This is it, the Apocalypse

Chapter 10: Iron Man Concluded

There they were. His team, his comrades, a dysfunctional family of sorts. They all looked so strange sitting there in the common area together casually as though they weren't comprised of a monster, a god, a super soldier and two humans of whom Tony still had doubts regarding their actual levels of humanity. A concoction of volatile ingredients thrown together, shaken up and poured out again to create something... not so volatile. Something assembled. It always took a crisis to pull themselves up from the brink. To pull together and fight.

Natasha was tucked comfortably into a love seat with Clint. Well, Natasha was sitting in the love seat, Clint was actually perched on the back of it, looking very much like the bird of his chosen namesake. He also looked healthy, the dark circles beneath his eyes, a recognizable scar from far too many sleepless nights, had faded slightly, and his complexion was recovering from it's persistent pallor. An educated assumption could be made that the anti-hypnotic ear pieces he'd slaved over were performing to every expected standard. Tony never asked him about it, and supposed that Clint's own silence was evidence of their effectiveness. No 'thank you' was required.

Consequently, Natasha seemed... well 'happy' wouldn't necessarily be the most accurate description of her. Just, content. Yes, content was more appropriate. And if the hand she was resting covertly on Clint's calf was any indication, things were going decent for her. For the both of them.

Bruce sat in a recliner, preferring to preserve his personal space for more than one obvious reason. He may have come to a sort of tense agreement with the monster living inside him, but he continued to practice various habitual mitigation techniques he'd adopted. And Tony truly believed that he couldn't find a single person on the face of the planet he respected more than Bruce Banner. For someone who'd been hunted, captured, experimented on, for a man whose name had been dragged through shit and pieced back together with scotch tape, Bruce was one of the kindest people he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. It would be an honor to complete the Hulk-Off weapons for him. And for all he'd done for Tony, it was the least he could do to thank him.

Not to mention the fucking demi-god who possessed the ability to harness lightning because he was so powerful he'd actually made the weather itself his bitch. And it was funny, the way he sat amongst these comparatively normal individuals while sporting a pair of brightly colored sweatpants, a T-shirt and a smile, crossed-legged on the floor, like none of the aforementioned things were even remotely true of him. For a god, Thor was damn humble, and Tony contributed this to the fact that at one point in his exceedingly lengthy existence, Thor had been... not so humble. Banished to earth following a deadly rampage on a rival faction of otherworldly beings, Thor had learned the hard way what became of those who reacted to situations with immediate anger. But he'd corrected his mistakes by way of honorably defending Midgardians; those weaker than him. Loki, on the other hand, had attempted to conquer them, inserting a sharpened blade right into his brother's heart and nearly severing the ties which bound the royal family of Asgard together.

If Thor had ever suggested Tony take a break from the Avengers due to his increasing aggression and anger, he couldn't even be angry with him. In fact, Tony had no intention of even asking about it. Thor was living testament to what these emotions brought forth when combined with great power, and had been deeply hurt by it. His suggestion had been justified.

And then there was Steve. He was seated on the couch he'd sat on before and in the exact same spot, never one to stray too far from established routine. It had been a pleasant surprise to find out how much in common Tony had with him, and shockingly enough, Steve had been the one to provide him with the abiding drive he needed to get through what was to come. The others had as well, but the lasting affects of alcoholism ran too deep into Steve's very heart, and effected him far too personally for Tony to continue on like he's been doing. And if Tony could fix this, could come out on top of this terrible struggle, he predicted a great friendship forming between them. One of those cheesy ones about which poems are written and stories told. In a way, it could fill the void Howard Stark had left behind. In both Tony and Steve.

Tony appraised them all with a small, gracious smile. After so many weeks of Tony driving himself to the edge of the cliff in his attempts to support them, they were finally there to aid him in building the wings he required in order to fly. When Steve had commanded the Avengers to assemble for Tony's sake, there had been zero protest, and they'd all appeared as swiftly as possible, taking their seats and remaining steadfastly silent, focused on Tony with a rapt attention which was honestly quite heart warming. And Tony didn't feel in the least bit apprehensive about spilling his guts to the lot of them.

