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Despite what people seem to think, Tony Stark was a very well adjusted child. This was due entirely to Jarvis and Maria. Howard Stark wasn’t ever abusive— not even a little. Sure he drank more than he should have, but never around Tony. In public, Tony was the apple of his father’s eye. In private, Tony begged him for attention. He worked desperately to be better— maybe if I design a circuit board I’ll get a “good job,” from dad. Five minutes, maybe. Any kind of praise at all…
Howard never did notice him in private unless he acted out, which he did often, but he never laid a finger on Tony. Tony didn’t remember a single slap from his father, but he didn’t remember a single hug either. If he was quiet, though, he could watch Howard work, and he could learn.
Maria Stark was a sickly woman. She spent long hours in bed, shut in a room with the curtains drawn, on constant medication. But sometimes, Tony was allowed to sit with her. They were very close. Maria adored Tony and Tony adored Maria. She taught him to braid her hair, and it became their favorite pastime. Tony would braid and they would talk for hours as he unbraided and rebraided. These days were rare and cherished. Most of his days he spent with Jarvis.
Jarvis was Tony’s best friend. He always found time for Tony, and they would go on outings, or Jarvis would teach Tony advanced math, or they would just play indoors. Jarvis was the best playmate ever: his formality— “you must be a gentleman at all times, Tony, no matter what,”— made him a perfect knight in shining armor. Or at least he wore a shiny timepiece. And on top of that, he made blueberry waffles with hot chocolate on Saturday mornings.
So Tony grew up well, although faster than he should have. He was taught compassion and morality by Jarvis and how to appear in public by Howard. Maria taught him to braid.
College, for Tony, was an enormous culture shock. Everyone seemed as cynical and depressed as Maria. “Sick.” With scars on their arms and in their hearts. Tony was young, and he felt it.
Rhodey was a Godsend. Tony called Jarvis every week, but he was desperately lonely. Rhodey found him having a quiet mental breakdown in a study room of the library. From then on, Tony seemed to have a shadow.
“Hey, man. What’re we doing this weekend?”
“Tony, buddy! I haven’t seen you since…. Like yesterday, I guess. But still too long!”
“I didn’t follow a single word of what you just said, but it sounded smart.”
“Get off your rich-boy pedestal and ask for help.”
“You’re allowed to not be perfect the first time you approach a problem.”
At some point, Tony figured that Rhodey (I’m James, Dammit!) was sticking around. He latched on to Rhodey and his freely given affection and didn’t let go. The first time he got drunk, Rhodey was there to take care of him. They roomed together for the next year, and then every year after that until they graduated.
When Howard and Maria died, Tony had Rhodey and Jarvis, but he pushed them away and took out his frustrations on his skin with a razor. Like Maria had. Then he got really drunk and woke up to a furious face. Rhodey hauled his ass up and didn’t say a word as he got through his hangover. Not a single word. By midday, Tony felt almost human again, and sat down across from Rhodey at the small table in their dorm.
“I know what you’re going to say, but I’m telling you that it wasn’t rational and I won’t do it again. So don’t be pissed off, okay? I can’t handle you being pissed off at me. I wanted to see if it would help and it didn’t. It didn’t. I won’t do it again,” he babbled, not looking at Rhodey, but instead staring down at the table.
Rhodey held up a hand and Tony paused, coming up for air.
“It was dumb, princess. You’re not stupid. Don’t do it again.” Tony looked at him. His face was dead serious.
“I won’t. I swear.”
“I’m going to be checking. Regularly. And don’t mess with the bandages. I’ll take care of that. The cuts shouldn’t even scar, but next time— there won’t be a next time— but if there is, chances are that you won’t be so lucky.” Tony nodded, unable to say anything past the burning lump in his throat.
Rhodey stood up and walked over to the couch. Tony followed, curling into his friend’s side. He wept. Rhodey held him. The cuts didn’t scar.
Rhodey checked regularly. So did Jarvis, because Rhodey was a goddamn snitch.
