Chapter 1
Tony thought he would be the one to outlast death. To put an end to that pesky problem of human mortality. He was here to live good, not long. He actively ignored the part where thus far, he had nobody to pass along Stark Industries to, as Obie was getting old, and he himself had no children. So, to live good, he slept around, drank around, and partied around, living his life in a drunken haze. Living long would entail looking for somebody to pass the torch to, to make sure Stark Industries kept growing and making money.
Tony was always slightly offended at this proposition, irrational he knew, but offended nonetheless. In his eyes, nobody could even take over for him anyways, there was nobody else who could qualify, who could match his level of genius, so why even bother trying? Whoever succeeded him would either be cutting corners or too slow for the fast-paced, high pressure world of business, especially business in Stark Industries. The stocks would only drop.
So he continued to ignore the questions that were asked about the future of Stark Industries. Who was next, what was the plan, what new tech was in the works and ecetera. He would figure it out, he didn’t need a successor, he didn’t need anyone. As long as he kept shitting out new designs and things to ‘revolutionize’ (read: desocialize) the future, he would be fine.
As long as the higher-ups saw Tony as productive, no action against him would be taken and he could remain running his business. It didn’t matter how old he was getting, or how each time he got alcohol poisoning, it took a lesser amount of the drink to have the full effect on him.
He assumed that during one of these drunken stupors, he would discover someway to prolong life, whether it be to cure a fatal disease or to simply stunt aging. He figured it was simple, while he had a masters degree in electrical engineering and physics, biology surely wouldn’t be that hard to figure out. Some X chromosomes here, some Y chromosomes there, and some punnett squares to put it all together. Simple right? He became an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics overnight before, he could figure out what the hell was going on inside of him.
So really, he decided to focus on the live long part later, and continued on living good. Press could beg to differ on what living ‘good’ was, though. The reporters from the Bugle and New York Bulletin having a field day on his life, with headlines stating TONY STARK SEEN EXITING GALA DRUNK, IS HE REALLY A CHARITY MAN? or others that had no shame in attacking people around him with TONY STARK SLEEPING WITH PEPPER POTTS? IS THIS THE END OF A PROFESSIONAL STARK INDUSTRIES? Either way, Tony payed them no mind, and continued on blocking them out with alcohol and surrounding himself with others with the same idea for their own reasons.
Then, his eyes were unceremoniously pried open to the world around him, where there was no living good and no living long; only death raining down wearing his name as a guise. He witnessed human life extinguish before his eyes, it didn’t matter if was ‘good’ lives or ‘bad’ lives, they were still gone, eyes hollow and unseeing, mouth open, last breath dripping out into the atmosphere.
Death wasn’t meticulous, it chose whoever was in its path to take, uncaring and unloving. It didn’t care if the person had a family of 4 to feed, still reeling from the death of their mother, it didn’t care if the person had killed tens of people simply to make a statement, it didn’t care if the kid was barely reaching puberty, it rained down its hellfire on all those who crossed it, no regrets and no apathy.
Tony realized he had actively ignored this, isolating himself out of the equation as a variable, even though he was actually the toughest variable to remove. He was the root of all those deaths, the ground zero of all the bombs dropped. He was the shrapnel that was suddenly forcing its way to his chest. He was the terrorists kidnapping him to build a missile. He was Death.
He had memorized the route to the exit. Yinsen coldly asking him to repeat it. Tony would later realize it was the voice of a man choosing his last words. He could still recite it today, the animalistic instinct of a man about to die imprinting the words into the base of his mind, stuck there, unmoving; his last attempt at life. 41 steps straight ahead, then 16 steps, fork right, 33 steps, turn right.
What he hadn’t planned on also memorizing was the lifeless bodies he passed as he made his way out, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles or crushed underneath the rubble of the cave. His whole perception of mortality was thrown out the window, people didn’t just get sick and go to a hospital, people got sick and died.
Tony was sheltered, he knows, but what kind of man can’t even look death in the eye and accept it? In Mark I, he had to put all his conscious effort into avoiding stepping on the extremities of the bodies he passed, he couldn’t stand the thought of crushing something and eliciting no response, nerve endings long since stopped working. He had done this, he had done this. Not done, but he was doing, his weapons were raining down on innocent people, killing villages caught in the crossfire.
Every time he would see the silhouette of a body against the harsh light of the entrance to the cave, his breath would catch, the arc reactor pinching uncomfortably at his chest. His legs would threaten to stop working, but he had to keep going, he had to return Yinsen to his family.
That had been his driving factor for most of the time in the cave. The tabloids would later say that it was never for anyone else but himself. He was only able to pull off that feat because he was trying to save his own skin. He needed to continue making money and receiving all his praise for the success of Stark Industries. But in reality, his driving force was Yinsen, the way he had people he cared about who cared about him as well. Not a one night stand who he always forgot the name of, or the disappointed look in they eyes of people he continuously let down.
