Warning: Contains depressive thoughts, mentions of suicide and stuff that's bloody. So yeah, don't read if you're sensitive to these kinds of things. Also, this story takes place AFTER the movie Civil war.

DON'T FRICKING READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE MOVIE YET I SWEAR TO GOD IT CONTAINS FUCKING SPOILERS. I've warned you.

Shattered into a Thousand Pieces

His body was aching, his insides were burning, but worst of all; his heart was broken. Literally.

Tony lied there on the concrete ground, fortunately protected by his armor, taking hit after hit from the one and only Captain America, who repeatedly slammed his shield at Tony's already hurting head. He tried to kick the supersoldier off of him, tried to shoot with his repulsors to blow him off of him, but all of it was to no avail. Steve was enraged, Tony had hurt Bucky. Tony had tried to kill Bucky.

Bucky had killed his parents.

The stinging betrayal he had felt when he had watched the video was overwhelming him, his mind, he could no longer think straight and the only thing that repeated itself in his mind was a voice telling him to take revenge on the person who had brutally murdered Howard and Maria Stark. Boy, he had thrown punch after punch, he had shot small rockets, he had tried to make Bucky fall to his death - hell, he wanted to drill him right into the ground, but none of it killed him, he was unable to kill the Winter Soldier, only because this particular person named Steve had protected his friend, his companion, something Tony used to be, but wasn't, not anymore.

In fact, they had become enemies right then and there. They were fighting, punching each other's brains out, and for what?

He had lost a friend that day.

Steve raised his shield up in the air, preparing himself mentally for the final hit. Tony's vision had gone black various times, but he tried to keep himself awake. He knew he was losing the fight; his suit was going to shut down any second, and he would get a shiny shield shoved up his face in just a couple more seconds.

But it wasn't shoved up his face.

The shield penetrated the protecting arc reactor in the middle of his chest, at least, it hit the bulletproof glass that was in front of the arc reactor, but even though it was bulletproof glass, it went right through it and ended up hitting the real arc reactor, and then, there was complete silence.

Steve stared at the relieved man who had once been his friend, shook his head and made his way over to one-armed Bucky, who laid spread out on the ground. He wrapped one strong arm around his waist, and wrapped Bucky's good arm around his neck for support. Bucky whimpered out in pain, but manned up and moved until he was finally standing on his feet.

"Let's go"

"Steve... Wait." said his friend, he wanted to point at the complete wreckage of Iron lying there, but he couldn't, so he just nodded at him.

Steve turned his head, only to see that Tony had taken off his mask and that he was still lying on the ground, but something was severely wrong. Steve couldn't see those brown eyes filled with energy and determination anymore. No, instead of seeing those, he noticed that Tony's eyes were bloodshot, almost bulging out of his head, he was gasping for air as if his life depended on it, his face had gone extremely pale and sweat was dripping from his forehead onto the ground.

"T-...Tony?"

Bucky and he shared gazes, both contemplating whether they should go and help out the man who had just fought with them. Steve knew that Tony could die when the arc reactor was increasingly damaged, and he knew, this could be one of those times, but helping him was according to Steve, out of question. At least, that was what his mind was telling him. His gut nevertheless, was telling him Tony was dying, and he needed his friend, he needed Steve.

"Steve. Take him to the hospital. I can wait, I'm not that wounded..." spoke Bucky, trying to pry himself from Steve's strong grip on him.

"But Buck, he -"

"Hel...help." a quiet voice sounded. Steve froze and stared at the shivering and shaking body of Tony Stark, astonished the man had actually called out for help, which meant he really was in trouble. Tony never, absolutely never asked anyone for any kind of help. He dropped Bucky to the ground and ran over to the piece of mess he had just beaten up. He crouched beside him and observed him carefully but quick enough to realize Tony was in fact, suffering from a heart attack, a heart attack he had caused. The once full on shining light in the middle of his chest was now flickering, battling against Mr. Death.

Steve knew he had to operate CPR on him, but he had to take off the suit first and unfortunately, he didn't know how to take off the damned suit, or did he? Wait, he remembered Tony had once told him he had installed special mechanical releases that could get the armor off in a blink.

"Tony, tony hey, look at me buddy." Steve said, his voice shaking desperately. He carefully put his hands underneath Tony's head to lift it up a little so he was looking at him.

"Tony, you're gonna be okay. I promise. You'll be alright." He said as he was opening up all the mechanical locks with his other hand. Steve didn't know if Iron Man was going to be okay, he just said those words because he was rather encouraging himself, hoping he'd be able to save Stark in time.
He didn't know much about heart attacks and stuff like that, but he did know that he had to act quickly if he wanted to save his friend. He had to act faster than he had ever run before, smoother than he had ever fought before. Funny how such small movements such as opening locks by pushing buttons can depend on whether someone will live or not.

Finally, the last lock snapped loose and the heavy chest plate could finally be removed. Steve threw off the entire thing easily, revealing the body of the poor guy. The shaking seemed to be much worse now his chest had been revealed. Steve immediately planted his head down to Stark's chest. It was difficult to hear something because of the soft humming of the arc reactor, but he soon detected a heartbeat. It was weak, but it was there. Steve started working on the CPR and began giving him chest compressions, praying for the younger man's life.

