been four days, sixteen hours, and thirty two minutes since he has eaten, notably only consuming multiple bottles of red wine before the last Avengers threat. Currently Sir is dehydrated and-”
“I’ve got the picture, thank you JARVIS. Has… has anyone been checking in on him?” the colonel asked, his brow furrowed at the information dump.
“No notable attempts have been made to enter his bedroom. Security footage reflects a general confusion as to his whereabouts, however the team is under the assumption that Sir is working in the lab,” JARVIS explained.
Colonel Rhodes inhaled sharply as the elevator glided to a halt. He couldn’t fathom not checking on the wellbeing of a teammate, especially one with a history like Tony’s. But his best friend mattered more than telling the Avengers off, so he pushed down his anger and applied a temporarily neutral expression.
Until he opened the door to Tony’s room, that is.
The stench coming from the bed is what hit him first. It was obvious Tony had been sweating, be it fuelled by adrenaline or just the heat, so the bedroom smelled decidedly ripe. Further inspection revealed plastic water bottles of dark piss. Rhodey’s nose scrunched at that. But of course, he brushed that spectacle off and instead focused on the still mass in the bed, curled in on itself.
“...Tony?” Rhodey inquired gently. The man in question stirred slightly at the sound of the colonel’s gentle tone, but did not otherwise respond.
“Tony, I think you’re having another episode… I’m going to approach you slowly, okay?”
No response.
Colonel Rhodes, faced with a mission to help his best friend, his brother , first bent down to remove his shoes. Only then did he move gingerly toward the king bed and the man it held on top of it, careful to move with relative grace. As he approached, Tony’s labored breathing became more audible. Once Rhodey reached Tony’s bedside, he halted.
“Tones, do you need me to hold you right now, or do you want help showering? We’ve gotta get you fed and watered, too, but I don’t know how bad it is this time.”
Tony let out a moan and suddenly unravelled. The man’s facial expression clearly spelled out his desperation. Rhodey, with a stricken feeling hidden by a carefully neutral appearance, gently shifted his weight onto the mattress, careful not to startle Tony. He opened his arms.
Immediately Tony latched onto him and curled up in his best friend’s lap as the pair flopped down, flat on the mattress. Rhodey grunted with the impact, noting Tony’s shaky breathing.
“I’m here now, Tones. You’re safe with me always. I will never abandon you. I may be late sometimes, but as soon as I am able to get to you, I’ll be there. Do you understand?”
Tony nodded into Rhodey’s collarbone, nuzzling his nose in the comforting scent he associated with safety . After about twenty minutes of Rhodey’s comfort, the shaking died down to an occasional shifting, as if Tony was checking to make sure he wasn’t still alone.
Only then did Rhodey move his mouth close to Tony’s ear, whispering, “Tones, if you’re feeling a bit better now, we gotta get you cleaned up. JARVIS told me you’re dehydrated, and that’s not good for your heart.”
The man’s choice words of criticism for his poor AI told the colonel that Tony was at least slightly more coherent. Rhodey, with a desperate Tony still wrapped on his torso, carried the man to the attached bathroom suite. They were practiced enough that Rhodey could help Tony remove his clothes and sit on the convenient ledge in the shower. Tony had long ago forgotten how to be embarrassed about being naked in front of anyone, let alone his best friend, so he was relatively cooperative as Rhodey washed him. In fact, he took pleasure in finally, finally having prolonged with someone he loved.
After Rhodey finished washing away the sweat and stench from Tony, he shut off the water and swaddled the billionaire in a fluffy, white towel.
“Tones, I’ve gotta grab you some new clothes. Is it okay if I leave for just a few seconds?” Rhodey requested.
At Tony’s nod of affirmation, Rhodey rushed to grab a clean pair of sweatpants and one of his own sweatshirts that Tony had previously stolen. Chuckling slightly, the colonel went back into the bathroom, where his best friend was staring off into space, eyes clearly unfocused. With a silent exhalation through his nose, Rhodey dressed his friend, careful not to jostle him.
“Alright, now we gotta get you fed and rehydrated. Do you want anything specific?”
The billionaire shook his head minutely, and at Rhodey’s beckoning, the duo left the bedroom. Once they reached the elevator, Tony stopped suddenly.
“...don’t wanna.”
“Don’t worry. I’m right here beside you, no one’s gonna bother us. We gotta get you fixed up, alright?” Rhodey reassured his best friend, who had reluctance written on his features.
With a deep sigh, Tony shifted toward the elevator, and the pair stood in silence as the smooth descent began, the shorter man’s dread growing as they approached the main floor.