stark men are made of iron.
he heard it all the time, it was drilled into his head since birth, along with the rest of his father’s venom. it meant so many things, it was used as a reminder, a threat, a guideline. he used it to justify and condemn, to build and to break. those simple words defined, trapped, hurt, imprisoned, and finally broke tony stark. because at the end of it all they were true - he was made of iron.
stark men are made of iron, his father growled at him as he laid on the floor crying. only four years old, his cheek bright red and stinging from where he had been slapped moments earlier for breaking one of his father’s captain america memorabilia. tears are for the weak, he spit out, before slamming the door as he left. tony never cried in front of his father again.
stark men are made of iron, jarvis repeated saradonically, shaking his head at tony with a small smile. Iknow what he says, I’ve heard him. but no tony, don’t let him twist you. you are better than that. he looked at tony meaningfully, and somehow tony felt himself believing him, don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
stark men are made of iron, his father snarled at him, bringing his foot down on the small robot dog tony had made, if you’re not doing something productive you shouldn’t be here at all. tony watched as his tiny creation was crushed under his father’s feet, already internalizing lessons that would follow him his whole life.
stark men are made of iron, his mother sighed softly, gazing at tony. but you are also my child, and you are worth so much more than iron. you are made of gold. don’t let him harden you. she cradled him against her chest, brushing away the remaining blood, and holding him close to her, rocking gently to a quiet lullaby.
stark men are made of iron, he chided himself in his empty dorm room, 15 years old and miles away from home and everyone he cared about. he shouldn’t be nervous, it was just college, everyone experienced it. and yet he couldn’t stop the pounding of his heart as he pulled the covers over his head in his cold dorm room, or the silent tears slipping down his face in the dark as he buried himself farther in the pillow.
stark men are made of iron! his father screamed at him, in the midst of one of their many fights, shaking the house with his fury. he bit back cruelly and his father lost control, a bottle of whiskey whistling across the room, shattering against the wall beside him, glass shards embedding themselves in his face. later he picked out the glass by himself, telling himself it didn’t hurt - glass can’t cut iron.
stark men are made of iron, he reminded himself, as he stood in front of the mirror in his black suit before the funeral, willing the tears not to fall. he had a legacy to protect. he felt his grief harden around him into a protective cast, a shield, an armor. nothing would penetrate it. he didn’t know it then but that iron wall he built around himself, encasing his heart, wouldn’t fall for a long long time.
stark men are made of iron, he remembered, and he partied even harder, drank even more, sunk farther into the persona he had been building since birth. genius. billionaire. playboy. who cared that his parents died, that he inherited a whole company, that everything was thrust on his shoulders? the world expected tony stark to be fun, young, and reckless, and so that’s what he would be. he threw himself into the party scene, trying to forget, trying to escape. another shot. another girl. another wall. an iron facade to hide the chinks.
stark men are made of iron, he insisted, as the scalpel carved into him, trying to distract himself. but then the knife sliced deeper and he couldn’t hold back a scream, and not even iron was enough to stop the pain. the masked faces bared down on him and suddenly he wasn’t made of iron anymore - instead he was less than human.
stark men are made of iron, he cried, but it felt like a plea. the water kept pouring down, drowning him, choking him. not even iron could stop it. iron may be strong, but it is hopelessly heavy, and in the end it only sinks.
stark men are made of iron, he whispered encouragingly to himself in a cave in afghanistan. just empty words with empty meaning, and yet they ignited something in him. he was an iron soul in an iron suit, and he was destined to survive, to fix things, to right his wrongs. he was made of iron, and for the first time he knew what that meant.
stark men are made of iron, obsidiah taunted, repeating his father’s memorable catchphrase, carving into tony’s chest, and simultaneously stabbing him in the back. what he didn’t say floated unspoken in the air between them, buteven iron can be disposed of.
stark men are made of iron, he thought as he stepped onto the podium, the eyes of the entire world on him, cameras flashing and reporters poised. he glanced down at his prepped speech, trying to calm his nerves. the perfect cover up they had crafted for him, the perfect story. a lie. he opened his mouth to recite it but instead he found himself discarding the notecards, shedding the skin he always worn, reclaiming his title, his legacy. I am iron man.