After several attempts of getting Tony's heart to beat again, after some minutes of hard work and effort, things finally started to look up when Tony coughed, and stopped shivering and shaking. Steve held his ear against his chest, and realized to his relief, that his heart was beating normally again, which made Steve's heart skip a beat, not harmfully though.
The blonde stared at the panting Stark, who carefully tried to mangle himself out of the suit and the uncomfortable position he was laying in. Once he was out of the suit, with the help of Steve, he let out a deep, long sigh of relief. He was still distorted and couldn't tell what the time was, where they were and what had happened, but he knew he was safe right now.

The supersoldier sat down and looked at the exhausted man lying on the ground. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the brunette's body, shoved him closer to him and held him close to his chest. The younger man coughed weakly, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep while listening to the peaceful heartbeat of the blonde. Steve looked at Bucky, who was sitting on the ground just a short distance away from them, he smiled and nodded approvingly.

They had fought against each other here just a moment ago, and now they were sitting here, one holding the other in his arms.

But that wouldn't last for long.

Three months later. Tony wandered around in his cold, empty lab, pathetically kicking pieces of mechanics that were lying around here and there. He wasn't interested in constructing and inventing things anymore. His mind was too messed up to do anything right now.

He'd continuously ask himself if it had all been worth it. Had it been worth it to create Ultron to bring peace to this godforsaken world? Instead of bettering it, he had almost destroyed it completely, what a bummer. Now speak of the decision he made of signing the contract to help the government, what all seemed to be worthless in the end. He clenched his rough hands to fists.

Everyone had left him anyway.

See, signing up to act under supervision of the government seemed like a good idea at first. Seemed. Until he had realized everyone was turning against him, and in the end, everyone despised him. Despite his desperate attempts to try and make the world a better place - nothing had worked out whatsoever. The better version of himself he had developed had been utterly destroyed, completely forgotten, as if all his good actions hadn't mattered anything at all. Mentally unstable Tony Stark had appeared again. This time stronger than ever.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckedy, fuck, you fucking piece of shit!" he punched the wall repeatedly, his hardened knuckles slowly turning blue, pink and all the colours they weren't supposed to be. The shit started to hurt like crazy, but he didn't care, why would he care about himself when there was no one who cared about him? He could better just end it all, end it and be over with it since he had no purpose in this world, no purpose to live for, neither to die for.

"You can't do anything right, you dumb - piece of - garbage..." The wall was cracking now, just like he was. Tears stung in his eyes, only causing the production of more tears, goddammit. He froze for a moment, quickly inhaling heavy breaths as if he couldn't gather enough oxygen with each breath he took.

Stark Tower was completely empty; there was no delicate soul to be seen and to be heard. The silence was terrifying him; the loneliness was consuming him alive. Steve had disappeared along with Bucky and the Black Panther. Assembled, they had freed the imprisoned Hawkeye, Wanda, Sam and the guy he still didn't know the name of. The looks they had given him when he went to visit them were horrific. Looks of betrayal, disgust, broken friendships laid still fresh in his memory, he'd remember those for eternity. Vision and Natasha had left; God knows where they had gone to. Rhodes was still crippled, resting regularly and not needing Tony's company all the time. He had even told him he desired to be alone for a while, to take it all in. Tony couldn't blame him, losing the ability to move properly and fight had been a big-ass change. Rhodes practically lived for the adrenaline rushes he'd get when fighting, helping Tony. And just like that, Tony had caused to take it all away from him. So indeed, he couldn't blame Rhodey for not wanting to see him anymore.

He was completely and utterly alone in his mind, body, soul, and most of all, entirely alone in the fucking world.

His head met the wall just as hard as his punches had hit it, and god - it hurt like hell. Hell. He was going there for sure, he thought. Tony Stark was a monster, a selfish, egotistical loser, he even believed it himself. Hell would be his home.

But as if anyone would mind him going to Hell. No one cared. No one would ever care. As if he wouldn't know. His father had never cared about him; the women he had made love with had only ever cared about his fame and money, and the Avengers only needed him because of his genius mind. They wouldn't need him anymore, the Avengers were gone, driven apart, and he was the one to blame.

"There, you've done it Stark. You're a disaster. A complete fucking disaster. You ... "tears trickled down his face and landed in a somewhat small puddle on the ground. He had already given up in trying to stop, no one was able to see him anyway.

You don't deserve this name.

His father's blunt words echoed through his confused mind, piercing at his already poor heart. His head hit the wall once again, this time even harder than before.

You're a disgrace to this family Tony.

All the memories were flooding back into his mind and no matter what he tried, he couldn't stop them. Unknown voices were dartling above his head. Failure. Bang. Traitor. Bang. Fake. Crack. Sticky liquid ran down his forehead, forcing its way down to his already bloodshot eyes. Dizziness fell over him, his with dots filled vision was getting blurry.

His father had been right. They had all been right about him. He was a disgrace. Egocentric. Plain stupid.

He deserved to be alone, forever. He thought, before the dazing world surrounding him faded to blackness

Five months had passed. He clicked his mouse twice, opening the video he had downloaded from YouTube with a YouTube to MP4 converter. He sipped on his half full glass of scotch and leaned back in his chair.

"Miss Potts! Do you have any idea where Tony Stark might be?"

