For hellathedeath, since she gave me the idea!

Every time his father went off on a trip to find a dead man, Tony felt a little lonelier. Every time he came back alone and drowned himself in bottles while recounting their 'glory day,' Tony would hate a little more. Every time his mother cried herself to sleep because she'd not heard any news in the allotted time Howard said he would call, Tony got quieter. Every time Tony said the pledge of allegiance in school, he felt sicker.

He was smart. At 15, he got into Yale, Harvard, Oxford, and MIT. He chose Oxford. He made friends with other expats and mocked his homeland, snorting over stories about the red, white, and blue captain, skipping over how they'd actually made a small boy feel alienated, unworthy, and alone. He excelled with these cold-hearted socialites, drinking fine wines and smoking cigars on Friday nights so he could ignore the calls from his mother where she would cry into his hear about his father's absence.

By 17, he had followed his father into the bottle. And laughed about that too with his fellow expats and foreign friends. He didn't go home over the summers. Instead he jaunted around Europe in a car he made himself, sampling foreign beers and spirits, kissing beautiful women who cried when he left. He got very good at being sober while drunk. That fall, his father got lost for two and a half months. So he took an interest in the company, discovered how his father ran things, and made changes that bettered the business. Submitted some of his own plans. He went home for these months. It was too hard to run an American business from overseas.

His mother cried when he came home in tailored suits.

He grinned as profits went up.

Grudgingly he went to social functions as his mother's escort, smiling while she bragged to the other ladies about his accomplishments. He stopped minding when their daughters straightened and took notice, smiling back at his advances. He asked to come when he could take a different one home each time. It turned out daddy issues didn't mean a thing between the sheets where they complimented his smooth skin, bright eyes, and saucy talented mouth.

His father arrived safe and sound. Tony was in a board meeting. Howard stormed in just while Tony was in the middle of dressing down one of the senior members. Tony had been very pleased to see the man's flushed face and bowed shoulders. Howard kicked Tony's feet off the corner of the long table and sent him off.

So Tony was off to England again. Back to school. Finished his degree and took a tour of Europe. Again. Got drunk in France, got drunker in Italy. Explored Egypt with the few brave souls that would follow him, drinking and smoking across the continent.

Eventually his accounts were frozen, only to be released if Tony went on payroll at Stark Enterprises. To Tony stormed home and hijacked his father's workshop, keeping all the best ideas for himself. Still, Stark Enterprises succeeded wildly.

Howard finally invited Tony along on one of his expeditions. Tony declined. Howard asked twice. Tony gave pause. Howard admitted it was his last one. He was getting too damn old for this. Tony smirked and agreed. Maria insisted coming along as well.

Tony got ill last minute and stayed behind, working on a suit of armour. A month later, Tony got the distress call. He was in the suit, on his way to the Arctic as soon as he transferred the signal to his suit. It flew well enough.

The ship was taking on water. They'd found the captain. The ship had hit something. Tony, we're sorry. We didn't...when you...love yo...orry...like this...

His booted feet hit the deck as he searched around for his bastard parents. Cursing into the blowing snow and harsh wind he found his father.

Howard.

Hunched over himself with a stomach wound that oozed sluggishly red while lips stayed white.

His mother.

Maria.

Floating in the deep, skin paler than normal, eyes wide and staring.

It was horrific, he decided, but remained.

The rescue ship got their after he'd laid his parents out on the lifeboat.

They guided him away, but he shook off their hands and jetted back to New York, freezing, furious, and so very very lost.

Later, after the funeral, after his assumption of the newly-renamed Stark Industries, he discovered that he hated living by himself in a giant house (filling part of the silence with parties and women), he heard that they'd recovered something else from his father's sinking ship. No. Someone else.

Captain America. Steven Rogers. Alive.

Tony hated him.

He went to the facility and saw him from behind one-way glass. Strong. Independent. Righteous. Perfect. America.

Tony hated him more.

Perfect male specimen that lived while his parents were now empty husks that couldn't even pretend to love him.

So he seethed quietly and left without ever having said hello, hands balled to fists in his pockets while his face told the world he was fine.

Shield's people told his people Steve wanted to meet. Tony was suddenly very busy.

But Steve was persistent and found his way into the world and into Tony's office.

