Work Text:
"Happy birthday to me,"
A low, solemn voice rang out through the new Avengers facility, echoing off of the metallic walls and filling the air inside like a thick fog that would cause your lungs to bleed if you happened to inhale just enough of it.
"Happy birthday to me,"
Tony sat cross-legged on the ground next to a large window overlooking the area surrounding the building. Lights flickered in the distance, reflecting on the glass and lingering in his line of sight.
"Happy birthday dear Tony,"
His voice was raspy and his throat was dry, not that he minded. It was three twenty-five in the morning, and today was a special day for Tony; at least it would have been if he hadn't royally fucked everything up between him and the only people he actually cared about.
Actually, scratch that. It was Steve who wanted to be a hard ass. It was Steve who had pitted everyone against each other because he couldn't handle someone having more power than him. Fuck that guy and his star spangled sense of superiority, and his perfect blonde hair. Yeah, his hair was stupid and as smooth as Tony around an attractive woman, which was not uncommon. Because Tony was awesome.
"Happy birthday,"
He was Tony-goddamn-Stark, the guy who didn't give a shit about what people thought of him or his decisions. He could handle a few overpowered, stuck up superheroes who were incredibly bitter over certain 'situations', that were not Tony's fault, mind you.
Well, not entirely.
"...To me."
Tony leaned back on his hands, tilting his head to gaze up at the ceiling. As if on cue, the voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y rang out through the building.
"Happy birthday, sir."
"Thanks."
A deafening, borderline agonizing silence took up the wide open space around him, and Tony let his gaze drift around the oversized living room, the lack of a certain group of people feeling uncomfortably foreign.
Steve was off in la-la-land with James Barnes, singing songs from musicals and sharing life stories. Rhodey was in another country due to a military-type shit-fest that Tony wanted no part in. He had made a conscious decision to not contact Peter. Bruce and Thor were nowhere to be found, and Vision was off doing god knows what.
And the others? He hadn't heard from them in weeks, and he doubted they would actually remember his birthday.
And if they did, they probably hated him too much to spare a few good wishes.
Tony stumbled to his feet and leaned on the glass window, resting his head against the cool surface. His hot breath clouded the glass in front of him, effectively obscuring the view of the forest surrounding him and giving him nothing to focus on besides his thoughts. A reel of everything that had happened these past few months replayed in his mind like a slideshow; every detail etched into his brain like fine print or intricate carvings on ivory.
Suddenly, a flash of rage spread through Tony's veins like a crack of lightning and he let out a string of curses, taking a step backwards and crashing his fist against the glass in front of him with such force that a small, but noticeable crack appeared in its place.
"Possible security breach detected. Shall I run a scan of the building, sir?"
His knuckles were throbbing, now, as was his head. A migraine seeped into the space above his left eye and he was sure that this night couldn't possibly get any worse. Nobody was going to make this worse. He wouldn't allow it
"No. Leave me the hell alone."
Fists still clenched together, his nails digging into his palms, Tony stomped over to the bar and swung open a cabinet filled with the most expensive alcohol that he could find. A shot wasn't enough to contain his anger. He needed more. He needed to distract himself.
"Very well, sir."
This is a bad idea.
He downed the entire bottle in a few long, drawn out gulps, the faint effects of the liquid already causing his brain to become fuzzy; as if he was an inactive television channel and his thoughts were nothing more than static.
This is a terrible idea.
One more couldn't hurt.
Why the hell am I doing this? I have three charity events to attend tonight.
By his fourth bottle, Tony was leaning against the counter, barely being able to stand on his own. He could hear himself in the back of his mind, conversating with the empty bottle in hand. He seemed to be arguing with the object because he scoffed and tossed it across the room, a thousand green shards of glass scattering over the expanse of the carpet.
"Frrrriday... Clean that up, will you?"
No response.
"Well screw you too, then...." Tony slurred, collapsing to the ground in a heap.
He was laughing hysterically in a fit of drunken bliss, but in reality, he hadn't felt this shitty in a while.
He supposed he should be glad that the others weren't around to see him in such a pathetic state.
When Tony awoke the next morning, he was tucked carefully into his bed, not able to remember how he ended up there. Almost immediately, a bile rose in his throat and he felt his stomach drop with gravity.
Oh shit.
He was about to throw himself from the confines of his unusually comfortable bed when a deathly strong hand gripped his forearm, the other lifting a bucket to his face just as he projectile vomited the contents of his stomach in a matter of seconds. By the time he was finished, his face was flushed a deep red and he gagged at the taste in his mouth, sweat gliding down his face in beads. His limbs were like lead on the mattress, sore and weighted in place.
"Feel better?"
That voice. That fucking voice. Tony's eyes shot open at the sound, his eyes resting on the face of none other than Steve-motherfucking-Rogers.