"He's probably spending some party time with his hot housemaids on Ibiza; I shouldn't worry too much about him." Pepper smiled. She looked beautiful in her long, sparkling blue dress she wore to the movie premiere that day. He should have been walking beside her, but he wasn't invited to the event.

"What happened between you and Stark?" the journalist asked, shoving the microphone up her face.

"We broke up. Things happen, but I've moved on, like he did. Only in a whole different kind of way." she had said it so simply, without even thinking about her answer. Had they really broken up? He thought they were just taking a break from everything.

Those had all been lies, you idiot.

He jumped when he felt two arms slowly wrapping their way around his neck, making him almost drop the glass on the carpet. Luckily, he didn't, that would be a waste of the beautiful carpet. He quickly restrained himself and tilted his head slightly, only to get lost into a pair of sparkling blue eyes.

"You drinking again?"

"Helps me relax, especially after you're scaring me like this." he said, bringing the glass closer to his mouth to take another sip, but he was interrupted by Steve snagging the glass away from him. Tony rose from his chair, trying to fetch it back, but Steve, who was grinning mischievously held it high up in the air, taking advantage of the genius who was much smaller in height.

"God damn it Steve, you prankster." he jumped, but the taller man was still able to keep him away from the glass, without spilling any droplets of course. Oh he was so enjoying this.

"Don't be so childish, just give it back."

"Says the one who's jumping and pushing me like a little grasshopper"

"Fuck you." sneered the genius, angrily plopping back into his chair.

"Language Tony..."

He glared at him and faked a bright smile. "Fine Mom."

"Thanks. So what are you up to?" the blonde leaned in, peeking at the computer screen. The video was inconveniently paused on Pepper's satisfied face, right after she had spoken the words that had broken Tony's heart.

"Nothing." He replied bluntly, clicking away the video instinctively. Steve looked at him, his eyes filled with worry and concern. The blonde leaned against the desk standing in front of Tony, he crossed his arms and stared down at him, intimidating the genius, not many people were able to do such a thing.

"You're not okay."

"What makes you think so? Seriously, I'm fine Steve. Go and punch some bags or something."

"You're mentally breaking apart Tony. Talk to me."

"As if you care."

"I do actually."

He shrugged. "You'd be the first one to ever care about an egotistical playboy like me. Just, no, leave. You'll never fix me."

"I could try."

"You don't have to..."

"I want to."

Tony looked up at him, hurt in his eyes.

"You can't. You're just a hallucination Steve. I created you."

"Tony wait –"

"I have to stop this. I can't keep on creating fake realities just to make me feel better, I can't. Honestly, nothing can fix me Steve, not even a machine can, not you, no one can. I keep on telling myself I'm a broken machine, what do you do with broken machines? You throw them away. I'm sorry." He said, looking down at the carpet on the ground. He heard Steve sigh, probably pitying with him, and he heard him pulling away from the desk. Even fake reality Steve was going to leave him, he just knew it. He pulled out the remote out of his pocket and clicked on a button, and his surroundings slowly started fade away, disappear. Tony stood up from his chair, throwing the remote against the wall in frustration. It broke in approximately six big pieces, never to be ever repaired again.

"You can't keep this act up Tony, eventually, you'll break completely." Steve said, looking at the genius who was breathing heavily, his chest quickly moving up and down. "You can't fix yourself Tony. Stop trying, please let someone in." He whispered, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. Tony hesitated at first, but eventually leaned in against the muscular body of the supersoldier, resting his head against Steve's chest. It felt as if when he was in his arms all Tony's pain went away - mental and physical, mostly the depressing pain. If he could only stay in his arms forever, safe from the world's harmful people. One could only hope.

"I want to help you. Just... give me a chance." Steve looked down at his legs; they were slowly starting to disappear into tiny pixels, then into small explosions in the sky. Soon enough, fake reality Steve would have never existed, and Tony would be all alone by himself again. "Please don't destroy yourself..." his voice cracked, Tony felt the strong arms around him disappearing, the warmth faded away. He closed his eyes, and let it all sink in. When he opened them again, everything had gone back to normal.

He was standing in the middle of the lab, his bare feet touching the cold floor making him shiver, the darkness surrounding him frightened him, the awkward smell of metal and dust made his nose and eyes upset, but the worst of all was the feeling of being completely alone again.

He fell to his knees, and stared at the ground intensively. The only way of ever getting to see Steve, or to ever act up as the Avengers again had been destroyed, and he was going to miss it amazingly, even though it had been just a figment of his mind, or rather said, a reality made by a machine. A machine he had ruined.

Did he regret destroying the machine? Maybe a little, but he deserved to be alone, so why did he deserve to live in a fake reality where everything was unicorns and rainbows? Exactly, he didn't deserve such happiness, such joy. He deserved to be alone.

He was walking through the city, staring at decomposing bodies and collapsed buildings all over the place. On instinct, he'd enter a big building, marked as Stark Tower, taking the half destroyed stairs to the second floor to find his friends. He immediately noticed the in blue and red dressed figure lying on the ground, and ran over to him, crouched beside him and observed. Cap's legs were flattened by a big piece of metal, he was unable to move, and dying.

He was dying.