Jarvis’s reaction to Tony’s wrists… well, it was the only time he had ever feared Jarvis. That was motivation enough to never do it again.
The first time Tony saw someone else’s self harm scars— besides his mother’s— he was nineteen, two years out of college. He had discovered the joys of sex; being close to another person, even if he had to keep up the “asshole” mask, was one of his favorite things. Rhodey was away at war and Jarvis was in retirement. Obie wasn’t around very much… so sex. Physical affection. He actively sought it out, adding “playboy” to his list of titles.
He had been out partying and brought home a lovely brunette named Hailey. She was all long legs and pretty face. They got into Tony’s room— classy with low lighting— and left a trail of clothing on their way. Tony threw her onto the bed, now naked, and climbed over her, seductively kissing and licking his way down her body as she moaned and writhed and begged.
He was very good at this.
It was pure chance that he glanced down at her legs. The scars there were an angry red. New. Fresh.
Tony froze.
Sensing that something was wrong, Hailey followed his eyes.
“Look-” she started, covering herself with a throw blanket. Tony looked up at her and really saw her for the first time. She wore a mask too, just like he did. Her mask was her makeup and her pretty smile. But secretly, she wasn’t so happy. Maybe she wanted sex so she could be close to someone too, like he did.
Tony made no effort to hide the tears in his eyes. He removed the blanket slowly and deliberately, maintaining eye contact. He looked down and kissed. Every. Scar.
By the time he was done, she was sobbing too. He crawled back up and lifted the blankets. They slid underneath them together and he held her. When she had finished crying, he spoke.
“So you’ve chosen an unhealthy outlet. Trust me, I’ve been where you are: not as bad, but enough to understand. You’ve gotta find a better outlet. I build robots when I’m not feeling good. That’s why they’ve got names like Dummy and Butterfingers. But you don’t deserve this, what you’re doing to yourself. Whatever is going on, you’ll get through it.” He knew he was rambling, but he figured that as long as he wasn’t saying anything too stupid, it was doing some good. She seemed to be listening, at least.
“You’re beautiful, Hailey. On the inside, too. You don’t deserve to be punished.” He let his voice break instead of hiding it so that she knew that he meant it.
She cried herself to sleep in his arms.
When he woke up, he did the only thing he could think of to do. He made her blueberry waffles and hot chocolate. And maybe he wasn’t a good cook, so they were dark and the drink was grainy, but so what? It was a power breakfast. Those solve everything.
She left him that day with a full belly and braided hair. She was wearing his sweatpants and his t-shirt and he made sure she had his personal phone number and email address.
She emailed him after three days and told him that she had gotten help.
The next time it happened was a year later. Same scenario, but a blond named Kathy. Stomach, not thighs were cut. The night left him with an odd sense of deja-vu.
He found out that she had committed suicide a month later.
Tony went straight to Rhodey and told him all about it, sobbing into his shoulder. Rhodey held him until he had to leave again.
He went to the funeral alone and didn’t give a damn about what the press had to say about that. He threw himself into his work, determined to create someone who’d stay with him.
The robot had Jarvis’ voice but a new personality entirely. It wasn’t until years later that J started keeping track of the girls Tony found so that he could keep an eye on them. It was years too late for Kathy.
After Kathy, Tony sought out those who were at risk, learning to recognize the signs of someone who was harming themselves. He developed a routine— seek out someone at a party who was too fake, or dressed to cover something, or held their body a certain way. If he was wrong, then hey! Free sex. If he wasn’t…
He’d kiss their scars and have Jarvis run a bubble bath. He’d wash their hair, and if it was long, he’d braid it. He’d never braided a guy’s hair… he thought maybe long-haired men were particularly well adjusted or something. He’d give them a pep talk and hold them until they fell asleep. He’d get up and make blueberry waffles and hot chocolate— recipes that he’d recently perfected. He’d braid their hair again in the morning, or, if they had short hair, he’d give them a massage— he’d taken a class so that he could do something special for those with short hair. He’d give them his card: personal number and email, not one that went to his interns. He checked up with each one of them as often as he could.
