The blood dripped down his fingers, tracing patterns on the tile floor. The pure white tiles of the bathroom floor were now stained with his misery, the red of past grievances, pain, and suffering. It didn't matter to him that outside of this door, his own party seemed to pound on in full force.

All he really cared about was the pain he could inflict upon himself, to get rid of the inner pain, to make his worries and his stress float out of his mind, even for only a single second as the cold metal of the razor descended onto the tan skin of his wrist.

The pain from the razor was a burning sensation, a sharp tinge that spread up his arm unto his soul. The regret he would feel later as he covered the scars would be tremendous, but at the moment, the addiction to feel physical pain was too great to stop him.

It had been quite a few months since the last time he did this, nine months to be exact, but his addiction to punish himself for non- perfection was overwhelming, and so he slashed the sharp blade against his skin once again. The pain was his pleasure, but he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve pleasure.

His happy, egotistical façade seemed to be all he had left to hold on to, as the real him was helpless, hopeless, and worthless. The real him couldn't do anything right. The real him was a failure.

No one knew this side of him, not even his best friend or team. It was a well hidden secret, and if they knew, they surely would be disgusted, would hate him for the rest of his time with them. Rejection was something he feared, and so he hid the cruel reality of who he really was, less someone find out his miserable way of life.

He had been rejected many times before, and he couldn't stand to be rejected yet again. He had a significant number of losses in his life, and he didn't want to lose anymore. To lose anyone else terrified him, he just couldn't go on if they left him like everyone seemed to do.

His father was a cold hearted bastard. It was obvious that his father was part of the reason he was like this, was a complete mess of a man. His father ignored him, and when he didn't ignore him, he yelled in drunken rampage at his only son. He was a neglected, lonely child who grew up alone, with no one to hold him, no one to sing him to sleep when he had nightmares. His father blamed him for his own failure, blamed him for his mother leaving, for inventions not working, for not be able to find and retrieve the single greatest thing he had ever created.

No, he didn't blame Steve for his father not loving him. Steve was too kind, too great, and far too perfect to be blamed. The great Captain America seemed to outshine him in every way, shape, or form. It hurt to be in the shadow of his father's greatest accomplishment, but he could live with it. After all, he couldn't stand to lose yet another person.

That, and Tony loved him dearly, another reason why he was such a worthless piece of trash.

He didn't know if the great Captain was gay. He honestly was way too scared to find out. If Steve ever found out, Tony would be mortified. He loved Steve with all his heart, but it was obvious that he would never find that out. At least, not from him anyway.

He realized he was gay when he felt no attraction to his best friend of many years, Pepper Potts. Surprisingly, Pepper was cool about it, she wasn't disgusted, she didn't leave him like he thought she would when she found out about his homosexuality.

He didn't trust anyone to be as accepting as Pepper, and so his team could never find out.

Pressing the cold steel back into his wrist, he cut again over an open wound, watching as blood poured out, dripping on to his black jeans and staining them with crimson fire. His blood was warm, and he let out a dry sob, bringing his knees up to his chest. Resting his head on his knees, he sighed softly as the blood made patterns into the floor yet again.

It wasn't what he wanted, but he didn't care. This was life, and life was not fair. He never counted on life to live up to his fairy tale expectations, and he knew only in his dreams would his perfect prince come and sweep him off his feet, take him away from all the pain and destruction in his life.

Staring at the blood- stained blade in his hands he sobbed once more, throwing the razor at a mirror, content to hear the shatter of it. He didn't look as the glass pieces fell to the floor, falling to pieced just as his life had already done.

Tears made their way down his face as he wished for someone to save, for life to end, or for end to this crushing pain that seemed to be never ending. Tears dripped onto the floor, mingling quietly with his tears of blood that continued to cry out from his wrist.

Finally, the blood stopped. Shaking as he stood, he grabbed a green towel, throwing it over the blood on the floor. Grabbing gauze wrap from the marble counter, he ran turned on the tap, running his cuts under the ice cold water. He shivered slightly.

Wrapping the gauze around his now clean cuts, he tore off a piece of medical tape with his teeth, placing it over the gauze to keep it in place. He then rolled his tee- shirt over the cuts, putting on his black tuxedo jacket. Inspecting himself to make sure that no part of his secret showed, he looked into the remaining pieces of the now- shattered mirror. Dabbing at his eyes with a rag, he sighed softy.

Making sure all the blood was cleaned up from the floor, he threw the towel in the trash, placing toilet paper and other trash over it as so no one could see it. With one last sigh, he exited the clean bathroom, with no signs of what just went on there.

"You took quite a bit in there, Tony, you okay?" A concerned Steve asked, his blonde eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah, Capsicle. Just making sure I looked good for the ladies," Tony replied with a bright smile, wiggling his eyebrows with a sparkle in his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Steve walked away, never noticing how Tony's eyes never met his completely. He never noticed the sharp pain that flashed so quickly through Tony's eyes as he walked away and he sure as hell never heard the words Tony would never say, lost in the echo of his misery.

"Don't walk away from me this time… Can't you see I need you here?"

I don't own the Avengers. This is dedicated to my best friend, who helped me stop cutting, and saved my life.