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1.
The Quinjet hummed underneath Clint’s feet, preparing for descent. Another successful mission completed, mopping up HYDRA had turned into several smaller tasks that the team split up to complete; Tony, Steve and Clint were tasked to this one, and they had just neutralized it and were going back to the tower now.
“Any injuries?” Steve asked, filling out the post-battle form in the captain’s seat.
“Nope,” Clint answered.
Steve looked at Tony for a response, eyeing him up and down. Tony shifted in his seat. “I’m good.”
“No, you’re bleeding,” Steve said with sudden urgency, standing up quickly and making his way to him.
“Shit, really?” Tony looked around, and it was almost painfully obvious how much he was feigning the surprise. He found the source of the blood and clasped his hand over his left wrist to put pressure on the wound. Blood was seeping through the fabric of his shirt sleeve, dripping onto the floor. A small pool had already gathered there.
“How did that happen?” Clint asked, joining Steve beside him. “Let’s see it.”
“Must’ve been a piece of the broken suit,” Tony said, turning away and standing up quickly. “It’s fine.”
“You might need stitches,” Steve said, handing Tony a towel from the first-aid kit, who pressed it against his wrist. “It’s bleeding a lot, let’s take a look.”
“It’s fine,” Tony repeated, shying away.
“I’m not going to force you to go to medical for this, it’s okay,” Steve said gently. “Hell, I can do sutures. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just a bit of blood. I’ll take care of it when we get back,” Tony said through gritted teeth.
“Let me be the judge of that.” Steve grabbed Tony’s hand and tried to push the towel away but he ripped himself from his grip.
“I told you, it’s fine.”
“Tony, you’re bleeding out,” Clint said with a roll of his eyes. “Let us help.”
“I’ll take care of it later. Like you said, it’s not a big deal,” Tony said quickly.
“I meant that for stitches, not the extent of your injury,” Steve said exasperatingly. “C’mon; at the very least, let’s butterfly bandage it. You’re getting blood everywhere.”
“If he’s been bleeding steadily for ten minutes, I don’t think that butterfly bandages are gonna cut it,” Clint told him. “I can do stitches, easy-peasy. C’mon, Tony.”
“No.”
“What’s wrong with us doing it? I’m trained in this shit, man. I can do stitches in my sleep,” Clint said. “I’ve even done them on myself.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you guys doing it, I just prefer…” Tony trailed off. “To wait.”
There was something he was hiding, Clint would tell. He scoffed at the response. “So you’ll just bleed out everywhere.”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, cut the bullshit. I’m doing them,” Clint said, taking out the sterile needle from the kit. “You don’t get a say anymore. Cap, go fill out the form, I got this.”
“You sure?” Steve looked at him.
“Yup. It’s not a two-man job, trust me.” Clint waved him off.
Steve went back to his seat and picked up the clipboard again. Clint turned his attention back on Tony, who looked pale. He sat back down as Clint threaded the small needle, but he was eyeing it wearily and shifting in his seat like he wanted to run away. He stopped protesting, sure, but it wasn’t like Clint was giving him a choice exactly. “I can take care of it when we get back.”
“It’s fine, I’ve done this loads of times,” Clint reassured him. “Let’s see it.”
Tony didn’t move the towel from the wound. “Just promise not to say anything?”
“Okay? About what?”
“You’ll know,” Tony mumbled. He moved the towel, blood quickly spilling over the cut, but Clint could see what Tony was talking about.
True to his word, Clint didn’t say a word while he was stitching the skin back together. He didn’t say a thing about the faint ladder scars that decorated the inside of Tony’s left wrist, slightly paler than the skin around and raised. He chanced a look up at Tony once but he was looking off to the side, an embarrassed look on his face. Clint just shrugged to himself and returned to the task at hand.
It was none of his business, he told himself. He didn’t need to butt in. Tony would tell him if there was something wrong, and besides, they were faint and old and he didn’t need to kick him while he was down; Tony was already suffering enough damage to his pride just by letting someone sew his skin back together. He was clearly embarrassed by the lines on his wrist too, so it was probably something he regretted doing. Clint didn’t need to dig up old history. It was none of his business.
It still bothered him, though. Knowing that he got sad enough to hurt himself changed his perception of Tony. Not that he would let it show, of course, Clint knew better than that. No, he’ll just pay more attention, very subtly. He was a spy, after all.