By the time he was thirty, he’d changed the lives of well over a hundred people, saving them from themselves. He lost several and attended their funerals no matter where in the world he had to fly out from (to the general confusion of the press.) But most (82%, his brain told him. You know of 4% who won’t answer you, 2% are dead, and 12% in recovery.) survived. They would email him and it was a good thing he didn’t sleep much, because Obie wanted designs and he had so. Many. Emails.
Cynthia’s scars were old. When he kissed them, she smiled. She made love to him— not just sex, it was more than that— then she told him that she had recovered and worked to help others do the same.
“I’m a therapist,” she told him. “It’s my job, now.”
He told her all about the people he’d found and helped and she set up a way to help him. Her whole office took on his people, all he had to do now was find them. He started giving out her business card instead of his own. His emails turned from therapy sessions and begging people not to commit suicide to thank-you letters.
After Afghanistan, Tony cut again and stopped finding people. Then he built an exoskeleton, a new skin, shining armor (like Jarvis’ but with Jarvis Jr instead) and fucking destroyed every. Last. Weapon. He had bad nights.
Then Obie ripped the arc reactor out of his chest and he killed Obie too. And he cut. And nobody noticed, not even Pepper, whom he had helped and then put to work and kept because she was the best at putting up with him.
One night he found himself sitting in the tub with bleeding arms and wanting desperately not to do this anymore and he remembered Cynthia’s words to one of his boys.
“You’ve got to decide to save yourself.”
So he decided to. And he picked up the phone. “Rhodey,” he said through his sobs. “I really fucked up.”
Rhodey tore him a new one, but patched him up all the same. He spent the next week or so looking out for him. They ate bad food and Rhodey was there not touching him because Tony couldn’t trust anybody to touch anymore because Obie pulled the arc reactor out and he’d trusted Obie all his life.
Rhodey had Pepper check. He didn’t put any more scars on his wrists, not even when he was being poisoned, because he didn’t want to face Rhodey’s disappointment in him anymore, especially when he was dying. He faced it anyway, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t cut again, even when it got hard.
Life got busy, too busy to cut. With the return of his childhood hero on top of the aliens from space… there was no time. And he found himself a team, but he wasn’t sure they liked him. That was fine. He wasn’t here to be liked.
Then Bruce changed everything. “But you can’t! I know! I tried!” Tony’s heart shattered. And suddenly Bruce was his in a way that none of the others had been. He was a teammate and became his science bro. And by God, if Bruce was hurting, Tony was going to do something about it. So after the shitstorm, he pulled Bruce aside.
“Hey Bruce. Brucie bear. Fudge brownie. Studmuffin.”
“What, Tony.”
“Come and live in the tower with me.”
“… what?”
“I’ve already built you a whole lab and you’ve got your own floor and living space and everything is completely Hulkproof.”
“…why?”
“I’m lonely, Brucie! I want you to do sweet science with me into the sacred hours of the night.” This brought a grin to Bruce’s face. Tony’s own smile widened. Triumph!
“Okay Tony.”
“Yes!” Tony absolutely did not do a happy dance no matter what Bruce said later. He did hug the man, though. Bruce flinched and ouch, Tony knew how that felt, but they’d work on it. They’d both work on it.
So Bruce came to live at the tower. Then so did the others. He slowly collected the Avengers and Agent Coulson— DAMN FURY TO HELL for LYING about something this goddamn important— and if this meant that his masks stayed on more, it didn’t matter because he had them close and they were a team going on a family.
And when Fury caught on to what Tony had done, it pissed him off for a week. Even the thought of it made Tony grin in remembrance. It was a week he relished.
When Bruce got low, Tony would set up in the lab, being obnoxious and intrusive. Bruce eventually reached his breaking point.
“Why are you doing this, Tony?”
“Bruce. It’s a toaster strudel. If you don’t decorate it, the frosting never gets to fulfill its purpose.”