Steve's eyes shot open, he grabbed Tony by his shirt, almost dragging him down. The soldier's eyes were red from the blood that was running down his forehead. His normally blond locks were stained black and brown from all the dust and dirt lying around.

"You killed us... all..." he spoke, his lips trembling even more than his body already did. Tony couldn't do anything more than staring into his eyes, guilt boiling up inside of him.

"This is on you Stark..." His grip on Tony's shirt weakened, his eyes slowly shut.

"It's your fault." he whispered before he let go of the genius's shirt, his arm falling down beside him. Panicked, he tried to save him by doing chest compressions, but nothing helped anymore. Captain America's pulse was gone, he had died. Tony stood up slowly, wiping some tears away, and looking around furthermore to see the rest of his teammates lying all around the rampage. Clint's body had been pierced with a big piece of metal, his body was hanging onto it, his eyes wide open as blood was still flowing out of the ginormous wound. He looked like a chicken pierced onto a pole, but only this time the chicken had been alive. It made Tony gag, almost puke out his dinner from last night. He shifted his gaze to yet another body, this time Bruce's, half naked, he laid there lifeless, his body covered with several holes, shot wounds. It hurt him to see his science buddy there on the ground. Natasha was sitting, her back leaning against the big pole of metal Clint's body hung on. Her throat was slit brutally; the expression on her face was horrifying. Next to her was Thor, his head completely bludgeoned with his own hammer that was resting on top of his chest.

He stood there, surrounded by catastrophe and bodies of what had he had once considered as friends, all now completely defeated and utterly destroyed.

And it was his fault.

His fault.

His eyes shot open, he woke up with a violent shake, and screamed. His chest was inaccurately rising and descending. The sheets were twisted around his shaking limbs, probably because had been thrashing in his sleep. His heart pounded against his enlightened chest and he trembled. Partly coming back to reality again, he noticed how cold sweat poured down his face, making him shiver. The room was entirely dark. No light anywhere. The remnants of the terrible nightmare still clung to his mind, the guilt haunting him.

He had been experiencing the same nightmare over and over again, for seven months straight.

Seven months had passed, and no one had come to look for him, to even pay him a short visit. No one cared about him. It had come to the point where he just stayed in bed all day, only to grab a drink in the middle of the night. Guilt was slowly eating its way around his body, intending to completely ruin him, if he wasn't ruined already.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room in blinding light. Tony let out a frightened cry and buried his face into deeply into his soft pillow. Even his breaths trembled. He swallowed and once again turned to see the endless darkness of the room, completely empty without any signs of the catastrophe he had just wandered through, but he didn't know. The guilt, the bodies, the words Steve had said, the smell of blood, everything felt so real to him, unfortunately. Was he going crazy?

The mirror had that platina of age over the bronze frame; likewise the surface of the glass was splotched red and black in places. The mirror hadn't been cleaned, neither been touched for absolute ages, nine months to be exact. No one had looked into the mirror except for the broken hearted man who was staring at his own reflection. The mirror showed him the man the world saw, all they saw, and somehow it didn't seem right. Inside he was fireworks, frustrations, sadness, and fear, boiling and gradually overcooking. All they saw was a pair of brown eyes and brown fuzzy hair, an overpriced suit and sunglasses, a stereotypical image you'd forget minutes after witnessing.

Tony stood there in the midst of the night, red sunken eyes staring back at him; bags under his eyes that are a darker shade of purple were the only elements that brought colour to his pale, dull face. His hair that had always been perfectly styled and decently put together with gel was now sticking and pointing out to almost everywhere, some bangs covering his eyes and sometimes tickling his nose.

The bathroom was overwhelmed with darkness; only the soft dimming glow of the arc reactor illuminated the place a little, serving as a light to look at him in the godforsaken mirror. He knew it was him in the mirror, yet he felt like he was staring back at a complete stranger. The face didn't seem like his, the body seemed like it belonged to somebody else, yet the stranger was him, he just didn't feel like it was him. Wondering how one could feel so emotionless, but still so pathetic, Tony looked down at his hands, clenching them to fists. A single tear dropped down onto them, but he couldn't feel it, not anymore. He had lost all sense of reality and had lost his personality. Who was he?

Pieces of glass flew everywhere, covering the ground and sink completely. Tony cradled his bleeding hand, becoming aware of the warm liquid dribbling its way down his arm and dropping onto the floor. His loose, grey jogging pants started to get blotched with crimson red, not to speak about his naked upper body getting pierced with some small glass shards, but he decided to ignore the stinging pain. Cleaning all this mess up is gonna be a pain in the ass, he thought, looking down at the fragments of glass littering the ground. He then stared back at the mirror, slightly satisfied with the distorted image of himself. At least the stranger wasn't freakishly staring back at him now, he thought.

Tony sat still on his chair, with no strength to move. His shaky fingers had finally come to stop after running restlessly through his fuzzy, messed up hair. The window had been his only connection to the outside world. The phone doesn't ring. The rest of the day he stared through the rectangle of glass to the folks that walk by, the delivery trucks and the traffic that stands still much of the time. Once in a while he would see a nosy journalist passing by, examining the house carefully to see if Tony Stark was still alive, but no one sought for him furthermore.

