Angst

"Sergeant Barnes?"

Tony closed his eyes and grimaced, knowing exactly what was happening on the screen in front of him, having had seen this scene replayed at least a hundred times now. He wasn't sure why he had made sure to take it from the base in Siberia, and really wasn't sure why it had become a part of his daily life to watch it at any given point in his day, but he only knew that he couldn't stop. It was like some masochistic addiction that his mind wouldn't allow him reprieve from, filling a need within himself that could never be satiated.

"Howard!"

His eyes opened again at the same moment they always did, just as Bucky's human hand wrapped around his mother's throat, the quiet gasp and choke of her voice being extinguished beneath his hold.

"Why do I keep doing this to myself?" he whispered, tossing the tablet onto his bedside table. "I watch it over and over like there's something that I'm missing, but I know every frame in even the smallest detail. I can hear their voices in my head like I'm right there, but I keep putting myself through it like there's something I could do to change the outcome."

He leaned over and reached out to turn the small lamp off, taking a long sigh when darkness filled the room and he tried to prepare himself for sleep. Nightmares came to him nearly every night now, and he knew that watching the death of his parents everyday wasn't helping the situation at all. But that's the thing about addictions; they make sure that their needs are fulfilled with no regards to your own.

"I don't know, (Y/N), I'm starting to think I might be losing it," he continued, rolling towards your side of the bed, "well, some would say that I lost it years ago. But this time, I think I'm starting to believe it."

~~~

The next morning, after a listless sleep filled with dreams that played on repeat and burned their images into his memory, Tony stumbled wearily into the kitchen at the Avengers compound with his pajama pants on backwards, no shirt and one sock. His hair was more chaotic than its usual styled messiness, and the dark circles under his eyes startled even himself when he saw his ghastly reflection in the stainless steel of the toaster.

"Damn, who died?" he scoffed, turning the appliance away, only to see himself again in the refrigerator door. "Oh, I guess that would be me."

"Tone, you look like hell," Rhodey answered plainly, lowering his newspaper long enough to look, "and you lost a sock."

"I did?" he mumbled, looking down at his feet with a weary shrug. "Eh, I'll find it later. This is what I get for trying to dress myself. (Y/N) wasn't here to lay out my wardrobe for me this morning."

Rhodey didn't reply, but rather watched quietly with eyes filled with concern as his friend continued to stumble around the room, pouring a sloppy cup of coffee that left the counter wet and succeeding to burn toast only to throw it away without attempting to make more. He finally settled on an apple for breakfast that he took two bites from before tossing it back into the basket.

"Really, man? You're just wasting food now, and you can't survive on coffee forever."

"Watch me."

"I have been, Tony," James argued, slamming his paper onto the table top with a loud slap, leaning back in his chair, "I've been watching you for months, wandering around this building like a shadow of Tony Stark. You didn't sleep again last night, did you?"

"Get off my back, Rhodes. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look great," he nodded with a stone expression, "and people are starting to notice. You've been missing meetings right and left, Stark Enterprises may as well just shut down now if you're just going to keep ignoring the fact that your stocks have dropped by the thousands in the last week, and let's not get started about how things are around here-"

"Great, let's not. Best idea you've had all goddamn week," Tony snapped, throwing his cup into the sink with a crash and the sound of breaking glass filling the room. He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned to leave, his exhausted frame reluctantly carrying him back to his room and the one place that he could find focus. He held the phone out in front of himself, turning into the elevator and waiting for the doors to close, so absentminded that he didn't even enter in his destination. He swiped a finger over the glass of the device, the screen coming to life and waiting for his command.

"FRIDAY, play it again."

~~~

"You just gonna stare at it all day, or you gonna eat that?" Sam chuckled, nudging you with his elbow as he passed by your spot at the table. "I made breakfast because someone bitched that they hadn't had a decent meal since we moved in here, and when I do, you poke at it like I set a dead animal on your plate."

"Hmm?"

"Really? Did you hear any of that?"

"Yeah," you startled from your trance, "yeah, sure, whatever." You stood and took your plate, thoughtlessly dumping the food from it into the nearby garbage despite Sam's groans and interruption to try to stop you. "Thanks, Sam."

"What the hell is with you today?"

Still lost in your own mind, you waved him off dismissively and crossed into the living room at the hideout that Steve had secured for his team right after he had rescued everyone from the Raft prison. You hadn't started the fight on Cap's side, in fact, you were one of the most vocal adversaries on Tony's side, and never in a million years would you have thought to find yourself here. But nonetheless, that's how the battle played out, and when Tony wouldn't stop fighting until Steve was dead, you had to make your choice. You had to step between your friend and your husband, and stop him even if it would have cost you your own life. In many ways, it had.

"Steve, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, (Y/N)," he greeted, "what's up?"

"What's up is that she's lost her damn mind!" Sam called out from the kitchen. "That's the last time that I cook around here, mark my words!"

"I need to leave," you answered, completely ignoring the outburst behind you.

Steve simply nodded, turning to set his book aside before facing you again. He knew full well that your time with his team wouldn't last, and he honestly had no idea that you would have even been there at all when everything began to fall apart. You were the last person that he would have expected to turn sides, and it wasn't that he was ungrateful, but he didn't understand it.

"I've been waiting for this," he answered quietly, "I'll take you home whenever you're ready. But, (Y/N), before I do, I need an answer to something."

"Why I stopped him?"

"Yeah, I can't figure it out."