“Not that, this. Staying with me 24/7.”
Tony got quiet. He put down his toaster strudel and rolled up his sleeves. He held out his arms and the pale scars which were not fully gone. Bruce’s eyes flashed green. Tony rolled his sleeves down and only had a second to brace himself before he had his arms full of a concerned Bruce.
“Everyone gets low, Brucie. This isn’t something I’m proud of, but it’s something I know.”
“I don’t cut, Tony.” Bruce said seriously, pulling his sleeves back up to examine the angry lines there.
“But you get low.” You attempted suicide, he didn’t say. He didn’t pull his arms away either, letting Bruce run his fingers over his shame.
“I’m fine.” Bruce said quietly.
“No. The fact that you don’t cut doesn’t mean that you’re okay. Cutting is an unhealthy outlet. There are other unhealthy outlets. Not having an outlet is unhealthy too. You isolate yourself when you get low, Brucie. I’ve noticed that. So maybe you don’t use a blade, but you’re not okay.”
Bruce looked down and away, dropping his hands and pulling back.
“I’m here for you,” he said gently. “ You don’t have to lie to me. You don’t need to say that you’re fine. Please, don’t lie to me.”
Bruce nodded and went back to watching the seconds tick by on the centrifuge timer. Tony decorated his toaster strudel and not his arms.
Clint was the first to find out about Tony’s gang. (Instead of referring to them as his girls or his boys, he’d started using the word gang because he’d had an experience with a non-binary person and they were beautiful inside and out like everyone else and he didn’t want to exclude them.) Tony got a call from a particularly suicidal woman and had to pick up in front of Clint. He talked the woman down and sent her to Cynthia’s office, sending her a quick text to let her know that the woman was coming.
Tony explained to Clint, who was bewildered, and he nodded and left. Tony didn’t see him until the next day, when he appeared on Tony’s workshop couch.
“It wasn’t easy… after Loki…” Tony put down his tools and closed the screens, the blue lights flickering out. He sat next to Clint on the couch, close enough to offer comfort but not too close. He didn’t want to push. Clint didn’t look at him.
“It was easy to go back to old habits from after Barney… did what he did.” Tony knew all about Barney Barton. It took restraint no tot track the bastard down and execute him for what he had done to Clint.
“I don’t eat, sometimes. I went a month this time. Coulson came back and I’m better now, but…” he trailed off. A minute of silence later, and Clint curled into Tony’s side. Tony rolled up his sleeve, showing Clint as he had Bruce.
“After Afghanistan.” He said. Clint snuggled— yes, the man snuggled, how cute was that— closer into his side.
“Can I tell Phil or Nat? Do either of them know?” Tony considered it.
“If it helps, you can. Keep it in the family, though, birdbrain.”
“Of course.” He paused, then… “Shellhead.” Tony snorted.
“That the best you can do?”
Clint shrugged. They sat in silence for a while.
“I’m going to have Jarvis monitor your eating… you know that?” Clint nodded.
“Does anyone check your scars?”
“Jarvis. Both of them, actually. Pepper. Rhodey, mostly. I think Bruce does whenever I wear short sleeves. I wear them more often now so he doesn’t feel intrusive.”
“Add me to the list. Maybe Phil and Nat too.”
Tony nodded. “Sure thing.”
Clint left and Tony felt hollow in an almost haunting way. Clint not eating? He made a mental note to talk to Steve about family dinners. Steve had a thing about that. “Family,” not “team.”
Maybe they were getting closer to a family, though. Tony hoped so.
Family movie night. Thor even dropped in for it, booming his greeting. So they were all there, piled onto the couch, and Steve and Tony had found some way to get into an argument. It was a common occurrence, no matter how much the others tried to stop it.
“What do you know, Tony? You don’t do anything other than pout down in your workshop and annoy the hell out of everyone whenever you come up for air!” The bustling room went dead silent. Clint and Natasha were suddenly standing in Steve’s face.