The outside world was so close yet so far away, it felt like he couldn't touch anything, yet he could. After countless nights and days spent behind the glass, he had finally decided to go out, to maybe end it all. He fetched what he needed; a sweater, a bottle of scotch, a phone and a gun. He then went outside, following where his heart was bringing him to.

Steve Rogers swung his shield at the man-like cat standing in front of him, who quickly jumped up, clawing his nails into a thick branch hanging right above him. Lucky, the soldier thought, looking up at the circus cat pulling stunts and preparing himself to jump on top of him.

They were in a big chamber that was built so it could be transformed into a big forest, the perfect place to improve a hero's reflexes, strength and senses. It was perfect for Black Panther, who would casually jump from tree to tree, sneak up behind his victim or hide behind tree stumps or inside a pile of leaves. Nevertheless, it was horrible for Steve since the trees made it difficult to throw his shield anywhere. Of course, he could throw it at a tree, only to slice it in half, but planting new trees or even removing the remains was a big task, one he had to take care of. So he tried to throw his shield as less as possible, which was very difficult for the man.

The in black dressed cat jumped right on his shoulders, but Steve was quicker and grabbed him by his leg, throwing him against a nearby tree. The guy groaned as his body hit the wood, but he was quickly on his feet – or paws again.

The underground base laid in New York and had been built and used by Howard Stark and his employees. It was specially created for soldiers such as Steve, who needed their own training space. Now Steve couldn't use the training halls in Stark Tower anymore, he had decided to fresh up his memory and to go back to this place, where he had gone through his first training as a supersoldier, as Captain America.

He threw a sudden punch at his opponent, but he blocked it. They stared into each other's eyes for a short moment of time, ready to continue their battle, but they were interrupted by a soft ringing sound coming from the chamber next-door.

"Is that the national anthem?"

"That's my phone, I'll be right back." Steve said, putting his shield on his back and making a run towards his phone that was lying on the couch in the canteen. He picked it up and read the caller ID.

Unknown.

The fading of the sunlight had also meant the fading of the heat. Wintry air swirled around Tony taking every lick of warmth it could. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, pulling his coat closed and tucking his chin downward into his pullover. His breath was now only visible under the streetlights, the few which still lit up the resting city.

Looking up at the moon that was illuminating the nightly path before him, he quickened his pace, heading towards the beach. As he arrived, he took off his shoes to prepare for the long walk he was about to take. He continued his journey, marching through the softness of the sand, his feet sometimes getting bothered with sharp shells picking at his toes, but he didn't quite feel it anyway. The smell of the salty sea rushed through his nose as he breathed in fresh air, but it still felt as if he was continuously choking, gasping for oxygen with every breath he took. A cold rushing breeze of wind blew in his face, he squeezed his eyes even more shut, holding the bottle of scotch closer to his chest as he carried on.

He looked over his shoulder to see the houses and lights staying behind him in the distance. His feet were burning, his body was shivering, but he could feel absolutely none of it. He dragged himself over the cool black sand to the inky water, letting it kiss his toes as he stared forward at the empty, in blackness drowned horizon. There was no soul to be seen, he was completely alone, as he had always been. Perfect, he thought. He dug a rather small undeep hole with his right hand next to him to put the bottle in there; he'd open it later, when he was ready.

The thought of leaving this planet didn't scare him, he wasn't even sure if he'd really leave anyway. What if he was stuck in one of these fake realities he had created with that awful machine? This reality felt unreal, as if it was just a figment of his messed up mind. He was severely messed up; he deserved to be al- he deserved to die. In his life, Tony had sometimes contemplated whether he had a purpose in this world or not. The weapon industry, the development of the Iron Man suit, what kind of purpose had he brought to this world? The weapon industry, the one his father had put so much effort in to be able to take care of his wife and child, had been shut down by his only son, and the money he had left had he used to create a murderous suit that everyone ended up fighting about.

Tony Stark was a man who didn't care about anyone but himself, he didn't care whose blood he had on his hands, as long as he profited from it. That was the man he was before he changed, and once he tried to better his life, better his attitude and try and make his failures right, nothing had changed. He was still the same person that ended up hurting everything and everyone around him in some kind of way, and people would leave him for that. He had always believed that the ones who fled were the ones who weren't worthy to be his friends, or family. Fate would decide who came and left his life, but fate had left him with no one.

He dug his bare feet into the sand. Grabbing a handful, he rubbed it vigorously between his hands, the tiny grains digging into his palms, scratching his skin. He watched how the casual foaming waves dribbled down onto the sand, making gurgling and gashing sounds. A breeze of wind played with his messy hair. He shivered a little and put on his hoodie over his head, feeling the warmth of the cloth against his icy ears.

The question everyone would ask when they were on the verge of destroying themselves was presumably if they were going to be missed. Tony had an answer to that question. He knew some people; some fans maybe, were going to miss him. They'd cry over his death for a while, they would grief, visit his grave once in a while, but after one year or two, people would forget him. He's not something to be dwelled on anyway. All Tony ever wanted was to make a difference in this fucked up world. He didn't want to follow in the footsteps of his father; he didn't want to make the mistakes he had made. Unfortunately, he had failed desperately.

He pulled out a small note he had left in his pocket, a suicide note, to all who wanted to know why he had done it. To say goodbye.