He sighed, took his own seat and laced his fingers together in his lap. "I guess this is the part where I come clean with all of you about where I've been and why." He started, and of all the people in the room, he looked to Natasha, and was shocked to discover a supportive smile followed by a nod of encouragement. He nodded back, bolstered, feeling bigger than the sun itself. "Three days ago, when I had my little... whatever, I'd been drinking. More accurately, I was pretty damn drunk. And just like my father, the shit affects the way I act. Now, I'm not making excuses for myself or anything but had I not been drinking, I wouldn't have reacted that way, not to mention you guys were trashing this room, and being fucking loud and obnoxious-" When he looked up again, he realized there were more than a few raised eye brows and shifted slightly in uncomfortable embarrassment. This was why he was not permitted to improvise.

"Anyway, after that, I went back upstairs and drank more, and more, and more until I got sloppy and stupid and eventually passed out. And these last few days when I was gone, and Bruce was covering for me and telling you I was in the lab? Yeah, I was actually recovering from alcohol poisoning. I nearly died. I could've gone into a coma, it was so bad."

This revelation earned him varied reactions. Steve looked horrified, having not known anything at all about it. Natasha raised her eyebrows and let her lips part only slightly in surprise. Thor seemed confused beyond hope and Bruce and Clint avoided eye contact with all of them.

"Why wasn't I told about this?" Steve demanded, having shifted from horror to fury so fast it was almost comical to watch, and resting his accusing gaze on Bruce who just shook his head and hid his eyes with one hand.

Tony raised an eyebrow and nodded at Steve pointedly in warning. "Because, at the time you were gunning for my indefinite removal, Cap. And an incident like that isn't exactly something I'd want to share with you while my head's sitting on the damn chopping block." His tone was not aggressive, merely informative. Calm. Steve pursed his lips, but remained silent after that, relaxing his contentious posture and sitting back. Tony glanced around at the others, searching for any more potential protestations, but thankfully finding nothing but concern. Although, it was only a matter of time before Thor gave into his curiosity, which seemed to be bordering on unbearable.

Tony took a deep, steadying breath. "So before all this, about a month or so ago actually, I started drinking heavily again. And when I say heavily I mean three or four glasses of scotch instead of orange juice with my bacon and eggs in the morning and then just continuously throughout the day. Basically, I was perpetually drunk."

"How is that possible?" Clint challenged, his brow furrowed, not in doubt, but in question. "None of us could even tell."

"I could." Steve chimed in proudly, but lowered his eyes awkwardly when Natasha shot him a glare, clearly warning him that all other inappropriate retorts would be dealt with severely.

Tony regarded Clint with a neutral expression. "I'm what's known as a 'functional drunk', meaning I could be absolutely smashed beyond hope and still appear to operate normally. I still slur a little, but otherwise there's really very few outward indicators that I'm intoxicated." He explained. "I've been drinking so hard for so long that the side affects of it have become something like an acquired second nature. Less of a side affect, and more just part of the normal me." Clint looked surprised and nodded thoughtfully.

"I do not understand." Thor began, forehead creased in genuine confusion, and Tony braced himself for the difficult and frustrating attempts at explanation soon to come. "What is this hinderance of which you speak? What does this all mean?"

"It means he drinks too much, big guy." Clint provided, sliding down to sit next to Natasha, but this only confused him more.

"Impossible, no such thing exists." And although there was insistence in his words, there was also hesitance, as if he wasn't entirely confident in the accuracy of his own statement. But Tony wasn't annoyed, he knew Asgardians didn't face the same physical limitations as their human underlings, and the concept of alcohol actually killing someone was probably inconceivable to him. The shit flowed like water in Asgard and was probably consumed with the same perceived necessity.