“I think it’s time for Tony to tell us a story,” she said sweetly, but her voice had an edge to it that ensured that nobody would argue. Then she walked over to Tony and pulled up his sleeve. Thor, for once, was silent. Steve’s face drained completely, pale. His lips flapped open and closed in a rather comical way.
“Man of Iron… what manner of battle were you in?” Thor asked, more quietly than Tony had ever heard him.
“I guess it’s story time, then,” he said, and he told them. He told them about all of it: from the first time he cut to his gang and why he had housed them all. And by the time he was done, Steve was practically begging for forgiveness. They all fell asleep in front of the television that night, Steve curled around Tony protectively, and the others as close as they could get to him.
In the morning, Tony made enough Blueberry waffles and hot chocolate to feed three armies and they almost had some left over. Almost.
Thor approached him. “I do not understand, Anthony, but I am trying to.”
Tony looked at him and nodded. “I’ll answer your questions, buddy. What is it you don’t get?”
He paused. “When a warrior’s mind gets sick on Asgard, it is common knowledge. All those who fought beside him in battle flock to his bedside and they help him to understand his importance and his bravery. In the next decades, the warrior is given as much affection as he can stand. It seems that this is not the case on Midgard.”
Tony nodded. “Talking about mental illness here on Earth is kind of taboo. People don’t do it. It makes no sense, but people are afraid of it because they don’t understand it. Nobody talks about it here.” Thor looked puzzled.
“This is what I do not understand, friend Anthony. How will a mind heal if it is not cared for properly?” Tony laughed.
“It’s not a good thing, here. We don’t take care of people the way we should, but we’re trying to change that. Don’t worry, though. I’m what you might call recovered.”
Thor nodded. “Of this, I am very glad.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
Steve seemed to avoid him for a few days until Tony was finally fed up. He found Steve on his private floor, working with paints.
“Steve, I think we need to talk.” He looked up.
“Alright. What are we talking about?”
“I’m not sure. You’ve been avoiding me ever since you found out about my scars. Do they bother you?” He looked horrified.
“God no, Tony. No. I’m just…” his shoulders slumped. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. I promise. It’s not about you. Well it is, but it’s not anything you’ve done.”
Tony blinked. “Then it’s something you’ve done?” Steve nodded.
“Like I said, don’t worry about it.”
“Steve,” Tony said in a very flat voice, “I’m going to worry about it if you like it or not. I miss you. As much as we argue, you’re family. So buck up and talk to me.”
Steve sighed and fidgeted, then put his paints down and wiped off his hands. He walked over to the couch and sat down. Tony deliberately sat as close to him as he could, curling into his side. Steve had no problem with touch, and, honestly, Tony needed it. So he pressed himself to Steve’s side and waited. It was a while before Steve started talking.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispered. Tony looked up at him, confused.
“About what, Steve?”
“I… I completely misjudged you, Tony. I didn’t give you a chance and I wasn’t fair. I was… God I was an ass. I’ve been on your case about not spending more time with us when really, the whole time you’re around, I’ve been calling you annoying or been angry about your behavior. And all this time…”
“Steve—”
“You know, out of everyone here, you’re the best of us. I’m serious. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, now or when I was a kid. I just didn’t know, because I didn’t get close enough to you to realize that your behavior was masking your true self. Because people like me come around and give you a reason to hide who you are…. And I’m sorry, Tony. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“Okay, that’s enough. Steve, I get it. You’re sorry. But I didn’t ever think of you as an asshole. A prude, maybe. But sitting here in your self-pity is the opposite of what I want.” Steve looked surprised.
“And what is that?”
“You. Steve, I want you. So does everyone else. And disappearing into your room means we can’t have you. You’re supposed to be the one who gets us all together, Steve. You’re team leader. You can’t lead from your room. So come out and talk to us, okay? Please.”
“Okay, Tony.” He let out a breath, then drew one in, as if to say something.
“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry,’ I’ll sock you in the mouth, Steve.” His mouth snapped shut.