Seeing the exit of the cave, all thoughts of mortality had fled his mind. Tony Stark once again outlasted Death itself, and he hadn’t been the only one, Yinsen was going back to his family. As long as he was around, he was sure Death would avoid him like plague. He had kicked the dirt into Deaths eyes, shown Him who was boss. He was no longer Death as Death would no longer continue in his name.
Except when he saw Yinsen dying on the ground, his perception shifted the slightest bit. When Yinsen revealed his family had been dead the whole time, it shifted a little more. That whole time, Tony was banking on bringing Yinsen home to a dead family. Death had already claimed them, Tony had already killed them.
“Don’t waste your life”
Years afterwards, his lifestyle drastically changed into something better. After a brief drop in the stocks after eliminating weapons manufacturing, they were steadily rising again after his announcement as Iron Man. He was a changed man, no more parties, no more drinks, no more one night stands. He took full responsibility for his actions and pledged to change the world.
But that didn’t stop Death from knocking at his door.
He thought, that just because he had become a ‘good’ person, that suddenly he would be spared the destiny that all humans eventually come to. He forgot that Death didn’t care whether you were considered good or bad. It just locked target and came knocking, demanding a visit. He forgot that no one could avoid Death, because back then he hadn’t shown Death who was boss, he hadn’t outlasted Death, he only stalled for time. That was all he was ever doing in his life, it seemed. Death had caught up to him and Tony hadn’t been expecting it. Death no longer continued in his name, instead it thirsted to claim it as one of a dead man.
He forgot that just because he wasn’t responsible, it didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. Death was still rampant, killing without mercy, it just wasn’t happening to him. Until it was.
Looking in the mirror, watching the purple cross work of veins crawl up his neck, his lip twitched slightly. He had suddenly been thrown back into that cave, wondering where he went wrong, and why he was suddenly waiting on deaths appearance again. This time though, there was no physical effort he could make to save himself. This time there was no ‘Starking’ his way out of his death. If he took the Palladium out, he was going to die. If he left it in, he was going to die. He was going to die.
All he saw when he closed his eyes was Yinsen lying dead on the floor, blank eyes staring up at him, lifelessly judging him for wasting his life and letting himself forget about the inevitability of Death coming for him once again. It always came. He may no longer give Death his business’ name to use, but Death was still Tony. The Arc Reactor had been placed there because of one of Tony’s creations, and now it was killing him.
So, he did what any person would do in their last few weeks of life, he partied. He rewound back to before the cave, before any sense of mortality had sunk in and he had to think about what came afterwards. His mind and thoughts were numbed by the alcohol that would surely give him alcohol poisoning. Can a person have two kinds of poisoning at once? The thought only briefly passed his mind before he shot another watermelon to bits all over the room.
His laugh was watery and most people would write it off as the drink clutched in his armoured hand, but not even the burn of the liquid sliding down his throat could mask the entirely different burn of tears threatening to spill over his eyes. He was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was dying and he hadn’t lived a good life or a long life. Was it considered life if it wasn’t good?
He was so caught up in using his suit in ways he promised himself he never would, that he didn’t notice Rhodey stride into the room, in a stiff soldier stance, wearing Mark II.
“I’m only going to say this once,” He began, not needing the speakers of the suit for his voice to slice through the noise of the room, “get out.”
All at once, people were running. Pushing past Tony and dropping whatever glasses they were carrying, liquid sloshing around on the floor as they ran. Shards of glass kicked around the floor and into Tonys feet. Suddenly the high he felt from hosting another party drunk, vanished with a sense of unwanted sobriety.
With an almost empty bottle of alcohol in one hand and a microphone in the other, Tony locked his jaw as he stared at Rhodey from across the room, the same stony expression on the other mans face. A strange hot-cold sensation started to coil up from Tonys gut, one made of anger and sadness and regret and fear combined together. His hands began to shake, the liquid inside the bottle sloshing up at the sides, begging to be drunk.
“You don’t deserve to wear one of these, shut it down!” Rhodey had yelled, hesitation just a hint in his voice. Tony resisted the urge to stumble backwards, hurt, because Rhodey knew. Rhodey knew how much guilt he harboured. From the lives he took from Afghanistan - though Rhodey used to tell him it was not his fault, he had to survive - to the feelings he’s hurt after each one night stand, Rhodey knew what the weight of Tony’s conscience was. He knew that it never left him alone, it didn’t allow him a second of peaceful thought. His mind always screaming at him to do something, anything to try and reverse all the damage he’s inflicted, whether it was directly or not, it didn’t matter, he was to blame. He was always to blame, it was easier that way.