"My body isn't built like yours." Tony said patiently, and hoped his explanation would prove sufficient. "Too much of that stuff at one time will kill me. Too much of it over an extended period of time will destroy me slowly from the inside out. The shit is poison to us. Makes us do things we regret. Reaches in and pulls out a demon and teaches it to walk and talk like we do, and before we know it, we're hurting people." And suddenly, Tony found himself agreeing with every word he'd just spat. There was no more denial, no more hiding, no more excuses. Just the cold hard facts. The truth of what he's been doing to himself laid bare for them all to see. For Tony to see. He looked away from them, swallowing the burning lump in his throat, feeling it hit his belly like a hot coal.

There was a small period of silence, and when he collected himself and looked back up he was satisfied to see that Thor seemed to finally understand. His confusion was replaced with worry, an appropriate emotion for the situation, and he stifled any other questions that may have been prodding him.

"Tony, why did you start drinking like this again?" Natasha inquired quietly, and Tony had known this question would arise but had not even prepared an answer for it.

He shrugged and offered them all a sad half smile. "I'm not sure exactly why, I mean, anything could have triggered it, and I've been trying to convince myself that it... that it was the stress of all you guys moving in." Now he was nervous, and his hands shook subtly. He swallowed. "But, when I take a second to step back and think about it, I- I think it might have something to do with, um... almost... almost not making it back. You know, after the thing. Here." He pointed over head to where the sky had opened up and nearly swallowed him whole. He was sweating now, the thought of that portal, of the cold grasp of what could only be impending death, of Pepper's face vanishing from the HUD of his helmet like she'd never existed, sending his heart into a panic. He shook his head and he knew they'd seen it, the terror that had flashed momentarily across his face, because when he looked at them again they were as still as death itself. As still as the vacuum of space.

It made him edgy.

He wrung his hands together, hating their scrutiny while at the same time, feeling honored that they deemed him worthy of any scrutiny at all. "Tony?" Bruce was watching him, not displaying his worry, but reflecting it just enough in his voice to snap Tony from his thoughts. Tony shook his head in acknowledgement. Bruce had always been good at that.

"Right, so I think to sum this all up, I'll just come right out and say it." He paused, looking around at them, silently willing them to be mature about this, not not crack jokes, to keep any goddamn useless, unhelpful comments to themselves, because what he was about to say to them, he had never said to anther soul, living or dead. And he needed nothing more than to be able to trust them at that moment. "Truth is, I'm an alcoholic." And he was relieved to find acceptance among his friends. He wasn't sure if it was out of respect, or if it was due Natasha's threatening presence, but they remained silent, allowing him to digest his own words because it seemed like they had known all along something that he himself had just figured out.

Tony was glad they had suspended their questioning of him. He was pretty sure if he even opened his mouth, nothing more than a sob of relieved gratitude would escape him. The grace of the individuals before him, in what could be considered one of his most vulnerable and revealing moments, was absolutely staggering to behold. They were all smiling at him, looked fucking proud of him, and it was a strange feeling because he'd never really experienced being the object of someone else's pride before. Well, besides Pepper's, but that was ingrained within her job description, so it didn't really count.

But these people...

Apparently, it wasn't the mistake that made the man, it was how he overcame it. And apparently, Tony was doing a damn fine job so far. He stopped wringing his hands, calmed his fearful quivering to an acceptable level, although jitters due to the approaching withdrawal that was soon to manifest itself in the worst way persisted, and he relaxed a bit.

"Do you have a plan?" Natasha inquired, gazing at him curiously.