“Honestly, you seem to think that you’re the reason I used to cut. I’m not in danger of doing that again, Steve. That happened far before you knew me. This isn’t your fault, I’m not at risk, and I’m not fragile, dammit!” Steve laughed and pressed his face into Tony’s hair, moving his arms around so that he had Tony in a full hug.
“Okay, Tony. I get it.”
“You’d better.” Tony said, and pressed his face into the strong chest in front of him. Damn, Steve smelled good.
One of Tony’s girls talked to the press. In a few hours, the stories about his self harm and ‘abusive father’ were back in the papers and he couldn’t leave the tower without cameras in his face. It was a disaster. Not only did this mean that the public knew about his self-harm, it also meant that it would be almost impossible to find more people who needed help. Tony was afraid that when he went to a party, everyone who he tried to find would know what he was doing and they’d reject him because they didn’t want help.
Or maybe, he thought, shuddering, maybe they’d self harm to get his attention. And then he’d be causing a huge problem.
So Tony called together his team. Not the Avengers, or not only the Avengers, but his whole team. Both of the Jarvises, Rhodey, Pepper, Cynthia, Agent Coulson, Steve, Bruce, Natasha, Thor, and Clint. And they came up with a plan. So Tony went and talked to the press, taking an interview on a morning news show. He wore short sleeves.
“Hey there, Hailey.”
“It’s so good to see you, Tony! How have you been?”
“I’ve been alright. I was surprised to see you, I didn’t know that you ended up in media.”
“Yeah, it’s been good for me.”
“We’re live in three! Two!” The cameras started rolling.
“Good morning and welcome to the Hailey Henderson show, I’m here live with Tony Stark to talk about a recent interview claiming that he struggled with self harm. Good morning, Tony.”
“Good morning, Hailey.”
“Do you have anything to say about the rumors?”
“Yes, actually. I struggled with self harm after my parents died and then again after I returned from Afghanistan. I think people believe that this is ‘big news’ or something, but honestly, I’m very open about this with my close friends and my family.”
“Alright, and would you like to say anything about Lucy, the girl who outed you?”
“I’d like to thank her for this opportunity. Honestly, I’m not lying. For the past, man it’s been since I was nineteen, I guess, I’ve been seeking out those who struggle with self-harm. I take care of them, after that. Lucy is one of my girls. I’m not angry with her, although I do wish she would contact me. I wasn’t sure whether or not she was okay, she wouldn’t go to see the therapist I recommended.”
“So you take care of these girls who self harm, is that right?”
“That’s right, but it’s not only girls, Hailey. I take care of anyone and everyone I can find who’s struggling. Actually, I’ve got an announcement to make, if that’s alright.”
“Go ahead.” He grinned at the camera.
“I’m opening a rehabilitation facility for those who struggle with depression, self-harm, anorexia, basically any mental illness that they’re struggling with. My good friend Cynthia Daren will be the head counselor there and we’re hoping that it’ll open this May. It’s absolutely free and runs on donations and profits from my own company.”
“So it’s for anybody?”
“Yeah, it’s just for people who want to walk in and get help. You check in and you stay for as long as you need to, but there’s also going to be an outpatient option, we’re hoping.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, that’s all the time we have, thank you for being here with us today, Tony,”
“My pleasure, Hailey.”
“That was Tony Stark on his new mental health facility opening in May. Tune in after the break for more on the Hailey Henderson show.”
“ANNNNND You’re off air.”
Hailey turned to him. “I just wanted to thank you, Tony. Really. You turned my life around.”
“It was my pleasure,” Tony said, and pulled her into a hug.
The facility opened in April, a whole month early, and was the best thing Tony felt he’d ever done, including saving the world from aliens. He was proud of it. He dropped in and talked to the patients personally occasionally. And when it came down to it, he found that he was okay.
He was okay. Even though everyone knew. He wore short sleeves and made waffles with hot chocolate and braided Natasha’s hair.
And they were all okay.