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He formed a smile on his face, his lips remembered the proper position to morph into. He tried to make it genuine, believable. Tony Stark was good at many things and acting was at times his strong suit. No one noticed the pain he held deep in his heart. Shoulders ached, each muscle moved would be a stab of anguish as if every single one of them was pulled. Pain once scoffed at him, bathing in the depths of his dark misery but the water drained out of its tub. The water dripped down the drain, each drop carrying all hope with it as it flowed away. The pain was now clouded as was his emotions and feelings. He didn’t have feelings, he was just an actor faking them for the crowd.
So, so numb, it was the cold of a savage blizzard. It was not the storm of snow but instead the biting wind and sharp teethed snow that grabbed at your face until you got frostbite. But soon the cold was so harsh that he didn’t notice the sting of it. Tony was wasting away under the years of carrying the world under his shoulders.
Tony shunned the public. He strayed away from the people, he showed them his strength that covered scars. Everything was covered up, he was an actor to the crowd wasn’t he. As a hero he was high on the podium, a staff in his hands, crown upon his head. The jewel of importance.
The jewel was losing its brilliance.
He was left to pick up the mess left from the Civil War, after Rogers left. His back was sore from bending down, picking up the pieces hoping to glue them back together. His crown once fell off, he showed emotion to the world.
“So, Mr. Stark, what do you have to say about the Rouge Avengers?” They weren’t rouges, just people who were afraid of showing their faces. In fear of the public who ridiculed them for their mistakes. Tony didn’t blame them, he felt the same way. “Mr. Stark, your answer?”
“Uh, No comment.” All eyes turned toward him, they glared daggers. Tony refused to answer. He didn’t really have an answer.
“Mr. Stark, could you tell us where the Rouges are then?”
“I currently have no information on their whereabouts.” And it was true he didn’t know, but he had theories.
“One more question Mr. Stark, about Iron Man, you’ve been doing this for awhile, how much more do you got in you?”
Tony was caught by surprise by the question. How did they know that he running dry? He didn’t show anything, he couldn’t show anything. Iron Man was destroyed by that shield. Memories came back to him, flooding into his mind. That shield bashed into his chest. Tony couldn’t breathe.
“Mr. Stark?” The words were fuzzy in his ears, his vision began to blur, eyes blinking and then drooping down. The sleep he had avoided came crashing down on him. Someone had picked him up and brought him out.
Realization came back to Tony, he jumped up from his spot against the wall, his fists were flailing out in panicked defense.
It was a panic attack, the familiar feeling of it was fading away from him, but still was very much present. Tony evened out his breathing. Unsteady legs lifted him up, a shaking hand was placed in the wall. Happy was there, keeping the press out. This time a genuine smile appeared on his face, he momentarily forgot the feeling of panic and it was replaced with gratefulness.
But the public knew, they knew he wasn’t okay. They saw the crown fall off his head.
So Tony learned how to disappear, dissipate into something only nonexistent. He would do whatever it takes to keep the crown on his head, but only in the face of the public. But since he refused to be seen, he could keep the burden off of him for a little bit.
Just a little bit.
Tony was mostly alone in the compound, unless Rhodey was there. He never really was there. Tony ruined his life, no wonder Rhodey didn’t stick around longer than he had too.
Taking one’s crown off is indeed a new experience. He could reveal the redness inside, red as blood, sticky as blood. It covered his hands and was inexplicably there. No one else really saw it though. The many deaths he caused would make him think so hard he would work himself into an anxiety attack. Then he would do things he had once told himself he would never do. Bottle of some sort of booze would be in his hands, didn’t matter what kind. As long as it cut off his mind from all coherent thoughts. His days would be spent in a haze of blurriness, unable to tell what was real or not real.
Steve was there, maybe. He told Tony to stop doing this to himself. What was he doing to himself? Steve didn’t know what he was talking about.
Tony was perfectly fine.
Just fine.
Steve disappeared. Tony wished he stayed.
The depressive episode did not come as quickly as it came, it was weeks out of the sight of everyone and everything. But JARVIS helped Tony fix himself up, and place the crown back on his head. His face hardened and emotion drained away.
A courageous foot stepped out back into the open, the same fake smile hammered onto his face, the crown placed perfectly on his head. Tony would not make the same mistake again, he couldn’t bare the embarrassment.
Peter Parker was a blessing, not only to Aunt May but to Tony. He kept the genius’ spirits high by the smiles that reached even higher. The constant presence of Peter in Tony’s life kept away the thoughts of depression and kept him from slowly descending into insanity. A shame almost, Tony was almost at the bottom of his stairwell.
Though Peter spent a lot of his time in the compound, he still had school and of course, an actual life. Tony had a life too, but he sometimes felt like he was in school failing the class of life. When Peter was gone, the constant feeling of alone was back at full blast. Tony needed an excuse for him to stay.
Years ago, Aliens came out of a portal in New York City, being unprepared was an understatement. The chitauri were not defeated without a cost. Being the futurist Tony was, this time he would be ready.