"Tony isn't a murderer, Steve. If I would have let him keep going, can you imagine what that would have done to him?"

"Yes, because I was a split-second from doing the same to him."

"I know," you nodded, "I have a lovely scar from where your shield hit me."

"You jumped in the way," he pointed, "and I didn't have time to stop."

"Okay, we're not having this discussion again." You stopped and sat quietly for a moment, debating within yourself if you wanted to give any further explanation to him as to why the decision to leave had come now; you didn't owe him one, but knowing that Steve still cared about Tony, you felt it might be something that could begin the idea of healing if he knew. "Do you know what the date is today?"

"December 16th."

"I got a message from Rhodey a few minutes ago."

"Wait," Steve bolted up to stand over you, "does he know where we are? Is he tracking your phone?"

"Calm down, Cap, are you serious?" you scoffed, grabbing his hand to pull him back down. "Do you honestly think that I'd be that stupid? Of course not. And I can't believe that after the past few months here together, you still don't trust me."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming the rush of adrenaline that had so quickly coursed through him and allowing his senses and reasoning to come back. Everything had been so tense for so long, that it was far too easy to fall back into that type of thinking and the need to protect those who were now depending on him for so much. "You're right, I'm sorry. Please...what did he say?"

"Tony's been talking to me. Clearly, I'm not actually there."

"Wow," he gasped, glancing up at Sam, who had been standing in the doorway and heard it all. They exchanged knowing looks and unspoken words before he returned his focus back to you. "I can be ready in a few minutes."

"I need to go home, Steve," you agreed, "but I think it's time for you, too."

~~~

"Please, help my wife."

"Fuck," Tony groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, "don't, don't, don't," he mumbled under his breath and turning his head away. "Mom, shut up and play dead."

"Howard!"

As if on cue, his eyes popped open to watch the worst moment of his life once again, so many times now that he had lost count. "Dammit, mom."

You were standing on the other side of the door, listening to him with tears in your eyes at the torture he was putting himself through. You had to keep telling yourself that you had to stop him, or his state of mind would be so much worse now; if you would have let him kill Steve, he would never forgive himself, and no matter how broken he was now, that would be the end of him. "FRIDAY," you whispered in a shaky voice, "open it please."

The door slowly gave way under your hand, and he came into view in a shock to your system, catching your breath in your throat to see him so despondent and small in front of you. He glanced up over the screen for just a second, no shift in his expression at all as he returned to the sights on the tablet.

"Tony?"

"Hey, (Y/N)," he replied plainly. "You weren't here when I got up this morning. Rhodes was giving me shit for losing a sock."

You walked in slowly, cautiously pushing the door shut behind you and setting your suitcase to the side, your eyes never leaving him. "Tony, do you know what the date is today?"

"December 16th."

"Right," you sighed, taking more steps closer to him until you were at his side, "and do you know how long I've been gone?"

"Seven months."

"Right," you repeated. "Can you put the tablet down, please?"

"I'm not crazy."

"I never said that you were."

He reluctantly obliged, nodding in agreement but never raising his eyes to look at you, setting the tablet on the table. "I talk to you because it makes me feel better. I talk to you because it's too hard to not talk to you every day, (Y/N). You always listen to me, even when my ideas are shit, or I'm going on about something that you'd never care about anyway. I talk to you because you're the only person that I care about hearing me. I talk to you even when you're not here because it's killing me to have you gone."

"Tony..."

"I'm not crazy."

"Tony, look at me."

"I know you're not really here," he continued, "you're not here. I don't usually see you like this when I talk to you, so I'm getting a little freaked out." He shut his eyes tightly and rubbed his palms into them, leaning forward and rocking himself to find comfort, as if the idea of losing his own mind was becoming an excruciating reality. "You're not here."

Taking a huge risk that you would send him into a spiral, you sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away from his eyes to force him to look at you. You shifted your hands up to hold his face, keeping him steady so that he would have to focus. "Tony, look at me. I'm here. I came home."

"No, you're not here!" he shouted, pushing away and backing up into the headboard. "You're not here," he choked, his tears now matching those that you were shedding as you watched. "I'm not crazy. I'm not..."

"Okay, I'm sorry," you backed off, your hands up in front of you to try to keep him calm. "But, honey, I am here. When you're ready to see that, I'll still be here. I'm not leaving you again, I promise."

~~~

You sat that way for hours, the clock ticking away with each agonizing second, and with Tony staring at you in disbelief, still pressed up against the headboard and reluctant to reach out to touch you again. It was destroying you to know that you had caused him this much pain, but after the fight it was his own decision to keep you at a distance. You had betrayed him in protecting Steve, and you readily agreed in the moment, the tense situation blurring your mind and stripping rational thinking away. Neither of you had anticipated that this much destruction would come of it, and if you had known, you would have come home so much sooner.

"You're here."

"Yes," you readily agreed, still guardedly holding the space between you.

"Why today?"

"It's December 16th."

"Okay," he whispered, finally looking away. He slid his legs out and pushed himself down to sit next to you, holding his hand out and hovering just over yours as if he were scared to make the contact that would prove that you were real. When he finally did it, his body trembled and his breaths were shaky; his shoulders dropped their tension at the sensation of your skin against his and he couldn't hold it together anymore. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you tight against him, his head resting on your chest as he began to cry again and the relief washed his fears away until he was reduced to a quiet laugh. He pulled back to look at you with a weary smile, his cheeks glistening and the sparkle returning to his eyes.

"Any chance that my sock came home with you, too?"