The skin successfully stitched closed, Clint mopped up most of the remaining blood with gauze. He cleaned the wound with hydrogen peroxide that made Tony hiss in pain, then dressed it with more gauze and a tensor bandage to hold everything in place. “There we go. Not a big deal, I told you so.”
Tony nodded, still not making eye contact.
“They old?” Clint found himself asking, his voice low so that Steve couldn’t hear.
“Yeah,” Tony breathed.
“Good. I’m here for you,” Clint said.
“Great.”
Clint stood up with a pat on Tony’s knee, and cleaned up the first-aid kit. He threw the bloody gauze and the needle in the hazardous waste bin, and shoved everything else in its proper place. “Hey Cap?”
“Yeah?” Steve looked up from the form.
“Make sure to add bruised ego to the list of injuries.”
Tony threw a granola bar at Clint’s head, but Clint caught him smiling slightly; nothing had changed between them.
2.
“And then Pepper wanted me to go over the whole presentation with her again…”
Listening to the Man of Iron talk was interesting to Thor. While he didn’t use the same words as he did on Asgard, and frequently used lingo, Thor found himself enjoying whatever Anthony talked about. His phrases were careless and entertaining, and he could capture an audience just by his presence; so of course Thor was willing to listen to him for hours at a time. Most of all, he talked to Thor like he was a Midguardian, and not like he was stupid because he was from somewhere else. It was a nice change of pace.
Even if Thor wasn’t actively participating in the conversation and it was just Anthony ranting, he liked to listen to him. He had noticed that the others hadn’t gotten close to him like they had gotten close with each other; maybe it was the amount of time that the engineer liked to spend with his inventions, or maybe it was the report written by the Spider. Either way, Thor wanted to put in more of an effort to get to know his new friend. Anthony had been inviting since the start and after Loki was taken care of, Thor came right back to the place he knew he had a space in- the tower. The man had been overjoyed to be graced by Thor’s company and it made him think that maybe Anthony was a bit more lonely than he let the others know.
So that was where he found himself; sitting in a chair at Anthony’s desk while he was elbow-deep in the latest Iron Man suit, complaining about his day.
“…the stocks, like shit, what do I know? All I do is build. That’s all I’m good for, I made that very clear to Pepper, that’s why she’s CEO and not me; so why are they asking me these questions? I know about as much as them when it comes to this business stuff.” He angrily grabbed a small screwdriver then returned to his work. “Anyway, I professionally redirected them to Pepper because I’m not going to be plain rude to people doing their best, and I think she sorted them out. I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to her in a fat minute. I was going to call her but I had an appointment right after that meeting, and at that appointment my therapist told me that-" Anthony suddenly stopped, his whole body frozen. He turned away from Thor. “Fuck.”
“Yes? What is a therapist?” Thor asked, nudging him to continue. He felt comfortable asking him the definitions of words that came about since he last studied the Midguardian English language because he never made him feel stupid.
Anthony gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s someone you talk about your problems with. And they help, I guess.”
“We have one of those in Asgard, however they are not called by the same name,” Thor said thoughtfully. “Do you have such ailments that require someone else to sort them out with you?”
As soon as the question left his mouth, Thor realized that it might have been a bit insensitive. However, Anthony just shrugged, self-loathing hidden behind the gesture.
“Yeah,” he admitted in a small voice, looking like he wanted to laugh and not in a way of humour. “But I’m dealing with them. Like talking to said therapist.”
“Ah, good,” Thor said happily, kind of relieved. ”I would like to also offer my role as your therapist.”
Tony did laugh at that, a sound that made Thor’s heart a little lighter. “I don’t think you’re qualified, buddy.”
“Ah well, you can talk to me always, Man of Iron,” Thor offered instead.
“Thanks, big guy.” Anthony grinned at him, and Thor could see that it was genuine.
3.
Steve and Tony were paired for a task, which went fairly well; they were just scouting what could possibly be a HYDRA base to make a plan of attack. Tony took photos with the suit’s interface and they both looked for signs of activity.
Steve was just pouring over the hologram photos in the Quinjet back to the tower afterward with Tony when he glanced at his watch and stood up. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Steve nodded, marking another entrance with a red dot. He looked up at Tony at the other side of the jet, who was trying to discreetly put a pill in his mouth. A wave of annoyance surged through him and he stood up confrontationally.
