Chapter Text
Tony was exhausted.
Not just three days without sleeping exhausted (ok, maybe that’s a problem for normal people, but not Tony Stark – c’mon), but full on, bone deep tired. The kind that made keeping your eyes open almost impossible. He had already passed the point of being so tired that he half woke up again, and was now back to the brink of passing out. His brain felt like it was running at 0.1 miles an hour and it seemed to be taking four times as long as usual to process things. Not to mention the fact that there were black spots floating around his vision – to be perfectly honest they were beginning to piss him off. I mean come on, give a guy a break!
But now wasn’t the time to lose focus, and Tony didn’t have time for a break. There was far too much to do. Although the temptation to sit down long enough to down a mug of coffee was almost overwhelming.
Then again, almost anything sounded more appealing to Tony right now than a debriefing meeting. Which, sadly, is exactly what he was being subjected to.
Tony mentally shook himself and blinked heavily, successfully managing to clear his head a little. Just enough to hear Captain Self Righteous wittering on about tactical advances and…well, who knows. Tony certainly didn’t, because he had zoned out again without realising.
His mind wandered to the new arrowheads that he had been in the middle of designing before the latest Doombot attack, which is what had landed him in this stupid debriefing to begin with. They needed a few more final tweaks to ensure that they were as aerodynamic as possible. When you are an Avenger every second counts – Tony didn’t want to be responsible for someone being hurt because Clint’s arrows weren’t fast enough.
And then there was the issue of the Hulk-proof shorts, which, as it transpired, were not Hulk proof. Banner’s modesty admittedly isn’t a life or death issue, but nobody wants to be faced with over a foot of swinging hulk cock mid-battle, if the situation can be avoided.
Not to mention the blueprints that Coulson was nagging him for, the new weapons he was developing for Natasha, the Iron Man suit repairs that were well overdue and the new product range for Stark Industries. Then there was the constant stream of galas and charity events that Pepper signed him up for. Oh, and who could forget being an actual Avenger, keeping on top of general maintenance work on JARVIS and upgrading the tower’s various facilities. And all of these responsibilities were piled on top of his usual day-to-day work.
Tony tried to remember the last time he wasn’t working on over thirty things at once, or to recall the last time that he didn’t feel completely shattered, but he drew a blank.
Speaking of blank, Tony’s vacant gaze hadn’t gone unnoticed amongst his team, and Captain Controlling was getting pissed. Which never ended well for anyone, especially not Tony.
“Stark, I’m sorry if this meeting is an inconvenience to you, and if I am taking up too much of your precious time, but I’d appreciate it if you bothered to at least try and look like you are paying attention. This does concern you after all.” Tony shrank back a little, leaning further back into his chair and hunching his shoulders as if he could shield himself from the onslaught of Steve’s anger. The super soldier’s angry tone was doing nothing to help the headache brewing in Tony’s skull and he could already feel his skin going clammy with anxiety.
“If you had bothered fixing Clint’s bow properly yesterday then some of his shots wouldn’t have missed. Not to mention the fact that you didn’t respond to Natasha’s call for help immediately! You’ve got to be more of a team player Tony, Natasha wouldn’t have sprained her ankle if you’d have given her aerial support in time!” Steve’s voice was rising further with each accusation and Tony could feel his ears burning with ever-intensifying shame as the tirade went on and on.
Steve was right, he had let everyone down again. As usual. He should have worked harder. He knew that he was putting his team at risk by not fixing all of the battle equipment immediately. But there were so many things to do that it was almost impossible to prioritise.
He wanted to defend himself. But there really wasn’t anything to say. Admittedly he could have mentioned that he didn’t reach Natasha on time because he was fighting off five Doombots at once with a broken repulsor in one hand of the suit, and a damaged thruster in his left foot, but what was the point?
All of this could have been avoided if he had just worked harder.
“Stark, don’t you even have anything to say for yourself? At the very least, you owe Natasha an apology.”
“Tash – I’m sorry, I should have helped you sooner. I’ll do better next time.” Tony stared down at his knees through the glass table, not having it in himself to look Natasha in the eye. He hated the idea of hurting her, and to be honest, he was terrified of meeting her angry gaze. However, this meant that he missed the concerned flicker of emotion that crossed her face. It was so brief that chances are, he would have missed it even if he was looking at her. But still. It didn’t matter whether she was mad at him or not. Stark had enough self-loathing to cover the both of them.
Steve seemed satisfied with Stark’s apology, and began to carry on with his debriefing, although Tony’s mind was still reeling with what if’s and questions about what he could be improving. And to make matters worse, the black dots in his vision were back with a vengeance and he felt woozy.
He was about to say something along the lines of “sorry guys, gotta take a leak,” or “if I have to spend one more minute in this room I might be the one hulking out,” when he tuned back into what was being said.
“…7 casualties. I know that everyone did their best, but this isn’t acceptable and we all need to try harder next time. No more innocent lives can be lost because of our shortcomings.”
Tony felt the world constricting around him.
It was his fault.
Not only had he failed his team, he had also contributed to the fact that 7 civilians had been hurt. And let’s be honest, even if one of the other avengers was to blame, it was probably because their equipment or weapons had failed.
It all boiled down to Tony.
Tony struggled to draw breath, his vision blurring and the room tilting as nausea and vertigo crashed over him in waves. He really should drink something – just a glass of water and a coffee, perhaps an energy bar…
“Ironman, are you listening to a word I am saying? Snap out of it, how can we hope to save people’s lives if we can’t even focus in a meeting?…STARK, FOR GOD SAKE STARK! ”
Stark.
