Work Text:
The beer bottle shattered when it hit the hard tile. Shards of the dull green glass dispersed across Tony’s kitchen.
“JARVIS get a Dum-2 to clean this up,” sighed Tony Stark hazily.
He barely even cared anymore (an understatement given that half of Stark Tower was covered in a month's worth on Tony not caring). His usually perfectly cut stubble was a mess, thicker in some places than in others and his hair was greasy from not washing it for weeks. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a small hole in the left sleeve and his sweats were too big giving him a drunk rapper appearance.
After the civil war between himself and Captain America, Tony had locked himself in Stark Tower completely isolated from the outside world. Tony surveyed the kitchen not looking for food; he barely ate these days. He had lost a lot of weight, and his nights were consumed with playing the war over and over in his head, the bags under his eyes hadn’t gone away for weeks now. His breath constantly smelled of alcohol and he usually had a drink at hand. His eyes landed on a slightly crumpled up letter on the top of his coffee maker. Tony padded over in his socks careful to avoid the glass and picked up the letter feeling nostalgic but put it down quickly. He didn't want to relive the hurt that Steve had sent him in the physical embodiment of words.
Feeling lost in his own home Tony ventured down to his workshop, the all too familiar sound of the doors sliding aside to let him into the dusty room that was one bustling with activity promptly woke him up from his distant trance. He approached his desk the blue holograms dancing around the room calmed his racing mind. Shifting through the papers he felt a prickly feeling on the back of his neck and turned around to see the destroyed metal soldier staring back at him. There were deep dents in the chest plate from the battering ram of Cap’s shield and the head sat disconnected from the body tilted on top of the neck. On his return from the brutal beating at Steve hand the suit had felt like his coffin, impossible to get off, bent iron pressing into his skin making bruises that didn't heal for weeks.
Physically, Tony was fine besides a few gashes on his face, which were healing nicely, his iron suit had protected him from the past chaos. His mental state was less than fine, in his head he had never left the war. The constant battle between grief, regret, shame and loneliness circulated the laughing joke that was one a genius mind. Tony walks over to the suit contemplating the damage, suddenly furious again he rams his fist into its side knocking it over with a dull thud. His knuckles started to swell and began to turn an ugly shade of purple. He picks up a bottle of vodka from a drawer in his desk and begins to drink, the clear liquid burning his throat. His mind was his prison, consumed in thoughts and scenarios... anything that could change the past.
Honestly, Tony full heartedly blamed himself for what happened. All of it. He thought that if he had just been a little more lenient with Steve about the Sokovia Accords. Even if he had not tried to hunt down Bucky, sure the man was dangerous but Tony had no doubt that Steve could control him. It had been he, Tony, who destroyed the Avengers, Wanda, Sam, Cap, Clint we're all fugitives because of him. It was his fault. Had he just put his ego down for a tenth of a second to try and see Steve's side he might still have Steve and the rest of them with him. Tony sunk to the ground head on his knees, body wracked by sobs. What remained of Tony’s life seemed to him as an endless pit of despair. Friendless, jobless and loveless.
He missed Steve more than he ever thought he would. He was heartbroken that Steve had chosen Bucky over him but he saw now that Steve hadn’t chosen Bucky he had just been to narrow-minded to see it. But he had already burned that bridge when he tried to kill Bucky. Steve would never love or even speak to him again. Something snapped in Tony's mind and he stood up grasping for the phone on his desk. Slowly, he dials the number, and listens to the ringing. Voicemail.
“Steve, i'm so sorry, I never meant for any of this to happen. I hope that someday you can forgive me. I'm sorry for splitting up the Avengers and i'm sorry for not telling you this sooner but Steve.. I love you. Goodbye.”
Tony flips the phone shut satisfied with the message. He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a black gun. He cocks the gun, thoughts filled with nothing but how much he wanted the pain to end. To be done. Free. As though in a trance he raised the gun to his temple.
“JARVIS, tell all of them that I am sorry.”
With a fluid motion, Tony pulled the trigger.
He found him an hour later. Steve breaks through the glass door eyes wildly searching. They landed on a mass on the floor. He was too late. Steve roars. All of his pain expressed but not extinguished in a cry of agony. He falls to his knees near Tony pale body. His eyes open but clouded. Steve pulls the Tony closer to him. He didn't know what to think. His shoulders curl forwards and he runs a shaking hand through Tony's hair. He sat there. It was his fault. He should have been there for him. The super soldier sat still, taking in the pain, absorbing it.
He didn't hear them come in. He only looked up when they grabbed his arms and tried to take him away. Tony. Steve screamed and fought to get back to Tony as the agents wrestled him into plasma cuffs. Trying to fight them off, Steve thrashed and yelled. He couldn't leave Tony. Not like this. He had not felt like this since before he was injected with the serum. Before he had become Captain America. He felt weak, vulnerable and like his whole being was being torn in two. He had never felt so human.