Tony willed his composure to withstand the awesome amount of unfamiliar feelings bombarding it, and once again swallowed the sting in his throat down before it burst forth and shamed him. "Yeah. I mean, I think so. Clint and Bruce were nice enough to destroy the booze I have here, and I'm positive Pepper is in the process of doing the same in Malibu, because that's where I'm heading next for a while. You know, to step back and reevaluate myself." His glance at Steve, located recognition of the phrase. They smiled at each other in tacit understanding. "The hard reality of this shit is that I cannot ever touch another drop of alcohol." He said, trying desperately to project the enormity of this fact to them and how dire it was that he adhere to his own prescription. "Which brings me to my next point. Or request, I guess. I'm gonna need a lot of help with this, so- so I'm asking- no, begging you all, please keep it out of the tower." It was his tower, of course. He could, by all rights, instill a strict drinking ban on the premises, but asking nicely tended to yield better results than obtaining goals by force. "If I see it, I'll drink it, it's that simple. And after this, I won't hesitate to walk right up to any one of you and rip it right out of your fucking hands. At least for right now and for the foreseeable, short term future. I'm sorry, guys, I just- I don't have-" What, because he didn't have the willpower? The goddamn self control? He stopped, groaned, buried his face in his hands. He couldn't look at them. What he was asking of them was selfish and stupid and-

Someone had placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to find Natasha there, sporting the most supportive smile she was probably capable of. "You're not asking too much." She said, and goddamn, it was like she'd watched his thoughts scroll through his head as one does captions on a television. "We're all gonna help you. Arn't we?" She demanded as she scanned the other occupants with a death glare, daring them to oppose her. Had Tony been on the receiving end of that look, he would've ran.

Steve stood up, squaring his shoulders, and radiating authority. "No need for coercion, Natasha. I'm instituting a strict no drinking policy for the entire team, effective immediately." What an incredible little family Tony had become a part of. He felt that stinging behind his eyes, like a scorpion had taken up residence there, and blinked rapidly against it. Fucking Christ on a crutch, when the hell had he become so emotional? "And this conversation never leaves this room." Steve continued, stern and fierce. "It doesn't go to the press, it doesn't go to Asgard it doesn't go to Fury and it's not to be mentioned in casual conversation with some random SHIELD agent." He shot Clint a pointed glare, who threw his hands up indignantly, like he was insulted that Steve would even dream of singling him out as a possible leaker.

"If it shall aid Friend Stark in defeating this foe, even I shall limit my drink to only within the halls of Asgard!" Thor proclaimed loudly, smiling and clapping one of his dinner-plate-sized hands down on the shoulder opposite the one of which Natasha claimed temporary ownership, jerking Tony's whole body, and making him grunt. "It is only right that we repay our debts to him with honor and benevolence."

Tony couldn't speak. Couldn't even will his mouth to open to formulate a 'thank you', because he may have been less than confident that a sob wouldn't escape instead. They were all looking at him, and fuck, they needed to stop before he freaked out. Natasha in all her generous (but admittedly infrequent) mercy, noticed his nearly invisible tremors and set about creating a distraction in the form of barking orders at the others. "Barton, is there any alcohol left?"

"One cabinet, I think." Was the quick reply.

"Destroy it. Thor, go with him." She commanded firmly. Tony couldn't see the reaction, because he was staring at the floor between his feet, but he heard shuffling steps and the elevator door dinging closed. Natasha's hand was still warm on his shoulder.

"Pepper's aware?"

He could visualize Bruce removing his glasses and cleaning them in his anxiety. "Yeah, I actually got a call from her today about it."

"Good. Go call her back. Find out if she's gotten rid of it yet." Shit, the tears were threatening an epic return. They were doing too much for him, caring too much! And he didn't deserve it, he'd spent his younger years being told he didn't deserve it, his adult years, telling himself the same. So much affection from so many people all at once was overwhelming.

"Tony, you wanted to go to Malibu, right?" And there she went, reading his fucking thoughts again like some kind of living, breathing polygraph machine. He felt helpless. All he could do was nod. "When?"

He clenched his fists in his lap. Why couldn't she have just continued asking questions that didn't require a verbal response? He swallowed hard. Gritted his teeth. "Two days." And he'd be damned if his original conjecture regarding his fragile emotions hadn't been accurate because his voice wavered and cracked like he was going through puberty. Someone had rigged the flood gates with dynamite. And that bastard was about to blow them wide open.