stark men are made of iron, he chastised himself. it was meant to be encouraging, meant to remind him of everything he had done, to motivate himself. instead it fell flat, tasting bitter in his mouth and only serving to make him falter. was iron strong enough to hold the weight of the world? could iron handle the pressure? or would it bend? would it break?
stark men are made of iron, he scolded. so he ignored the attacks of the press, on his decisions, on his character. the glares of his “friends”, his fellow avengers, who didn’t trust him. he didn’t listen to the calls of selfish, greedy, cold, uncaring. he put on his sunglasses and pulled up his mask, indifferent and charismatic. he didn’t let them see the sting.
stark men are made of iron, he scoffed, and it felt like a joke. sounded like a bitter irony. because his father had been a stark man and he was crushed like aluminum. because he was a stark man, and yet he felt so weak. stark men aren’t made of iron, instead they’re cursed to feel as heavy as the dense metal, weighted down by iron expectations, but doomed to shatter as easily as glass.
stark men are made of iron, reverberated in the air. no one said it but it echoed all the same. they were all thinking it. grow up tony. get it together. don’t be weak. it wasn’t just a tag line, it was an expectation. he was a hero, he needed to act like one. who cared that his hands shook, or that he woke up screaming, or that he craved whiskey like it was the only thing that could save him? who cared if he didn’t think he handle handle the weight of the guilt any longer? the pain of destruction and death and lives lost? put your feelings aside tony, be a hero. be iron. and so he was.
stark men are made of iron, he thought bitterly as steve’s shield slammed against his chest, isn’t that burden enough? iron is meant to withstand anything, the attack of a blade or the bullet of a gun, but somehow betrayal seeped through the cracks of his armor. the attack of a shield, a defensive instrument, meant to protect rather than harm, was somehow infinitely more painful than the attack of any other weapon. some part of tony couldn’t help but wonder if he deserved it, and the rest of him screamed that he did.
stark men are made of iron, he said to himself, oh-so-tiredly, after taking peter’s suit. peter would have to learn. he had endangered other people, and tony just didn’t want him to be led the wrong way. tony wanted him to be better. but then he faltered. peter wasn’t a stark man. he was just a boy. he already had a heart of gold, wasn’t that already better than a soul of iron? he felt a pang in his chest, was he doing the right thing?
stark men are made of iron, he reflected warily, staring thanos down. but there are some things not even iron can withstand. destiny had led him down this path, given him an iron soul and titanium armor, and told him to face off against a titan. was it enough? an iron soul against a stone heart. only when the blade plunged through his body, piercing his core, did he realize iron never could’ve been enough.
a snap.
(iron and stone and gold alike all crumble.)
stark men are made of iron, he chanted internally, numb in disbelief, as a boy with a heart of gold fell forward, begging to be saved. you’re alright. the words were as heavy as his heart. they fell flat. he met the eyes of his kid and watched as he turned to dust.
stark men are made of iron, he mourned. but even iron can fall apart.his soul was leaden, with grief, guilt, sorrow. as heavy as iron, but without any of the strength. dense and hard and cold, just empty barren weight.
stark men are made of iron.
the phrase had followed him his whole life, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be made of iron anymore. for the first time it didn’t sound like something to aspire to. for iron, in the end, had been as useless and fallible as anything else. it hadn’t served to protect him. he didn’t want to be cold and hard and sharp anymore. he wanted to feel. even if it killed him.
the iron walls he had been building since birth turned to dust with peter, leaving behind only raw emotion. raw pain.
at his core he wasn’t made of iron, or gold, or even stone.
he was only human.
a grieving parent, with an iron soul and golden armor, who was chosen by the universe. a man armed with brains, but driven by his heart, destined to fight until the very end. a simple man. a noble hero.
in the end he was made of iron because he chose to be.
not because he was a stark. not because the world demanded it of him. not because he was expected to be.
in the end he was made of iron because he reached into the depths of his soul and drew strength from his core to save his kid.
he chose to how to define himself, he decided what his identity was - he was iron man.