“What is that?”
Tony swallowed hard. “Nothing, Rogers,” he said quickly, pocketing a pill bottle hastily.
“C’mon, Stark,” Steve said, anger biting his words. He knew Tony had been an addict, but was he really carrying this over on a mission? “I’m not stupid. You taking drugs on the job, now?”
Tony glared at him, hurt clear in his eyes. “Low blow, there. I’ve been clean for five years, I’ll have you know.”
“Then what was that?”
Tony sighed heavily, removed the bottle from his pocket, and handed it to Steve. He gave him the stink-eye then read the label.
STARK, ANTHONY
TAKE ONE TABLET BY MOUTH EVERY MORNING
30 FLUOXETINE 20MG TABL
“Fluoxetine?” Steve asked. He felt relieved that it was actually prescribed to him, but didn’t know the term.
“Prozac,” Tony said sourly. Steve looked at him quizzically. “Antidepressant.”
Steve’s heart fell to his feet, and he suddenly felt guilty for asking and assuming the worst. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know. It’s okay.” Tony shrugged and took the bottle from Steve, his words light but his tone heavy. He pocketed the pills again.
“You don’t have to hide it. When you take it,” Steve told him.
“I feel like I kind of do,” Tony said. It sounded sharp and harsh as well as tired, which didn’t really make any sense.
“Why?”
“Situations like this,” Tony sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping.
“I’m sorry. For pressing the matter and that you’re… sad,” Steve said awkwardly.
“Don't bench me.” Tony looked him sharply in the eyes.
“I’m not going to bench you because you’re, because you’re depressed.” The word was hard to say. And it wasn’t a word that Steve wanted to ever associate with his teammate.
“Good.”
“I’m, uh, I’m here for you,” he continued.
“Thank you.” Tony looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die but Steve found himself unable to stop speaking.
“If you ever need anything? Or to talk? Just call me. Or like, I don’t know. I’m sorry?” he tried, embarrassing himself further. “I’m not good at this stuff but I don’t know, I’ll do my best and all, so if you ever need someone just know you can come to me, or anyone else, or-"
“Please just stop talking,” Tony interrupted, turning away.
“Sorry,” Steve said one last time before the jet lapsed into awkward silence.
Tony turned his attention back to the hologram and Steve tried to do the same, but he found himself just looking at Tony. He thought he knew the man. And to think of all the times that Tony had nearly sacrificed himself in missions and put himself in the way of danger? And the wormhole in New York? Was him playing the hero just a whole bunch of suicide attempts? Steve wanted to throw up.
Tony cleared his throat. “I will, uh, let you know if I ever need help,” he said awkwardly. “So stop the internal dialogue. I’m not suicidal.”
Steve nodded quickly. “Sorry.”
“We cool?” Tony asked, staring Steve in the eye, a different sentence present; he was begging Steve to let it go, to not make a big deal out of it, but Steve wasn’t quite sure he could.
“We are,” he said finally.
The Quinjet was quiet for the rest of the ride home.
4.
Nat had picked the short straw yet again- not that she minded, really. Their so-called landlord had self-destructive habits and would probably benefit from a babysitter, but they settled for checking in on Tony if he hadn’t talked to any of them in three days. Usually it was just a work binge. On bad days though, they had to drag him away from a bottle.
Clint, Steve and Thor had both expressed a little worry at his lack of presence around the place. Maybe they knew something that she didn’t (unlikely). But she knew things were up with him since 2010; whether it be the faint ladder scars she noticed the first time he wore a t-shirt around her, or the zero self-preservation skills that persevered past the palladium incident. She hasn’t commented on either, simply accepting that they were a part of him. It was easier that way anyway; she didn’t have to get caught up in emotions and she was pretty sure that he didn’t want to either.
But she got off the elevator to his floor, rounded the corner, and was met with a slumped figure at the bar.
Here we go again, Nat thought to herself, taking light steps forward. However, when she approached him, she found the bottle still sealed and an empty glass on the counter top. Tony appeared to be having a staring contest with it, his gaze unwavering but glassy. Her heart fell to her feet. He didn’t even look up at her, and didn’t even respond when she put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He blinked once, and that was the only thing that told her that he was still with them.
She silently put the glass away along with the scotch, the glasses clinking together as she shoved them in the cupboard being the only noise in the place. She rounded the bar again to stand beside Tony. He sighed defeatedly and slumped his shoulders, and she moved closer.