Thankfully, Steve was been given some task Tony didn't exactly get the opportunity to hear about, and he was running off just as the first tears spilled over, followed by more, like a broken water main, they spilled from him, until sobs wracked his body. Truth was, he'd needed it, the stress of everything he'd been through pouring out of him, his sorrow embodied in those god forsaken tears.

Natasha rapidly transitioned from merely touching his shoulder, to rubbing small circles into his back, to crouching down beside him and now she had her arms wrapped around him. And his pathetic ass was leaning into her, making a mess of himself, and probably soaking her shirt through. But she didn't seem to mind, or at least tolerated it for his benefit, and continued rubbing small circles into his back, not saying a word, just physically being there for him and genuinely caring. It was a good ten minutes before his sobs were reduced to quiet sniffles and he was able to pull gently away from her, ashamed, not wanting to see anyone or anything. She stood, walked around, squatted down in front of him so she wasn't looming like some sexy grim reaper, and lifted his head with a single finger beneath his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

He could only imagine how terrible he looked.

"Feel better?" She asked, removing her finger and smiling that odd smile that looked so strange when coming from her.

"Yeah." And it came out as a throaty croak, and he felt ridiculous, but it was a truthful answer. People had always told him - people being Pepper - that it was better to let it out than to bottle it up and ferment it. His father had stated something a little different. He wiped his face on one of his sleeves. "Loads, actually." He was already starting to sound better. And his mind was surprisingly clearer.

"You're going to Malibu, then what?" He didn't know whether she just wanted to keep him talking, hoping to avoid another awkward breakdown, or if she was legitimately curious. But considering what she'd just done for him, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm not sure." He said with a sniff. "I think Pepper has some kind of house arrest thing planned for me, but... I guess I'll collect the scattered pieces of my life and start putting them back together. Hopefully when I'm done, it'll resemble something... stable. Right now, it kinda looks like a Jenga tower."

She settled herself on the ground, and he couldn't help but notice the way her legs moved as she crossed them. Like a spider's, long and seemingly delicate. It would have been creepy had he not known her. "I have a suggestion." She said, leaning forward and placing her elbows on her knees. "Go to Malibu, catch your breath and focus on you. You've been so wrapped up in fixing our problems, in trying to take the weight of the whole world's problems on your shoulders, that you had zero strength left to hold up your own. And you collapsed beneath it all." She cocked her head, studying him, and he held her gaze, completely focused on what she had to say. Moments like this from Natasha were virtually non-existent, like meeting Bigfoot in person, and every second was precious. "You can't make the world perfect, Tony. I know you want to, but you just can't. Sometimes, you have to take a step back from it, and rescue yourself. And right now, you could use a bit of rescueing."

He nodded, tore his eyes from her blue ones, wrapped his arms around his chest, although he wasn't feeling threatened. Just nervous. "I know." He said in barely a whisper. "I'm sorry."

She was shaking her head. "Don't apologize. Fix it." And at first, the solution was too simplistic to even seem conceivable, but then, when he thought about it, fixing the issue was the best form of sincere apology he could offer them. 'Sorry' was just a word. Meaningless without the actions to back it up. "And if you need help, ask. You can't do this alone, Tony, no matter how much you desperately want to. And lucky for you, you have lots of friends who are willing to help."

And that was the answer. Her words contained both the question and the solution. And he truly believed he could never properly thank her, thank all of them, for what they'd done for him that day. They were willing to change their very lifestyles if it meant assisting their friend in remedying his problem. They were his true family. His supposed 'blood family' had offered him his first drink at the age of four.

As Natasha left, after smiling at him and ruffling his hair affectionately, an action that would have rendered any other person an instant amputee, he sat back and contemplated his lot in life. How he could just stop apologizing and fix himself. He would go to Malibu for a couple weeks, spend time with Pepper, focus on himself, and return a better man, a better hero and a better team mate. A sober Iron Man. He stumbled over to the couch and let himself fall forward gracelessly onto its welcoming cushiness. Right before he nodded off, the crippling exhaustion resulting from expelling so much mental anguish too much to bear any longer, he smiled. He was home.