"You look just like him," Steve said, hands quietly laced in front of him.

"Thanks. Really. I'm sorry you came all this way, Captain Rog—"

"Oh please, Steve." He smiled earnestly. Wholesome. Something to be proud or fight for.

Tony hated it.

"Of course, Steve," he purred. "Listen. This is a really bad time for me, company take-over and new product releases. Marketing's currently a nightmare, and everyone's working so hard. And seeing as I'm needed more here, I'm afraid I can't take a lunch break with you to discuss the late Mr. and Mrs. Stark. So kind of you to visit, Captain Rogers. I do appreciate it," he overwhelmed, moving about his office while subtly herding the man towards the door. "I'm afraid if you want to see me, you'll have to make an appointment next time. The business world is so fluid. One can never be sure of one's time."

He looked a bit lost and confused, hands now wringing one another as Tony shut the door in his face and then allowed himself to shudder. He stalked to his desk and jammed a finger down on the comm directly to Pepper's bluetooth. "If he ever gets in here without my know-so again, you're fired."

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

Such it was that Tony spent a great deal of time dodging the good captain, seething any time his name appeared in headlines, actually flinching when his name came up in conversation. A few unfortunate lab assistants were fired due to the latter.

He got the idea when he took some time off and was relaxing into the detail work of the suit he hadn't tinkered with in years. It was terribly out-dated now. So he set about upgrading, fine-tuning, and improving until it was something that he could look at with pride. And seeing as there were very few things he took pride in these days... It certainly wasn't himself. His creations for SI and his business saavy were about it.

But when he accidentally blasted a hole through the wall, the idea started churning hungrily. Took less than an afternoon to form. No one knew he had the suit. It could be the perfect alter-ego. Maybe inflict a little of the same ruin on one Steve Rogers.

He took it for a test run the next day. Stole some pricey jewellery from an upscale shop downtown to get his ego on the radar. Felt rather pleased when 'the iron man' was all over the news the next day. He looked appropriately outraged whenever it was mentioned, however. Inside, Tony was jubilant. He quickly robbed four other jewellery stores. Smirked over the lip of his coffee mug at the news. No one knew who 'the iron man' was. No one knew his motive.

Tony hid the millions of dollars worth of jewellery in his workshop at home until he could sell it on the black market. Or...do something with it. It was unimportant.

In the space of two months, he was a household name. Everyone knew Iron Man. The government made promises about stopping him. Iron Man had escalated from the petty jewellery store thefts. Now Iron Man was graffitiing the Statue of Liberty. Painted the faces of Mount Rushmore. Turning the Washington Monument into rubble. Hosted a party wildly destructive at Fort McHenry. And essentially pissed on a great deal of other special American places. (Paint was removable, and the Washington Monument was really hidden in Canada.)

So of course, Shield was gearing to get involved.

It wasn't until he rampaged through Brooklyn that Steve met him with any real fervour though.

"What do you want?" he demanded, blocking Tony's shots with his shield. The shield Howard made. For the man that Howard paid more attention to than his son.

"A little chaos isn't enough?" Tony retorted, whirling around to get in a booted kick.

Steve grunted, uniform charmingly ripped, dark glee rising in Tony at the bruises marring the skin beneath. "No—why are you doing this?"

Tony leaned in, let his mechanised voice be dull and menacing. "Because I know how much it'll hurt you."

Reeling back, Steve's face displayed all the desired shock and horror.

It was so perfect Tony laughed.

"Why do you hate me?"

It wasn't the first time Tony'd heard the question. Maybe it was time that it was the last. "Will the answer help you, Steve?"

The man jerked, hearing the sneer even through the fake voice. "I just..." He ducked his head, and stubborn couldn't have been written more clearly on his face. "Why me?" he asked, the last word coming out strangled. "What did I do?"

The feelings all rush up and Tony couldn't do more than hiss, the sound coming through his voice changer, alien and angry.

Steve took another step back.

"Poor boy from the 40s!" Tony spat. "America's golden boy that everyone loves!"

"What?"

"You took the parents from a boy, you know."

Steve looked, if possible, more confused. People were beginning to poke their heads from their hiding places, now the sound of destruction had lulled. Tony blasted the side of a building and they vanished again. "Stop that! They're innocent."

