Thor
Thor did not know much about Midgardians.
But he did know that they were kind, accepting, and sometimes foolish creatures. Sometimes they would do foolish things out of kindness. Or sometimes they would pretend to be kind while being foolish. Anyhow, they were generally a bunch of friendly people and Thor knew he could rely on them, battlefield and off.
He also knew that the Midgardians had more needs than him. They needed to eat, sleep, and also needed others around them to keep them happy. And a happy Midgardian was a kind Midgardian, so it helped when they were well fed, watered, rested, and had someone to talk to. If they weren’t, they were very curt and sour, always jumping to conclusions and complaining about how one of their needs weren’t fulfilled, or about random things. One time Thor caught the man with the arrows mumbling about how the iron one didn’t close the jar on the Nutella properly. Once he had grabbed a small bite to eat, however, he had become quite agreeable.
“Thor, if you don’t mind, sir is alone on the roof and I would feel better if someone was up with him,” the voice in the walls said.
“I shall go see him,” Thor nodded in the direction of the ceiling.
The man of iron puzzled him, for he never slept, nor ate, nor socialized with the others. And he was quite agreeable to be around, if he looked past the mouth that never seemed to stop moving. It was strange. Stark never complained unless there was humour behind it, he never told anyone to go away unless he was, sincerely, busy. But almost none of his needs were fulfilled. Perhaps the man in the walls was the only person that he needed to talk with, but that didn’t answer the question of hunger and exhaustion.
“Hello, Stark,” Thor said, pushing open the door to the roof. “What are you doing up here?”
He quickly found a figure, standing near the edge, looking down as if he were contemplating something. He eyed Thor wearily, before shrugging and turning away from the edge.
“Calculating how long it would take me to fall from this height,” Tony answered plainly.
Thor looked in his eyes, to try to find the humour that usually sat there, but he only found emptiness. It went on for miles, just a black hole of nothingness in the usual twinkling brown eyes, and it was dull and slightly unsettling. Maybe this wasn’t meant for humour.
“What? Man of Iron, surely, you cannot be-”
“You’re right. I’m not,” Tony sighed, shaking his head and looking back down at the ground, far, far below. “I don’t even care about the time.”
“I do not understand.”
Tony let out a huff of air, pulling a face as if to say ‘you’re not the only one’, and Thor suddenly felt less than adequate. Usually he understood, but this was human needs, and he was not acquainted with them. Perhaps Stark was finally showing signs that he needed what the others did, sleep and food, but he didn’t have a temper; no, Stark just seemed… sad.
“I just can’t sleep. I don’t know if sleep is a thing, up in your world, but humans need it,” Tony said, sitting down on the ledge, letting his legs hang down. “I’m just tired.”
That was it. Sleep. Stark needed to sleep, and instead of being irritable like the others, he was sad. But Thor thought that maybe this sadness ran a bit deeper than just being tired, if the red eyes and pale skin had anything to do with it. Gods, humans were so confusing.
“We do indeed, sleep in Asgard, but not as much as you Midgardians,” Thor said, nodding. “I’m afraid I cannot suggest anything but to wait until sleep comes.”
“It’s fine. Didn’t even expect to see you up here, anyway, let alone hand out advice,” Tony grumbled, but then again, it wasn’t harsh. It rang with loneliness, or sadness, but not even those two. Maybe emptiness was the right words for it. It lacked emotion.
Thor sat down beside the mechanic. He didn’t know what his intentions were, up on the roof, but the man was tired and close to the edge, so he didn’t want him to fall. He knew that Midgardians sometimes got low, and would sometimes take attempts on their own life. When Jane has told him about that after he got confused when he saw that a celebrity had passed by suicide, he was horrified. He had made a vow, at that instant, to keep everyone happy. Nobody would die on his watch, on the field, or by their thoughts.
“Jane told me once about, about a celebrity who fell off a building on purpose,” Thor said. “Are you..?”
“Am I suicidal?” Tony asked, a cold smile reaching his lips. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Should we go inside?” he offered, wanting to get Stark off of the roof and back on a couch where he was safe, where he couldn’t fall on purpose like the famous man did.
“Probably.”
Thor stood up but Stark made no move to stand. “We can go inside and convene, we can tell the rest of Earth’s Mightiest Heros of your ailment.”
“That’s… not happening. Not in a million years,” Tony said, dragging his hand across his face. “Fuck. I’m tired. I don’t know what I’m saying, alright? Just forget it.”
“But Stark-”
“Forget I said anything,” Tony stood up shakily, swaying a bit, but determinedly walking forward even though his eyes were very unfocused. He blinked a few times, stopped in front of Thor, and punched his shoulder lightly. “But thank you.”
“It was nothing,” Thor smiled, nodding, watching as Tony opened the door and left, heading downstairs.
The door slammed shut behind him, but Thor stayed on the roof for a bit, feeling slightly accomplished. He had gotten him off the roof, he had helped in a way, and he understood. Even though he thought he had everything figured out before, with everybody getting angry when their needs weren’t fulfilled, he learned that there are different people who act differently. And Stark was one of them. He was sad when he was tired, when he didn’t eat, and when he didn’t talk to others. He thought of the team, how cold they were to Tony, and wondered if the others would notice eventually how sad they were making him. But for now, the man of iron had Thor.
And he would always catch the man of iron, no matter the height.