Hey y'all,

Sorry you had to find my body like that, all messy and fucked up. Be sure to burn my body, kay? I don't want anyone committing necrophilia on me. Why, wondering why I killed myself? I know, I'm a coward but I couldn't live with that guilt anymore. Besides, no one needs me anyway, I serve no purpose to this world. So I'm better off somewhere else, Hell perhaps.

The house goes to my friend Rhodes, so does the money. Tell him to take good care of my buddy Jarvis, alright?

I'll miss ya,

Anthony Stark.

This message was awful, he thought, crumpling the note to a simple paper ball. He looked questioningly at it for a second before throwing it into the water, where it slowly submerged until it had fully disappeared underneath a blanket of waves. Why even write a note, he had no one to say goodbye to anyway.

Except for one person.

After the happenings with Bucky, Steve and Tony fighting, Tony had received a package from Steve, containing a telephone and a letter. He had read the letter, astonished because Steve had actually sent him something after the harsh words he had said to him.

If you ever need me, just give me a call.

Tony looked at the waves crashing into one another; he felt yet another breeze blowing from the tide, carelessly messing up his hair once again. Silence had been frightening to him while he was alone at home, but it seemed much more peaceful while sitting on the beach at night. It would be a waste to interrupt that silence with an abrupt gunshot, but it was necessary, or was it?

His hand fled into one of the pockets of his jogging pants, and his fingers wrapped around the old flip phone, clenching it anxiously. He didn't want to call Steve, because he'd promptly leave him again, wouldn't he? Besides, after all the harm he had done to Steve's friend, Bucky, he surely didn't want to see him again, like everyone. Especially after what Tony had done to make him disappear so abruptly by throwing the remote against the wall. Because that one was the real Steve right?

Right?

He pulled out the stupid phone and looked through the contact number list; there was only one number in it. He clicked on the number and selected 'Call.' He waited for a moment, nervously listening to the several long beeps he heard. A thousand of questions where running through his mind. Was Steve going to pick up? How was Tony going to tell him goodbye? What if Steve hated him? Tony sighed; this wasn't a good idea at all. He wanted to stop trying and hang up after a while, but then the beeping stopped.

"Hello?"

"Steve?" his voice faltered as he murmured into the phone.

"Tony?"

"Hi."

"Wow, it's been a while..." he said awkwardly, sitting down on the couch next to him. He was actually kind of happy Tony had finally called him. He had forgotten about him, at least, tried to forget about him in the past few months. It was hard, but he managed to carry on without the brunette by his side. Once in a while, he would miss how the genius used to annoyingly bother, including poking and him all the time.

"Yeah."

"What's going on? You magically disappeared. Even Clint can't find any news about you, except from the news that you've gone to an island with some girls."

"Oh. How's Featherface doing?"

"Good."

"Good..." Steve noticed the exhaustion in Tony's voice, there was a slight form of sadness as well.

Silence.

"Tony, are you really on an island partying with women?"

He heard an intake of a shaky breath followed by a slow whisper. "No."

"Where are you?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean? You must know where you are right? If you don't want to share that information with me, that's okay, I guess."

"I really don't know. I – I tried Steve. I really tried, like you said, but I can't do it. I can't – nothing's changed... but everything's changed at the same time..." he sounded much more defeated this time.

"Tony, calm down, what are you talking about?"

"Remember when you told me not to destroy myself? I didn't listen, I have never listened to you. I'm so sorry Steve. I didn't want to hurt you, or anyone. I didn't intend to destroy the entire world, neither to kill people – gosh, I've killed so many. "

"Tony..." he had no idea what the guy was rambling on about. He couldn't remember telling Stark not to destroy himself, so why did he? It could've been a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. Gosh, Tony sounded so tired. Had he even slept in these past few months?

"I'm so sorry." He was practically sobbing now. "I don't deserve any kind of love, I'm so, so sorry for everything I've done."

"Where are you?"

"..." he could only hear heavy sobbing on the other side of the line. It broke Steve's heart.

"I'm coming to get you."

"I just want to end it all Steve."

He froze, but he could still feel an unwanted chill prickling down his spine. Steve's eyes shot open. He definitely knew Stark had really meant everything he had just said, the guilt had finally taken a bite out of him, it had completely destroyed him. He had to take action right away; otherwise the police would find a dead Stark the next morning.

He ran over to the computer room where Natasha and Clint were drinking coffee together. Steve gestured Natasha to go to her computer, which she did as fast as she could since the soldier seemed quite panicked. He held the phone against his chest for a second, whispering her to trace the number to get Tony's location.

"No, you're not going to die like this. You're a hero. You're Iron Man, you can't die somewhere in the gutter. You deserve to die as a hero."

"I don't deserve anything. I've tried anything to better the fucking world, nothing's changed, nothing helped aside from everyone leaving me ... - that sounds so selfish. I'm sorry for being selfish Steve. I really am. I deserve to die, I know, you know."

"Tony, please hold on." he half-yelped.

"Steve listen... I'm sorry, but this is my fate."

"Tony no –"

"Everything I do is worthless, besides, nobody wants me to stay..."