The apocalypse had happened, destroying his protective barriers, and exposing the wasteland beneath. A scorched earth. A new beginning, for brand new life.

oo00oo

Leg bouncing in fearful anticipation, Tony watched trees fly past the tinted window of the SUV, panic rising within him, threatening enslavement of his mind. But he had been working on this, hadn't he? Breathing techniques; in, out, in, out, and he felt ridiculous, like a pregnant woman in fucking birthing class, when he did it. But it did help. He begrudgingly admitted that it did help.

"You good, boss?" Happy asked from the drivers seat, peering at Tony from over his sunglasses in the rear view mirror.

Tony tore his gaze from the trees, and nodded at Happy's reflection, his eyes remaining hidden behind his own pair of sunglasses. Used not to diminish the harmful effects of UV rays on his vulnerable eyes, but to hide the fear within them. "I told her, I didn't want to do this, I fucking told her, Happy." He suddenly exclaimed angrily, gesturing wildly in his frustration. "Multiple times, and while providing various reasons about why I did not want any of this shit, and what's she do? She turns around, sets up this whole big theatrical shindig, which, of course I get pissed off about. Because I'd told her, right? I told her I didn't want this. But then, she has the nerve to get angry with me for getting angry at her, which just seems completely fucking backwards. And she pulls the guilt trip thing, which drives me absolutely insane because, I swear to God, she's the most manipulative human being I've ever come across... ok maybe, maybe Loki could give her a run for her money in manipulation potential but, c'mon... Happy? Are you gonna back me up here?"

Tony was watching Happy's reflection and gritted his teeth upon witnessing him actually smile and shake his head in all that unmitigated gall of his. "You're just nervous. There is absolutely nothing rational about your fear right now."

Tony scoffed loudly, "Nothing rational? Happy. You're kidding me, right? You know exactly how risky this is-"

"Tony." Happy cut him off. Happy never cut him off. Tony scowled. "You of all people should know that Pepper Potts doesn't leave loose ends. If she's confident enough to send you here, then she's taken every precaution." He flashed Tony a toothy grin in the mirror. "And the fact that I'm ok with it doesn't comfort you at all? I'm insulted at your lack of trust in me, boss."

Tony glowered at the back of Happy's head, knowing that he was correct, but maintaining his rebellious exterior, because that's just what he did. He rebelled. Childishly. Against everything. He had yet to get to that particular checkmark on his notional to do list. But he wouldn't have much longer to stew in his failed protestations because a small white building with a steeple and a bell inside was swiftly approaching at the end of what was a very cliche, forested, dirt road.

An area too far out in the country, devoid of the towering structures of industry and progressiveness for Tony's liking, but perhaps that's what Pepper was going for with this location. An isolated, tiny country town in Indiana, the perfect place in which to get away with murder.

Happy stopped the vehicle, unbuckled his seatbelt. Tony's heart rate quadrupled. "Ready?" Happy asked, not at all nervous, but why should he be? It angered Tony regardless.

"I didn't mean all that, what I said about Pep." He said and at Happy's nod, Tony squared his shoulders and exited the SUV without a word, straightening his hoodie and maintaining confidence that he would present himself in his normal clothes, slightly scruffy and unkempt for the sake of 'blending in', like a fucking boss, and no less than that. He was Tony Stark, he made everything look good. "Hey, Happy. You think I'll just spontaneously combust immediately after setting foot in the foyer? God and I aren't exactly on the best terms. He doesn't like that I prove him wrong sometimes."

Happy chuckled. "Looks like you're gonna have to prove him right for once." He said, smiling. "By proving that miracles can happen when you finally walk in there. Now go, stop stalling."