Metal crawled like ants along his body, each nano bot fit perfectly in its designated spot, the familiar gold and red shown bright. He felt all confidence return, he didn’t need the crown this time, his courage shined in the beauty of his iron man suit instead of a crown. He built one for Peter too, it helped ease his conscious.
Tony did not believe in Christmas, nor did he really celebrate the holiday. He did once though, back when he still had those to call family. At the kitchen table he sat, it was 11:59 on Christmas Eve. An entire pot of coffee sat in his eyesight, it was already half empty. The caffeine gave him a buzz but it did not give him the energy to really do anything. Eyes were half lidded as they stared, lost in thought, at the couches where friends once sat. Tony’s breaths were slow and even, the sound was quiet, but it was deafening in his ears. He could see them, lazily on the couches, enjoying the company of each other. He could hear the soft laughter there was when someone made a joke. He could see them all decorating the tree, the lights of the tree like fireflies. Tony’s eyes welled up with tears and the lights swam in his vision until they stretched out in to rivers of light.
He blinked.
“Merry Christmas, Boss.” Friday’s voice send a shock and a surprise through him. She hadn’t talked for awhile.
The suit wasn’t enough, neither was all their efforts against the purple titan. Lives faded and sprits were decimated. They had lost the war, they had lost everything. Tony’s bloody hand was pressed against his face, he wanted the redness to deep into his face, he wanted everyone to know that, no, he was not okay, he never was. The crowns were taken off in respect for those who had fallen, Tony didn’t really want to put it back on. Because no matter what he did, the war was infinite. And he wasn’t.
Space was so cold. It was so dark, the stars so bright, yet so unable to fill up the void of black. He wanted to throw his crown out in that void, along with all cumulating emotion inside, he didn’t deserve to feel.
It’s too hard to throw out that much. Tony thought, why not just throw himself out. Maybe it would end the infinity.
Nebula and him spent hours, or days, whichever it was (he didn’t care) sitting in silence. The silence so golden it was freezing with hate. He could sense it but, Tony no longer felt it. Nebula would make small talk, but he felt like he hadn’t used his voice in years. (Maybe it was years at this point)
He was falling, falling into madness. Nebula said so, it had to be right, right? He giggled, Yeah she was right, he was always wrong. Wrong to believe in hope. His eyes tunneled in on the darkness of space, he felt himself being drawn deeper in the hole. So close, so close.
So close.
He’s almost there. The hands groped at his skinny frame, when the tugged even harder Tony didn’t even try to resist.
A container was against his lips. The words were fuzzy but he heard water.
It was Nebula giving him something to drink. (It was their last container) He couldn’t shove her hands away, he was too weak. Why couldn’t Nebula just let him go. It would be easier for everybody. He didn’t want to wear the crown anymore.
He recorded a message to Pepper. She wouldn’t see it, he just pretended that he had hope, he was just an actor wasn’t he. Tony wanted to laugh, have the giggles bubble over like lava and burn him from the inside out. So that there would be nothing left, not even a sliver of pride.
Deprivation left them both weak. Water was a concern, but so was oxygen. He debated and guessed which one would take him out first. Both were stupid ways to die, weak ones. (He didn’t care)
Oxygen deprivation left Tony in a state of euphoria.
What is real, what is life. Nothing was distinguishable through the spots in his vision. Nebula would speak words and they tip toed out of her mouth, light step of spiders. Tony reached out, he wanted to touch them. His hand lifted up but then drooped down, his arm fell over.
The hypoxia began to set in and he slumped deeper down the wall. Nebula caught him and leaned his body on hers. The oxygen deprivation would kill her but the side effects didn’t touch her.
Tony’s face was mixed with emotions, it was something new since he hadn’t had feelings in so long.
Nebula held Tony’s face in her blue hands, one stroked the side of his face to keep him calm. Tony giggled, his eyes jumped from place to place, wall to wall. He mumbled incoherent things, he was starting to lose the battle. The hallucinations would lead him to stories unheard of. He was rescued six times, and he died so many different ways. He saw his daughter and he actually smiled, but he still died. Tony had a long life filled with hardships and stress. But after the infinite game would be his end. The Endgame.
Part of the journey is the End.
As Nebula held him tightly, Tony finally knew it was ending. The light was slowly dying in his eyes, his strangled breaths were coming to a close. The world of so many colors was fading to gray, Nebula’s face was in his line of vision, her blurry face was filled with sadness.
Her expression changed drastically, and she slapped his face multiple times. Tony didn’t feel anything but falling. The hands again pulling him down into darkness. He couldn’t breathe.
A women glowing was in front of him, she bent down and all of a sudden the fuzziness shattered, and everything cleared. There was oxygen again, cool and refreshing. It wasn’t his end.
For once he felt true genuine emotion. He was thankful, but the sadness was still a cold ball in his heart. The crown he was ready to put down was going back on his head. He had survived.
“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”
-William Shakespeare