"No one's innocent, Steve."

"In this fight they are!" he insisted stubbornly. "They don't have anything to do with our fight."

"Oh, our fight. Right. Of course. Do you even know why you're fighting."

"I'm fighting to protect them!"

Tony snorted. "You couldn't even protect yourself, and you brought everyone else down with you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Steve blocked the wild punch and flipped him over.

"Course you don't. You were 'dead.' No, you were missing, giving people hope."

"And how's that my fault?" His eyes flashed and he dodged the punch Tony threw at him, whirling back out of arm's reach.

"Because you took him away!" Tony shrieked, no amount of voice-changing hiding the hysteria there.

"Took who away!"

Tony blasted him with both hands to avoid answering the question. They went a few more rounds of pin-blast-hit-shield until Tony was shaking with rage, pinned beneath Steve.

"Took. Who. Away." His eyes promised death if he didn't comply. Maybe that was for the best. "Answer me!" Steve shook him.

This was the worst. He was already bleeding in a fair amount of places. The suit was supposed to protect him, but with that damned shield... He coughed.

"Take the helmet off."

"You say the funniest things..." he sneered.

"Took who away?"

"Just because you keep asking doesn't mean you'll get an answer." Tony grunted, trying to throw Steve off. He was merely slammed into the ground again. "Fuck you!" Another slam.

"You will answer me."

"You're so damn ignorant! Do you know what your life cost!" Steve stared at him, patient, fierce. America. "I hate you! I hate your face!" Tony shrieked. "I hate what you stand for! I hate that fucking shield; I hate your name, I hate your eyes, I hate your speeches, your art, your manners, your interviews, your donations, your charities, your good works, you fucking monkey!"

"Who are you?" Steve demanded.

"And the worst part is? You don't even know how selfish you are!" He was laughing now. High and hysteria-laced. "You think you're giving back. You don't know anything." His voice dropped low.

"Who did I take away?"

"The parents of a small boy."

"How?"

"You killed them. It's your fault, you know," he babbled, lost in his hate.

"I didn't ask for it," Steve said hollowly, voice raspy like dry leaves down a street.

"Well you got it, boyo." Fuck it, he decided. "And you took my parents down instead. Both of 'em. Not just my father. He loved you more, you know. He could hardly look at me. Always off...searching for Captain America! Oh, and 'back in the day, he used to...' And 'back in the day, he and Steve would...'" Steve's eyes flew wide, mouth slack.

"Oh God."

"Figured it out, golden boy?" he snapped. "Good old Howard. Best of friends with Steve Rogers. Spent more time looking for you than he did being my dad. 'Oh Tony, don't bother me now.' 'Tony, I'll look at your project later.' So tell me, Steve, what good are you if you just rip families apart! What good are you that you make everything fall to pieces!"

"Stark," he said blankly, leaning back and slumping, still straddling the suit.

"Fuck you."

"Tony. So that's why you wouldn't see me."

Hands now free, Tony slammed a fist into the side of Steve's head. "Don't go throwing your wounded looks at me!"

"You want to kill me then?" Steve asked, holding a gloved hand to his head. Bleeding. Red. Onto the red glove.

"I want to erase you."

"Then kill me," Steve said simply.

Tony paused.

"I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to be here. This isn't my time. I should have died in the ice. I shouldn't be here." Steve looked down at the pavement. "I'm sorry about your parents. That... It wasn't my fault. But I'm sorry."

His lip curled up. "Shut up. You self-righteous, sanctimonious shit."

Steve looked up at him sharply.

"Screw you. You can live in this miserable world then. Have a nice life, Rogers." And then jetted into the sky, hiding in the clouds until he could sink home under the cover of darkness, dismantle the suit, sink it in the ocean, and pretend to get hit by a car. Stupid Drunk Tony Stark, hit by a car. Oh yeah, but he'll be okay. He signed himself out of the hospital, the picture of America's Icon looking small and lost amidst the rubble of his hometown bringing a vicious smile to his face. Maybe tomorrow he'd take over Hammer. He could actually do something with the company's resources.

Steve wouldn't say anything. And Iron Man would drop off the company's radar. And Steve would live in this futuristic world, alone and miserable. Maybe it wasn't such a bad ending after all.