Tony sighed, took a deep breath, sighed again, and walked confidently through the parking lot, which consisted of course gravel, spots for vehicles designated by nothing but rope and containing exactly seven cars plus his. He approached the chapel and stepped onto the porch where the door opened before he could knock, or just go in, or whatever people were supposed to do at these things.

A man with messy brown hair and glasses greeted him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. "You must be Tony." He said, and that alone made him slightly anxious but he took the hand regardless and smiled back.

"That's right. And you're... Hank?"

Hank nodded. "Nice to meet you, Tony." It was strange meeting someone whose eyes didn't sparkle with star-struck excitement at the mention of his very name. Tony enjoyed it. A refreshing change in pace he desperately needed. "If you'll please come with me, I'll show you downstairs."

He followed Hank, only partially hearing what he was saying, and discarding the small snippets he did catch. Blood was roaring in his ears as they descended a flight of stairs and even if he'd wanted to hear whatever information Hank was regurgitating at him, he couldn't have deciphered it anyway. He found himself agreeing to a question he hadn't even comprehended with an absent nod, and before he knew it, they had entered through a door, and into a finished, well-lit basement, with eight folding chairs in a circle, and five men and one woman occupying six of them. And he was standing before them. They were watching him expectantly, those nameless people just like him, and all of them had kind faces, and bright smiles and what the hell was he supposed to do again?

He probably looked extremely foolish for a good ten seconds as he stood there in a stupor while he composed himself, but they displayed no outward judgement and more importantly, no recognition, and Hank moved to settle in the empty chair next to the one he stood behind. Tony gave them all a reluctant smile.

"Everybody, this is Tony." There was a chorus of 'Hi, Tony,' which was emitted enthusiastically by all in attendance, and Tony felt his face burn and the involuntary grimace which followed only made it worse. "Why don't you introduce yourself and tell us why you're here?"

And Hank's words were a miracle because it snapped him out of whatever twighlight zone in his mind he'd retreated to. He realized then that he did actually recall something Hank had told him as they'd walked together. The way he was supposed to start this off. That Tony had agreed to start.

And he'd be damned if he didn't have the intestinal fortitude to start off the entire meeting with his story.

He had to start somewhere. He looked at them all collectively, and stood up straight, reigning in his racing heart and swallowing hard. "Hey guys." He began, far too quietly for Tony Stark, but just perfect for 'Tony', and offered them a little two-fingered wave. They were smiling, accepting, genuine people and they waved back. "So, I guess I'll start this thing off with the basics." Nodding encouragement, they waited patiently. He cleared his throat, found his voice and finally told them. "My name's Tony, and I'm an alcoholic."

End

A/N: Oh my god, it's done. Woo! Go me!

Let me know how you feel the ending turned out, if it was everything you expected, or something better, or even if you didn't like it. But please keep it civil. Constructive criticism, remember? Oh and... sequel potential? I have some ideas. Big ones. Let me know.

I wanted to thank all of you so, so much for keeping me motived throughout this. Every single one of your reviews was something special to me. A few people I'd like to mention who reviewed damn near every chapter:

Jesters of the Moon, your long, in-depth reviews just pumped me up so damn much! Ugh, if I knew you, I'd hug you.

Ghost Rider of the Aragon, Same for you, you always left constructive reviews, even giving me some insight into Natasha's character, which I ended up using, so thank you!

Post u Later, left amazing reviews and the first letters in all the words were always capitalized, not only making me laugh, but showing me that every word was given thought.

Elizabeth14 both on and off her account left reviews for every single chapter.

But, there's lots of you, and I'm very tired, and it's 6am here after 24 hour duty... ugh. Just once again, thank you, and if I forgot you, I'm sorry. I thank you regardless. 97 reviews for 9 chapters is pretty damn good so Lets see if we can make this last one just fucking explode. Would make me incredibly happy, guys.

Dark Horse is being worked on, and let me tell you, I've got some sinister stuff in store for my man Stark. I'm sorry, but he just hurts so pretty. If you like Tony Whump, keep an eyeball out for an update!

'Till next time. Stay awesome.