“Rough night?” She put her hand on his shoulder, massaging the tense muscles.
“Rough month,” Tony mumbled. His eyes were closed.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
That answer was expected, and it was probably easier for them both, but Natasha still wanted him to feel better. At least this time he wasn’t drunk- although he definitely wanted to be. She pulled him into a sideways hug and he relaxed slightly, resting his head against her collarbone. He sighed heavily again and the end tapered off into a slight sob.
Nat tried not to let that phase her. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
There was a silence while Tony gathered himself together. “Thanks for putting the bottle away,” he said instead, his voice strained like he was trying to keep himself from crying.
“Anytime,” Nat whispered, surprised to find that she actually meant it.
Tony didn’t pull away, so neither did she. He obviously wanted a break from whatever was eating him away, so she let him take his time. It was the least she could do. A couple minutes passed and Tony’s breathing evened out, and he finally pulled away. The place where his head had rested was cold and Nat felt empty.
“Alright, enough pity time,” he said, clasping his hands together. His voice was even and he was back, although his eyes told a different story. “Gotta get back to work.”
Nat nodded, watching him retreat out of the room, his posture so straight and proud that it was obviously forced.
She left the room after him and they went their separate ways like nothing had happened.
5.
Some days are worse than others, Bruce could tell.
Back at the helicarrier, when he had said that he had tried to put a bullet through his head, Tony looked like he knew what that was like. Not to mention the clues Tony left: the self-destructive tendencies, his lack of self-preservation skills, the manic way that he threw himself into his work. To someone who had gone through it, it was easy to see that not all was well with him.
But when Tony wasn’t himself, it made Bruce clench his jaw to how oblivious the others were. Tony would hide away, and barely spoke. They had dragged him away from his work for a dinner, and Tony was so off it was impressive that the others just didn’t intervene. So, Bruce took matters into his own hands and pulled Tony aside after the dinner.
“You alright?”
Tony had a faraway look in his eyes when he nodded. “Always.”
“You sure?”
“Sorry I’m just- I’m like, not there,” Tony said, imitating an explosion with his hand beside his head. “Brain’s all kaput. I feel weird.”
“Yeah? Anything we can do to help?” Bruce asked, frowning at the response.
Tony seemed to have not heard, staring at his feet.
“Let’s go watch a movie,” Bruce said, putting a leading hand in the middle of his friend’s back and pressing him forward.
Tony followed obediently, probably unaware that he was being led somewhere. Bruce looked at him worriedly as Tony seemed to be moving on autopilot, blinking every few seconds. His stare was blank. Bruce knew what it was like to be lost in thought, but this was completely different; Tony wasn’t just lost in thought, he was totally unaware of everything going on, borderline unresponsive.
Tony was sat on the couch, and Bruce pulled up Sandlot on the tv, wondering how to snap Tony out of it. “How’re you doing? Tony?”
Tony’s head snapped up, and he looked at Bruce. “What?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Yeah? You know you can tell the truth.”
“I feel fine. I keep disappearing.”
“I know.”
“S’like everything's happening and I’m watching it happen with a filter. I feel weird. It doesn’t even feel like I’m saying this. It’s like I’m halfway out of my body, I feel… off. Why am I telling you this?” Tony asked, rubbing his temples.
“Because I asked,” Bruce reminded him, even though he knew that wasn’t the reason he was asking that question. “I’m here for you,” he said, placing a hand on his knee. He had to ground him. “You wanna name a couple things you can see or feel?”
Tony hummed. “Couch is… soft. I’m a bit cold but not too much. There’s a pillow digging into my side,” he said, moving the pillow out of the way. “You’re beside me. Your hand is… warm.”
“Yup. Anything else?”
“Uh, the TV is on. Looks like the beginning of Sandlot? It’s night outside,” he listed.
“Good, that’s good,” Bruce said. “You back yet?”
Tony shrugged. His gaze wasn’t fixed on nothing anymore though, it was on the TV. Bruce counted that as a win.
“Let’s just watch the movie. It’ll give you a bit of time.”
+1
Some days were so much harder than others.