"Stop saying that. I need you! I want you to stay." he glanced over at Natasha, who had poked him in his arm. He bent over; looking at the address her finger was pointed at. He was at the beach? That was about ten minutes away from here. Steve nodded in approvingly and ran over to the stairs that led to a door that separated the underground base from the normal outside world. He tiptoed his way up, faster than ever, and kicked the door open.

"Are you still there? Please, hold on Tony. I'll be with you in a couple of minutes. Let's talk" he panted, running down the streets in the middle of the night, still wearing his battle gear.

"I'm sorry, but I've waited too long... Take care of Jarvis will ya? He needs company sometimes. I don't want him to get lonely or sad. He's just a machine, but he still has feelings y'know..." he chuckled bitterly.

"Jarvis can't live – function without you Tony. He needs you, just like I do. We all need you..."

"I noticed."

Ouch. Steve remained silent for a moment, taking in the hurtful words and the guilty realization.

"So," Tony inhaled slowly. "Here's my goodbye" he whispered, sobs shaking his entire body. "No one will ever fucking cry over me... "

"Tony, no... Don't do anything just yet. I care, please! "Steve yelled into the phone, not caring if he'd wake up anyone in the street he was running through. He looked up, noticing he was only one minute away from the place Tony was at. He quickened his pace, asking his legs to move faster than they could.

"Don't do this. I care about you. "he said again, emphasising the word care, because he really did care about the broken-hearted man. God, what would he do without the genius in his life?

"Please don't cry over me Steve. It's okay. I'm not worth any tears. " he stammered into the phone, hot tears streaming down his face.

Just around this corner... "Tony no, I'm almost there. Just hold on for -"

Bang.

"Tony!"

The line went dead silent. The only things Steve could hear were his now louder getting footsteps, and an echo of a gunshot ringing in the distance.

Steve ran through the sand, eyes focused on the figure sitting near the sea in the distance. He wondered if the figure was still breathing, or if the sand surrounding him would be coloured with red. His heart was pounding out of his chest as he came closer to the figure. He soon recognized the form of a man, a man wearing a hoodie. He was sitting with his knees clenched to his chest, chin resting on his knees. Shattered pieces of glass and the bottom of what once used to be a bottle were lying around him, and so did a small puddle of orange or maybe brown liquid. Steve sniffed in the air, detecting the smell of alcohol and salt. He slowed down when he was only a small distance away from the man, his friend, staring at his back for a moment.

You're still alive. Thank god.

Steve slowly walked over to Tony, and sat down next to him. The smaller man didn't look his way but kept on staring at the now orange turning horizon. Observing his face, Steve noticed that Tony's eyes were small, but puffy and red, surrounded by bags that were black and purple. He was pale like a ghost, his lips were a soft colour of pink, but that was probably the only colour noticeable. Steve then looked down to the brunette's baggy clothes. The pullover that had once fit him perfectly was now loose and crumpled, and so were his jogging pants; he had lost a lot of weight.

He looked down at the gun Tony still held in his hand. Steve slowly moved his arm towards the weapon and grabbed it. He then stared at Tony for a brief moment, but the poor man still didn't show any signs of movement or reaction. The gun was slowly pulled away from Tony's rough, dirty hands. Steve saw the wounds on his swollen knuckles, he saw the enormous blue spot on his wrist, but he didn't say anything, not yet.

The yellow shining sun started rising from the ground. It filled the sky with mighty colours of red and splashed the clouds with endless rays of pink, repelling the darkness and moon.

"I used to watch the sunrise every morning." Steve began, sighing. "I realized as a young boy that the sunrise was tragically beautiful. It reminded me of how I had to enjoy the little things in life, but also how I had to carry on to keep getting to see them." He took of his blue hero helmet and laid it beside him in the sand, continuing his story.

"And... I don't know. Every time I look at the sun, I always think of my biggest accomplishments, but also of the time when I was just a little fragile boy who'd think he couldn't do anything."

Silence.

Tony peers Steve's way, face resolutely unimpressed. "It's funny how you're trying to make up an inspirational story but you're failing so hard."

He chuckled at the blunt response. "Well, I thought it was pretty inspiring."

"You're so awkward Steve."

"You're so broken Tony."

"I know, my luck."

The air felt refrigerated, fortunately less cold than the ice Steve used to live in. Tony's pink lips tinged with blue and gently chattering teeth he wrapped his thin pullover around him tighter. The blonde noticed and silently shoved himself closer to the genius, until their arms were touching.

"You haven't shot yourself."

"I know." He was still overlooking the sea, offering no ongoing conversation of his own.

"You shot the bottle instead."

"I know."

"Why?"

The genius shrugged, inhaling a deep breath. He looked down at his feet. "I don't know."

"You don't want to die." he whispered. "You just want to be saved."

"I can handle myself, thanks." came his reply.

Steve felt frustrating boiling up inside of him. Tony was once again pretending to be okay when he clearly wasn't. He wondered why no one had taken the time to search for the real Tony behind those fancy glasses. Why had nobody tried to fix the man in the suit?

"Even a superhero needs saving sometimes. Even a man who wears a suit protecting him from all kinds of missiles or weapons, from all kinds of hits can get hurt. The suit..." he paused, thinking. "And neither superpowers can save you from a broken heart."

"I'm not a superhero."

"What are you then?"

"A failure. A fraud. Basically everything that starts with the letter F. A fucktard."

"What about fantastic?"