He heard that shit from the press, he didn’t need it from Rhodey as well. So instead of fighting back right away, he pressed his lips into a thin line and turned to the DJ station.
“Goldstein,” he called towards the empty table, voice an octave lower than it should be, sadness, betrayal and alcohol lacing his usual carefree, suave attitude.
“Yes, Mr. Stark,” Goldstein answered, rising from underneath the booth. It wasn’t a question, nor an answer. It was a statement. Resignation prominent. There was no choice with Death.
Tony could feel something bubbling up his sternum even as he started his next line, a laugh or a sob he didn’t know.
“Gimme a phat beat to beat my buddy’s ass to.” It had started off in the same low, hurt voice as before, but somewhere in the middle it broke off into a high, hysterical laugh. Disbelief briefly flashing across his mind at ever having to even entertain the thought of fighting the person he looked up to most.
Immediately, Goldstein played Queen’s Another One Bites the Dust, a look of trepidation and caution as he looked to Tony for approval. For a brief second Tony considered asking him to change it; was the song meant for him or Rhodey? But then he winked an approval and had planned on closing his eyes to the beat, and then opening them a beat later, hoping it was all just another hallucination, when Rhodey grabbed him from behind, his faceplate already down. Fear flashed across his face at an unseen threat as he stumbled forward, before he smirked knowingly, of course Rhodey would go for his six, even drunk, Tony was more skilled in the suit than Rhodey because of his prolonged experience with it.
“I told you to shut it down,” Rhodey barked, and wasn’t that hilarious? Rhodey was speaking to him in his ‘Colonel Voice’ as Tony called it. Tony had never heard that voice directed at him and while he had never said it, Rhodey knew to never do just that. Because while Tony denied and shut down every conversation about it, it was the same voice Howard used to speak to Tony to. Anger, business, disgust and promises of punishment to come compacted into the tight, barking orders.
Tony threw the microphone out of his hand like it had burned him and grabbed Rhodey armoured wrist, faceplate shutting and repulsers activating. Suddenly his only thought was that he had to take the fight away from Goldstein. They flew through the sauna and into the gym, Tony mentally starting a note of how much repairs would cost. His experience was evident in that he softened his landing with the repulsers in the gauntlet, slowing him to a crouching halt while Rhodey slid uncomfortably on his side.
Tony, thinking his statement was made, and the fall had knocked some sense into his friend, started to stalk off. He tried to push as much confidence into his stride as possible, but it was taking more energy than he thought, his body not failing to remind him that he was dying.
“Now, put that thing where you found it before someone gets hurt.” Later Tony would laugh at what he’d said, because it was always before someone got hurt, and never because someone always gets hurt.
A weight being thrown at his head jerked him back to seriousness, the ringing of the metal invading his ears, already adding to the migraine forming behind his eyes. He dogged another one aiming for his chest and watched it crash into the bathroom.
“Really?” Tony asked, his voice begging for a challenge, but behind the faceplate, his eyes begged for a standstill. He grabbed a barbell, removed the end weight, and swung, letting gravity build momentum for him. He watched his best friend fly across the gym and into the wall, denting the wood before he began to hover over him, only slightly wobbly as his vision began to blur around the edges.
“Sorry pal, but Iron Man doesn’t have a sidekick.” He didn’t want a sidekick. Sidekicks were always targeted, and always hurt. He wouldn’t let someone be used as leverage against him.
He should have seen it coming, he really should have, but he was begging for Rhodey to see though his sarcasm defence, and realize how desperate he really was. All through their years at MIT Rhodey always had. Every year on the anniversary of his parents death, Rhodey didn’t even bother to ask Tony if he was alright, because he knew he wasn’t. He was just there for him however he could be.
Every time Tony returned to the dorm drunk, where every other person would look at him with disgust, Rhodey knew that Tony drank to numb the pain - as cliche as it sounded - and it worked. That is it did until Rhodey came along and straightened the little bastard out. Teaching him a new way of dealing with it, inventing. Hence the creation of Dum-E. Rhodey always saw through Tonys screen of bullshit, and that was what made him like a brother to Tony.
Every swing Tony took depleted what energy he had left. So he really should have seen it coming. When a bar snapped his head to the side, he wasn’t prepared for the two more to follow.
“Side. Kick. This!” Rhodey growled between each swing at the genius.Tony grabbed the bar, but knew that he didn’t stand a chance to Rhodey in hand to hand combat. Fighting in the armour may be his strong point, but that was always from afar, Rhodey could kick his ass in two seconds in a fist fight, though Tony never admitted that aloud.
Rhodey brought him down to his knee, before catapulting him through the ceiling and into the ceiling of the next floor. Tony had a minute to breathe raggedly as he landed on the floor of a bedroom before Rhodey appeared through the hole tony had just come through. Tony almost sobbed at the sight, it would have been better for Rhodey to just leave him dying on the floor, but he always had to finish what he started.
