Tony Stark is Human

Tony Stark took medication. It was something that he tried to hide from the public, one of the few things that made him embarrassed about himself. He was supposed to be cool, confident, hero, Tony Stark. Not anxious, disturbed, depressed Tony Stark. And yet, there he was every morning with an anti depressant and whatever concoction of anti anxiety/PTSD pill his doctor had prescribed that month.

It had been like this for a while. At first, Tony refused help, convinced that he was like his father, strong and in need of nobody’s help. Undeserving of anyone’s help. He was arrogant, confident, just like his father. He was doomed to be a bad person from the start, no matter what, so he figured he might as well embrace it. That is until he realized that he wasn’t. It took Peter Parker, the most kind, selfless, amazing person ever to believe in him for him to realize: if Peter of all people think he’s a good person, then maybe he is.

So he accepted help. For Pepper and Peter, the two kindest people who consider Tony to be one of them. He convinced himself that if he worked hard enough then maybe he can become the person they both think he is.

He was trying, really for Pepper and the kid more than anything to go to therapy and choke down the pills, but it wasn’t easy.

He could not bare the idea of the disappointment on Pepper’s face if she found out he was skipping sessions, or Peter’s when he walks in on him having a panic attack, so he does everything in his power to prevent it. He goes to every session, takes every pill, fills out every mood tracker or whatever mental health bullshit Pepper feels would make him feel better. Nothing really seemed to work though.

Sure, the panic attacks were more manageable, and his “bad days” were getting less and less frequent, but there were still days. There were days where he could not bring himself to shower because he could not physically get himself to touch water, and days where he lied in bed all day staring at the ceiling for no apparent reason, or days where he would forget to take his pills. This was one of those days.

It in fact had been a week since Tony had last showered. It had happened suddenly, out of the blue. One day the water didn’t bother him, and the next as soon as he touched the water he triggered a horrible flashback. He stumbled away from the shower, gasping for air that did not seem to exist. He was being waterboarded, drowned, suffocated. He leaned against the wall, coughing out water that was all in his head, feeling his ark reactor in his chest. It pounded, like it was going to fall out of his chest. It was being ripped out. He was suffocating, choking as his heart was cut out of his body.

Tony Stark, can’t control pulse despite having built his own heart.

Tony Stark, no heart to love.

Tony Stark, heartless.

Tony Stark, uncaring.

“Isn’t this so fucked up?” A voice whispers, “he can’t even control his own machine.”

It took him twenty minutes to recover, and he hadn’t showered since then.

A week later and he was dirty, exhausted due to the recent return of his nightmares, and unable to eat real food because he felt like he would just throw it all up, something that often happened in Afghanistan because when he did get food he would end up eating it too fast. He alternated between coffee and crackers, the only thing that didn’t make him gag. He survived like this for an entire week until he was found.
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Peter was well aware lab day was cancelled, but he couldn’t just leave Tony. Tony had not talked to him for a week, ignoring all his messages and hanging up on his calls. Peter knew something was wrong, and Tony distancing himself was worrying. That’s how Peter ended up standing in front of Stark Tower after school, realizing that he’s never entered through the front.

Sure he had been inside the Tower itself, but only ever through the window propped open in the lab, or the garage that Happy had dropped him off in. He didn’t even have an internship badge because the internship didn’t technically exist. He entered through the large glass doors, walking straight into the large room where security was set up. A single metal detector and a few guards milled around, helping anyone, supervising the metal detector, and most importantly checking badges.

Peter walked through the metal detector no problem, and allowed the man to check his bag. Peter’s hands shook as he watched the security officer - Greg Adler by his name tag - check his bag which currently held the spider man suit. Adler only checked the first few pockets with a bored look on his face, something that would have bothered Peter had he not been so relieved. Sure he was glad that he didn’t check his whole back pack, but he could have had a weapon in any of the other pockets (not that he was complaining). He would have to mention that to Tony. Also getting a real badge would be helpful.

Then came the next challenge: getting past badge check. The officer who was checking badges was bigger, wearing sunglasses and an earpiece that curled from his suit jacket, around his bald head, and into his ear. Peter eyed the earpiece wondering who it could contact as he approached the man as sheepishly as he could.

Before he got a chance to say anything, the man reached his hand out, stating: “Name?”

“Peter Parker. Look sir-“

“Badge?”

“I forgot my badge at home.”
The man - this one named George Kingsman - looked at Peter through his sunglasses, his expression masked and uninterested.

“No badge means no enter.” His gruff voice surprised Peter. “You better come back with it if you want to get in.”

“Sir, I only need to grab my phone. I left it in there yesterday.” Peter lied.

“Keep better track of your stuff kid. Besides, I doubt you even have a badge. You’re way too young to intern.”

Peter was ready to give up, maybe he could come back later after patrol and climb through the window. Suddenly a voice overhead made itself known with a quiet yet recognizable chime.