Tony was sitting on the floor of his workshop, as he had been silently for the past few hours, unable to get up. Dum-E nudged him periodically, but Tony didn’t care; he was lost in his own brain. He knew what was happening to him, and he knew the pattern. The signs were quite clear. He knew he was getting worse but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nat had caught the beginning of it, Bruce had somewhat intervened near the middle, and it just kept spiralling down.
He thought he was supposed to get better. That was what the therapy was for. That was what the pills were for. Why wasn’t he better? The doctor said he was better, why didn’t he feel better?
Life felt hopeless. What was the point of living if during these times, every single good memory was clouded over and turned into something negative? He always found a way to be unhappy, even when he tried to be an optimist. His brain just hated him and turned everything good into something bad and if his life was just going to be miserable then what was the point in living at all? If he wasn’t going to get better, then he may as well give up. He’d be doing the world and himself a favour, for sure. If only the permanency wasn’t so terrifying.
“Tony?” a voice called. Steve. Tony hadn’t even heard the doors open, let alone notice him and Clint approach. “You okay?”
Tony looked up, trying to gather himself. “Yeah.”
“You’ve been sitting here for hours, man,” Clint said, sitting cross-legged on his left. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Tony shrugged.
“What happened here?” Steve asked, and Tony took his first good look at his workshop in days.
The place was messy. Empty granola bar wrappers littered the area around him from when Dum-E brought them for him. Dirty glasses piled in the sink, and he was pretty sure that the dishwashing water hadn’t been changed since last week. His latest project was sat half-finished on the screen, and several other projects completed to varying degrees were scattered around. Tools were uselessly strewn across every surface, whether it be the floor or the table. A toolbox was knocked over in the corner. A pile of papers for Tony to look over and sign were left on his desk. Some of them had fallen, and were on the floor. Coffee mugs and plastic water bottles were everywhere..
Not to mention Tony himself. He hadn’t showered in a week. His beard was unkempt, his hair gross. Motor oil found its place decorating Tony’s skin, his clothes. Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t changed his clothes in a couple days now. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t moved. He wanted to cry but he didn’t have the energy to.
“What’s up?” Steve asked, because Steve knew about the pills, and Tony was just so pathetic.
He shrugged again. He wanted to pull himself together but he just couldn’t and he was annoying himself with how weak he was being.
“Let's get some life into you, okay?” Clint grabbed onto his wrist and pulled him up, carefully examining Tony’s face. Tony knew why he was doing that; he was looking for a wince, a look of slight pain, something to indicate that there was something hurting on his wrist. Good for Tony though, because he was too tired to even go through with the act of hurting himself.
They brought him to the common area, where everyone was sitting on a couch or chair and smiling so phony at him, their teeth showing and almost baring. Tony felt naked under their stares. He smiled back at them and tried to bring some life back into his eyes, but judging by the ever-concerned glances at each other, he was doing a pretty crappy job at it. Someone shoved food in his lap and he began to eat it mechanically. Thor cooked the food, someone told him. It was good, Tony thought. He couldn’t taste it. Bruce was talking to him but Tony couldn’t really hear him, and when he did hear, he couldn’t remember what was being said. The whole thing was a nightmare and Tony found himself apologizing and going out into the hall.
He walked to the elevator, pushed a button, and found himself in his room after a couple minutes.
His bed was unmade. Clothes were strewn around everywhere. He hadn’t brushed his teeth in several days and he could feel how gross he was, but he didn’t want to go to the washroom because he knew there would be an overwhelming mess in there as well. He sat down on the floor because walking to his bed took too much effort. He could barely get up to use the toilet. He couldn’t do anything.
Bruce showed up after a while, and did another grounding exercise. Tony couldn’t be bothered. He left and Tony was alone again.
Morning came eventually. All of his days just blended together, the hours were all the same. He wanted to get out of his stupid brain.
“Tony, you should get up off the floor,” Steve said, appearing out of nowhere, on one knee so that he was eye-level with him.
“I can’t,” Tony answered, too tired to even be startled; he hadn't noticed that Steve had entered his room.
“Can’t or won’t?” Steve asked.
Normally, Tony would’ve been offended by that, but he was just too tired. Nothing felt right anymore. He wasn’t angry when he was supposed to be angry, he wasn’t sad when he was supposed to be sad, and he wasn’t happy when he was supposed to be happy. It was all just dull and grey. He couldn’t feel.
“Tony,” Steve said, his lips pursed in worry. “I know you’re not doing great, but you should get up off the floor.”