“Had enough?” and Tony could swear he could hear pleading in Rhodey's voice, maybe he didn’t want to fight Tony after all. But he knew, rooted deep inside Rhodey, was something telling him that he had to. He had to neutralize the threat.
They crashed through the floor to where the guests were filing out and with the cement on top of him, Tonys head was forced to the side, where he saw Natalie and Pepper scrambling away from them in fear. He had put Pepper in danger, of course he had. He called out her name before Rhodey lunged at him again, hoping to convert the urgency for her to leave in the once word, eternally gratefully to see Happy running in and ushering her out.
Tony wasn’t an idiot, he knew Natalie could take care of herself. From the moment she waltzed into the gym, all swagger and confidence, Tony knew that this wasn’t her first rodeo. She was experienced, cautious and calm. Even the most professional of people started to fidget around him. The Great Tony Stark. Just being within two feet of the worlds most successful business man already too much intimidation for them to handle. Natalie was different, she exuberted confidence and superiority. She had dealt with people like Tony Stark before.
And suddenly they had a crowd. Tony could feel their eyes tracking his every move as he fought his best friend, fists flying and heads snapping unnaturally to the side. He could tell that they were trying to decide if he was actually going to kill Rhodey. Would Tony Stark stoop that low? To kill a man for crashing his last party? He could hear the whispers of fear and even excitement ripple through the crowd along with the flashes of cameras of pictures that would make it to the tabloids before morning.
“You want it? take it!” Tony yelled as he flipped Rhodey. As the fight wore on, he could feel the agitation begin to wear away at what was left of his pleading. His heart rate beating uncomfortably fast with his physical exertion and trying to keep the shrapnel away and trying to fight the poisoning.
He suddenly wanted to punch Rhodey harder, he wanted to make him see. Why couldn’t Rhodey see? He had been holding back most of his firepower the entire fight but something inside Tony broke and suddenly all he wanted to do was end this fucking fight and go to sleep for gods sake. All he wanted was to go to sleep.
The fight continued on in a blur until Tony had managed to smash Rhodey's head through the sink. While he was down for a short count, Tony turned on the audience. Flashes of light sent tendrils of pain shooting through his brain. He glared at the party-goers through the helmet. They shifted uncomfortably, whispering to each other, trying to decide what was coming next and what they should do.
Then Tony shifted his focus to the glass, where his own reflection shown through. Armour scratched from combat. Combat against his best friend. His lipped twitched in a sort of a twisted epiphany. He was Death. Of course he was. He always was.
Feeling something like fire crawling up his throat, he roared at the crowd. All anger and sadness overflowing his lips and into the cool night air. He was tired, and he was ready to be finished with everything. His scream echoed through his destroyed mansion, bouncing off the walls and back into his own ears. If only one person had even cared to listen, they might have heard the sob lacing his voice. But everyone had already gone, pushing each other out of the way, fear dictating their actions. Fear of Tony. Fear of Death.
The next thing Tony knew his head was engulfed in flame. The metal instantly began to heat around his head, and he was reminded of the blazing Middle Eastern sun bearing down on him when he saw his weapons used as Deaths deliverer. He remembered the way the flames licked at his feet as he managed to fly Mark I out of that godforsaken place.
Now was the time to finish this.
He raised his gauntlet to Rhodey, who in return did the same.
“Put your hand down,” Rhodey said, he wasn’t pleading this time.
I want to.
“You think you got what it takes to wear that suit?” Tony knew he did.
“We don’t have to do this, Tony”
I’m dying.
“You wanna be the War Machine, take your shot”
“Put it down!”
Please don’t make me do this.
“You gonna take the shot?” Always the one to escalate things to an unnecessary level.
“Put it down!” Rhodey yelled, with the ferociousness that Tony would have never thought would ever be directed at him, and it scared him. Tony was scared of his best friend, the one person he always thought he would feel safe around.
Okay.
“No!”
“Drop it, Tony!”
Kill me.
“Take it,” this time Tony was pleading.
And at that moment, they both took the shot. What Tony forgot though, was that Rhodey's suit was an early model, and wasn’t as strong as Tonys current suit. His repulser beam wouldn’t be able to neutralize Tonys, or overtake it. With a moment of terrifying realization, Tony realized he would kill Rhodey. Mark II’s armour wasn’t meant to take strong hits yet.
Tonys repulser beam flew across the room, easily overtaking Rhodey's own, and shot him straight in the chest. The resulting sound was something Tony would never be able to rid from his mind. The sound of Colonel James Rhodes screaming in pain as his body was shot backwards like a puppet, limbs flailing. Tony could only stare as his best friend crashed through the window, and off the edge of the cliff he had decided to build his mansion on.
Tony was Death.