“Mr. Parker, Boss is waiting upstairs in his private loft.” FRIDAY’s voice chimed in from above, cutting off all conversation throughout the room. Peter flushed at the sudden attention and murmured his thanks to George before brushing past to the elevator.

Peter entered Tony’s loft to find Tony standing, leaning against a counter and holding an empty coffee cup as he stared off into the distance. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, his hair greasy and ruffled and his eyes tired and vacant.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter said tentatively, creeping closer to his mentor.

“You weren’t supposed to come.” Tony’s voice was scratchy, as if it had been unused for days. His eyes had yet to focus on Peter, instead they stared past him. Peter’s racing heart skipped as he scanned the room, noticing all the coffee mugs and cracker wrappers, yet lack of real food.

“Where’s Ms. Potts?” Peter asked, taking in the situation.

“Business trip. I canceled the lab day Peter, I’m sick.” Tony finally focused on Peter, but his eyes remained vacant, just as masked as the guard’s. Peter had to admit, he did LOOK sick, his face pale and sunken, his eyes dull. His hands shook and Peter could hear his heart racing from across the room, most likely due to caffeine overdose.

“Right, sorry,” Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, “I didn’t get the text.” Peter improvised quickly, knowing he can’t leave Tony alone like this. “I can leave, but I forgot to eat breakfast and lunch. Would you mind if I made something before I left?”

Tony’s eyes sharpened ever so slightly, his brow furrowed in concern.

“You haven’t…eaten..?” Peter’s heart raced at Tony’s slow and perplexed response. Tony was clearly not in his right mind.

“Yeah, I woke up late and forgot to grab my lunch.”

“You have to eat Peter. Your metabolism…” Tony set his coffee down, his shaky hands opening the fridge in search of something. He realized that the fridge was empty as he hadn’t eaten anything but crackers and coffee for a week and Pepper was out of town.

“Shit, sorry. I haven’t been able to keep a whole lot down.” He scanned the empty fridge as if something would appear. Peter watched his odd behavior for a moment before moving to the counter, grabbing the loaf of bread. The cracker diet was bland, so toast seemed like the best option for easing Tony back into normal food.

“That’s okay, I’ll just have toast. Do you want any?” Peter asked belatedly after popping four slices into the toaster.

“No, I’m okay. Not hungry.”

“Oh.” Peter feigned embarrassment, “I already made two extra for you.” Tony stared at Peter, his slow mind seeming to pick up on Peter’s act.

“Are you okay? You’re acting weird.” Peter couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of Tony asking him if HE was okay as he pulled butter out of the fridge.

“I’m fine,” he grabbed a butter knife and struggled to pop the lid off, “I’m more worried about you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

Tony didn’t answer for a moment, the only acknowledgment a small hum. A comfortable silence fell over them as Peter walked around gathering up cracker wrappers and empty mugs. He loaded the empty mugs into the sink, turned on the water, and gently started washing them.

“You don’t have to do that, I can do it.” Tony said, though he made no move to do so.

“I like helping.” Peter replied simply.

Peter scrubbed the coffee stained mugs, unsure of what else he could possibly do to help Tony. Tony was clearly going through something, but Peter was unsure whether asking would be stepping over the line. He knew of Tony’s past and was aware of Tony’s PTSD and anxiety despite his attempts to hide it. He knew that his PTSD affected his every day life and that it is normal for Tony to spiral if triggered, all information he acquired purely by observation and side comments from Rhodey.

“Do you have a fever?” Peter asked, sure that Tony was not SICK sick.

Tony seemed caught off guard by the question, so much so that his eyes seemed to clear for a moment before fogging over again.

“Uhm, yeah.” Tony started, “yeah for the last two days.”

“Has it dropped any?” Peter asked. Just then the toaster popped and Tony startled, his unsteady hands jolting and spilling his coffee.

“Shit, sorry.” Peter grabbed a napkin and wet it so he could clean up the coffee. Tony grabbed the half wet napkin from his hands and shakily cleaned the coffee of the counter.

“Not your fault kid.” He murmured. His hands were twitchy and he had started cleaning up a spot that was already clean. Peter rushed over and gently grabbed Tony’s hand to redirect him to the mess.

To his horror, Tony started crying, his shoulders shaking as he tried to quiet his sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay Mr. Stark. You’re okay.” Tony leaned against the counter, his crying no longer controlled. Peter stood awkwardly trying to comfort him, unsure of how to help.

“Can I call Rhodey?” He asked quietly, and Tony responded with a desperate nod. Peter backed up, pulling out his phone and shakily clicking Rhodey’s contact.

Rhodey picked up after the first ring.

“Peter?” The name was a question in itself. Peter cleared his throat.

“Hey Mr. Rhodes.”

“Is something wrong? I’m busy Peter.” His voice edges annoyed but there was a cautious concern laced.

“It’s Mr. Stark. He says he’s sick, but I don’t think he’s been taking his medication. I don’t know how to help him.” There was a beat of silence.

“Okay Peter, put the phone on speaker then give the phone to Tony.”