He swore he could see a small smile appearing his face. "I meant all the negative things pal." Tony said, emphasizing the word 'negative.'

"You're fabulous, fantastic, funny, fascinating. Don't drag yourself down like that." This caught Tony's attention; he turned his head towards him. Steve's heart skipped a beat as he stared in to his black emotionless eyes.

"I'm a monster Steve, we both know it." he murmurs, his wide eyes becoming glossy with tears. He looked away, his head turning towards the sea again. Steve looked away as well. An awkward silence took place as they both stared into the distance of the endless water.

The sea was tainted; it was no longer a pool of blackness, nor did it appear blue. Instead it looked a metallic, shining grey, glistening as the spears of sunlight pierced through the clouds and danced over the surface, creating all sorts of flickering Morse codes.
Steve wanted to convince Tony of how amazing he actually was, how he had invented incredible things that had saved the world, but he just couldn't see it himself. He was so submerged in negative thoughts of guilt and despair that he just couldn't think of the good things he had done.

Maybe, no one had ever told him that he was in fact a good person.

Steve looked over at his friend, eyes watering with worry and pity. He needed someone to tell him that the world needed him, that he was loved.

"Can I hug you?" the blonde asked spontaneously.

"What the hell?"

"Can I hug you?"

Tony shrugged, uninterested in the offer. "Whatever."

Steve leaned in closer and wrapped his strong arms around Tony's fragile body. The hug was awkward, but it somehow brought a sudden peace they both had never known before, it was a calming of the storms in Iron Man's heart and a new experience in Captain America's mind.

"We're not gonna kiss are we?" Tony asked after half a minute, awkwardly distancing his face from the supersoldier.

"Let's just start with a good night's sleep first, you look like a zombie." Steve said, pulling him back again, causing his hoodie to shove off his head, it revealed his messy hair. Steve chuckled.

"Lay down and shut your eyes and mouth Stark. Sleep for goodness sake."

"Why thanks for the compliment Steve. I appreciate it." Tony laid his head on his shoulder, glaring at the supersoldier.

"Sleep Tony. I'll wake you up when you look less dead."

"Fine." he murmured with a tiny sigh.

They both watched as the sun was peeking out of the horizon, its brilliant rays already shined brightly and began to warm the cold air. A soothing breeze of warm air caressed their faces, leaving them both to enjoy the beauty of Mother Nature.

"Steve?" He kept his face buried in Steve's shoulder, his dark brown tufty hair sticking out behind like he'd just woken up from a long nap. His fingers curled into the fabric of the Captain America suit, not clasping it tightly, but just enough to reassure the blonde he was feeling comfortable and most of all, safe.

"Yes?" he looked at him, only to see that he was half asleep already, his eyes opening at his reply.

"Thanks."

Steve had wanted to ask him for what exactly, but he knew that there would come no respond, and he knew why Tony had thanked him anyway. There was no need to ask. He had saved him, actually saved him. It felt different than saving a civilian, it was heavier than saving an entire floating city; he felt like he had finally accomplished something big, something that had been bugging him and others for a long, long time. Tony had finally let someone in; he had finally expressed his emotions. Who knows for how long he had been wearing that awful mask of lies, laughs and sassiness. Who knows how many times Tony had tried to destroy himself, maybe even without noticing it.

Tony Stark was a broken man. A man whose heart was shattered into a thousand pieces, all was lost in the past and present, but Steve was there to glue him back together, to keep him alive. He'd even go back into the past to collect all the other shards of his broken heart that he had left behind. He'd travel to the future to prevent him from getting hurt, but now, all he could do was support him in the present. All he could do now was to try and keep him together, and although it might get difficult, he'd try.

Steve Rogers was one of the few people who'd really cared about Tony Stark, he was one of the few who'd fly a rocket to the moon and back to make him happy.

He wrapped a strong arm around his friend and smelled the scent of his messy hair. His gaze then shifted to the full on shining sun that was sending its rays down on them. He furrowed his brows and nodded slowly, determined he was going to fix the heart of the iron man that was shattered into a thousand pieces.

Tada, my first ever written angsty Stony fanfiction. Let me know what you guys think of it down in the comments. To clear some things up, Tony was suffering from depression and derealisation/personalization in this one-shot, or tripleshot, idk. He had lost all sense of reality and could barely remember himself in the mirror. All of this scared him maniacally, so he started to punch the mirror, he tried to destroy the stranger, but he ended up destroying himself.

Luckily, Steve was there to save him.

Oh gosh, I need a person like Steve in my life. Trying to save yourself if pretty hard y'know? For the record, I'm also suffering from those complicated disorders. It's horrible.

Buuuut, I'm carrying on, I'm putting all my time and effort in writing, reading and drawing now. Even though it's hard, I'll make it. I hope.

I just want a person like Steve in my life, someone who actually cares.

I guess that's difficult.

Anyway, thanks for reading. You really love reading books or you must really love Stony if you've made it this far. Congrats, you deserve a cookie. Speaking of, if you've got an idea for a Stony one-shot, would you please message me? I'd love to hear and write it.

;D

So this story was;

9025 words long,

19 pages long in Word, (Calibri 11)

And it took me about three days to write.

Once again, thanks for reading!

Toodles,

Skye.