A bearded Steve Rogers?
"What are you doing here?" Tony deadpanned, not in the mood to deal with the ultra patriotic blondie this early in the morning. He turned his head away from the man who loomed at his side, focusing on the clock near his bed.
Twelve in the afternoon. Nevermind.
"Friday detected a rise in your blood-alcohol levels and sent me an alert about the situation. I came as fast as I could.." Steve trailed off, his worried gaze shifting to a look of judgment. "...How long has it been?"
Tony stared into his eyes angrily, even more so at the disappointment that he was so clearly flaunting to the hungover man in front of him. He had no right to be anything other than sorry, and that was a fact.
Eventually, Tony averted his gaze, his shoulders dropping from their original, hiked up position. With a hint of shame dancing under his eyelids, Tony spoke under his breath, as if someone else might hear him when he knew damn well that Steve had come alone.
"Almost two years."
"You should know better."
As much as Tony hated to admit it, Steve had a point.
"Do you really think you're in any position to be giving me advice?"
"I'm only trying to help, Tony."
Granted, Steve could have just left him on the floor to drown in his own puke, or to drink himself to death, but he traveled all the way to Tony's home to check on his ex-friend. That had to mean something, right?
Sighing, Tony flopped back onto the bed, lifting a hand up to his lips to cover a cough that followed. Steve's behavior wasn't all that surprising. He had always been the kind to think of others before himself, considering that he was a wanted man at this point in time. Apparently, that list included Tony.
Wait, Tony had forgotten to remove Steve from his list of emergency contacts. No wonder he was here. Of course.
"I don't need your pity."
"Of course you don't." Steve cracked a small smile at Tony's all too familiar stubbornness. "That's why you couldn't even get dressed on your own."
Tony would have gasped if he hadn't had at least a small shred of self-respect, but the prospect of Steve undressing him and treating him like a child was far too embarrassing. He just hoped he hadn't seen his emoji underwear. Dear god, his emoji underwear.
"You know, you never struck me as an emoji underwear type of guy."
Great!
"Pepper gave those to me as a gift a few years back. She said it represented my 'constantly changing emotions'."
"You sure you didn't pick those things out yourself?"
Tony scoffed, turning his back to Steve playfully and yanking the covers over his shoulders. "Yeah, cause every billionaire shops in the clearance section of Target."
"You own a cat t-shirt that can be found at any souvenir shop in times square."
"I thought it was charming, Mr. skin tight spandex." Tony waved Steve off lazily, peering over his shoulder. "Need I remind you that your original outfit consisted of royal blue tights and booty shorts?"
Steve let out a laugh in response to Tony's teasing, looking down at the ground momentarily and wringing his hands together. The two hadn't talked much since the fight, so a light hearted conversation with him was refreshing, to say the least.
A few moments of silence passed between the two, and Steve eventually decided on reaching for a water bottle that sat on the floor by his feet and handing it to Tony, who downed the contents in under ten seconds, proceeding to toss the bottle to his side and flop back down onto the bed.
"...You know, if you ever need to talk about anything, you can talk to me.." Steve muttered, looking down softly at Tony's tired eyes, his puffy cheeks, his ruffled hair... He was in bad shape, no matter how good he was at hiding it. Tony had never been one to share his innermost struggles, anyways. "I don't want you to resort to hurting yourself."
"I signed up for a friend, not a therapist," Tony said, not missing a beat. "and as of now, you're not either."
Steve's breath hitched in his throat, a pang in his abdomen erupting like an active volcano and spreading a burning sensation throughout his chest as if hot coal had been dumped into his lungs.
So much for lighthearted conversation.
"I hope we can change that, in time."
Tony blinked, furrowing his eyebrows together. His words were laced with sorrow and he had to stop his voice from cracking under the pressure.
"Yeah."
Tony's voice was muffled underneath the covers, but the betrayal in his tone did not unnoticed as he curled into a fetal position with a pillow situated in between his legs. Carefully, Steve placed his hand on Tony's forearm in a comforting gesture, half expecting Tony to stiffen under his touch.
He didn't. In fact, he leaned into his palm just an inch, but enough to warm Steve's hand with his body heat and his heart with how hesitant and strained the small movement felt under his fingers.
The two sat like that for a long while, and eventually, Tony was snoring comfortably. Without another word, Steve stood from the chair and turned off the lights in Tony's room, stepping out into the hallway and leaving him to get some well-needed rest.
~~~
When Tony finally gained the strength to leave his room, the first thing he noticed was that there was no sign of broken glass on his carpet, neither was there any sign of a certain super-soldier. The second thing he noticed was that all of his alcohol had been replaced with water bottles, a wad of cash sitting on his countertop.
Of course, he knew exactly who would do something like that. It was the same man who felt inclined to pay a billionaire back for 20 bottles of liquor.