Howard Stark – beating…hitting…pain…crying in the corner, curled up in a ball…trying to make himself small…
Tony Stark – genius…billionaire…playboy…philanthropist…failure…killer…mass murderer…merchant of death…
Stark terror - darkness. So much darkness…guns…bangs…explosions…oh god the pain in his chest was so bad…
Stark naked - in the dark and freezing cold…there were hands all over him, touching him, forcing him, invading every inch of his personal space and more. They wouldn’t let go, bustling against him, pushing him into the icy water…
Tony tried to draw breath but his lungs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. His ears were ringing with angry shouts from his past and it took all of Tony’s strength not to break down right there and then. He wanted to scream, to cry, to beg Steve to be quiet. But he couldn’t do anything, because Steve’s shouting was dragging Tony right back to Afghanistan…
And he couldn’t make a sound.
All Tony could do was open his mouth in a silent plea for help, struggling to breathe through the rising panic.
And with impeccable timing as ever, Captain Rogers stepped in and made things one hundred times worse. He was too busy venting on Tony to even realise how pale and panic-stricken the smaller man looked.
Because although Steve was a super soldier, he was far from perfect.
Just when Tony thought that things couldn’t get any worse, as he raised his head to look beseechingly at Steve, he was met with a glass of ice cold water being thrown in his face.
Tony sputtered, completely losing it when the water invaded his eyes, nose and mouth. Tony cowered, his entire body shaking as he felt the burn of water being inhaled into his nose. Everything seemed to happen so quickly, yet in slow motion at the same time.
Before he knew what he was doing, Tony had scrambled back off of his chair and had fallen to the floor, curling up in a ball and hyperventilating. No matter how much he tried to breathe, no air seemed to be reaching his lungs. This was it. He was dying. Tony was sure about it. Because surely the pain in his head could only mean one thing.
The headache that had been building all day erupted into something so much more and before Tony could so much as move into a better position, he was vomiting all down himself and all over the floor.
Tony hadn’t eaten in days, so his vomit was purely liquid, but this didn’t stop the stomach acid from burning his throat, and didn’t negate the fact that his lungs, already incapacitated by the arc reactor, had been struggling enough as it was.
This was it.
He was choking. There wasn’t enough air. Tony couldn't breathe, he was certain that the walls of the cave were closing in on him...so much darkness. It was always dark, the pitch blackness eating him up and confining him…Tony couldn't move. He was suffocating.
The hands he thought he had escaped were clutching at him, grabbing his hair and gripping the back of his head, forcing him under the water and he couldn’t breathe.
He just wanted the pain to stop…
Steve watched in horror when he saw Stark’s reaction to having the cup of water thrown in his face. It was meant to have been a joke – or at least a mildly amusing way of making the genius pay attention.
But now nothing about the transpiring situation seemed the slightest bit amusing.
Stark had pitched off his chair and was hyperventilating, curled up and sobbing in terror. His entire body was shaking and Steve could see cold droplets of sweat beading on the older man’s brow and soaking through his t-shirt.
All of a sudden the superhero looked so small, and Steve immediacy knew that he had messed up.
How could he have been so stupid? He knew that Stark had issues with water, but hadn’t bothered to take the time to think about his teammate’s feelings and wellbeing.
Steve had never taken the liberty of reading Stark’s medical file, but it was clear that the man was experiencing some sort of PTSD related flashback. He had seen many soldiers with similar symptoms and had bared witness to far bigger and stronger men than Stark being reduced to tears over memories and figments of their imagination.
He knelt down next to the quaking man, shooting the others a concerned look as he did so. Natasha had rested an arm on Clint’s shoulder to pull him back, Thor was staring bemusedly at his teammate and Bruce was making his way over to Tony with a concerned, pinched expression crossing his face.
“Tony, Tony? I need you to try and breathe for me, Tony. Can you hear me? Tony it is really important that you try your best to breathe for me…remember those breathing exercises I taught you?” Bruce had adopted his most professional tone of voice, calm and collected, although Steve could see the dangerous green tint to his eyes.
Tony didn’t respond.
If anything, he seemed to curl up into a smaller ball, sobbing brokenly and letting out a few pitiful, almost inhuman moans of fright. His throat was raw from being sick and he had his eyes screwed shut in pain.
Steve gingerly reached out, resting a hand lightly on Tony’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. He didn’t really like the guy, to be honest Steve thought he was a self-righteous jerk, but on the other hand he had never meant to reduce such a proud man to tears. Hell, he wouldn’t have even thought that Stark crying was a possibility before. Steve had been convinced that the man had no emotions, or conscience!
Clearly he was wrong.
It took a while for Tony to register the other man’s touch, but as soon as he did, things took another turn for the worse.
He let out a strangled scream of fear, pulling back and thwacking his head against the glass table, hard enough to make his head bleed. But he didn’t seem to notice. Tony was too busy begging and bargaining with an imaginary foe. Or at least a long dead one.
“Please don’t, please…d-don’t want. Can’t – won’t b-build, no. Won’t do it. J-just kill me. Please. I-I’m beggin’ you. Please. I won’t help you. Won’t. Not going to. Just stop, p-please. It hurts. Hurts so bad! Please. Just stop. S-stop, pleaseeee. Y-you can’t m-make me…” Tony had gone completely rigid, no longer trying to move away from Steve or Bruce, but seemingly accepting his fate.
Steve withdrew his hand, shooting Bruce another guilty, panicked look. The scientist sighed, looking defeated as he withdrew a syringe from his medical bag. Then, he very cautiously took Tony’s unresisting arm, pushed the needle into his vein and supported his teammate as he lost his battle against consciousness.
Bless Bruce for always being organised and dependable. I mean, who else casually carries round sedatives?!
“Well…that was fun.” Clint said in a tone that suggested otherwise. “So Cap, what do we do now?”