Tony shook his head.
“Have you been taking your meds?” Steve asked carefully, like he was afraid of overstepping. “It’s morning. I can get them for you. Are they in your washroom?”
Tony nodded. Steve left and returned with a glass of water and a singular pill in his hand, which Tony took mechanically. It was hard to swallow and it took him a couple of tries to get it down. Steve took the glass from him.
“You’ll feel better soon,” Steve said, oddly sympathetic and kind. “Let me know if there’s anything we can do to help.”
Steve left. Tony still sat on the floor. Not half an hour later, JARVIS piped up.
“Mr Odinson wishes me to remind you that you are always welcome to talk to him,” the AI said. “He urges me to tell you that he would like to help you sort out your ailments.”
Tony nodded. “Thanks.”
“Would you like me to tell him that?”
“Yeah.”
JARVIS was silent. Tony didn’t take Thor up on his offer. He didn’t even know what was wrong with him.
Tony went down to the workshop when he got the energy to stand up, trying to find something to distract his brain from his downward spiral. Working would give him that, and when he opened the doors, he was surprised to see that everything was in order; someone had gone in and cleaned it all. It felt like a load had been lifted off of Tony’s shoulders.
He sat on a chair and fiddled around with a project on the screen. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to finish it, but at least he was working.
“Hey, Stark,” a female voice said from the doors. Tony looked up.
“Hi.”
Natasha walked over to him, holding a tray of food in her hands. “We overestimated the amount of Kraft Dinner we could eat; turns out, five boxes is too much for us. I brought you the rest.”
Tony nodded as the tray got placed down, and he stared at the artificial orange-coloured pasta. He picked up the spoon with stiff fingers, scooped up a little bit, and put it in his mouth. He still couldn’t taste it, but he could feel that it was still warm and the knowledge that he would enjoy it any other day made him feel a bit better. He swallowed. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she said with a smile that didn’t sit right on her face. “What are you working on?”
Tony glanced at the screen. “A project.”
She waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. “Okay, what’s the project about?”
He shrugged. “Improving the repulsors for the Iron Man suit.”
She waited for him to launch into his usual explanation, but he just took another small spoonful of food and looked at the table. Tony felt bad about the lack of talking, but he literally did not have the energy to hold a conversation with anyone. His head was heavy. He looked up again after a while, and Natasha was gone and his food was cold. He took another spoonful before pushing it away.
Giving up, he left the pasta on the desk and went up to his room. It had also been cleaned. God bless.
He climbed under his covers and closed his eyes. His sleep was dreamless and it was more than he could’ve ever asked for at a time like that
--
“Good morning, sir. The weather is currently seventy-two degrees, partly cloudy with a high of seventy-seven and a low of sixty-five. Miss Potts has cleared your schedule under instruction of Dr Banner. It is eight twenty-five.”
Tony listened to his AI speak, glad to find out that he could actually hear and process things now. The room gradually got lighter as the blinds opened slowly to let Tony’s vision adjust to the brightness, and he felt somewhat rested. “Thanks, J.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
He felt like he had slept forever, and for some reason felt loads better. Deciding to take on the day, he shaved his messy beard into something more neat and got dressed into a band shirt and jeans. He felt less lethargic. His head was clearer, and he was able to concentrate on what was in front of him. Sure, he didn’t feel a hundred percent yet, but he felt well enough that he could put on a happy face and apologize for what he put the others through during this whole spell. He took his pills gingerly and went down to the common area.
As soon as he stepped into the room, everyone on the team was there, and they all smiled at him like he was fragile. He was determined to get back on track. He took a deep breath and ignored the way his heart was pounding in his chest.
“I get these,” Tony paused, searching for the word, “depressive episodes. I’ve been getting them for years now, since I was sixteen. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“We’re here for you, man. Anytime,” Clint was the first to pipe up, and the nonchalant way he was speaking made Tony feel a slight bit less embarrassed.
“Glad you’re feeling better,” Steve chimed in.
“It is nothing to feel shameful about, my friend,” Thor said kindly.
“Yeah, don’t apologize,” Bruce said. “I get it.”
“Let us know how we can help,” Nat said with a small, genuine smile.
Tony nodded, grateful that they didn’t make a big deal about it all. He clasped his hands together in a gesture of finality. “Anyway, breakfast?”
Clint’s Belgian waffles never tasted so good.