Good Enough

Because he’s Tony Stark, because he’s Iron Man, it’s never been in Tony’s nature to admit that he has a problem. Not to Pepper, not to Rhodey, or Jarvis or even himself. He can’t admit it to himself. That’s a weakness and he’s a Stark. Starks are made of iron, aren’t compromised by fears tangible and intangible.

Though he'd like to prove that he isn’t scared of anything, he can’t. He’s scared of a lot of things; got too many demons wrapped up inside of him that it’s a miracle he hasn’t gone off the deep end. It’s the years of self-medication that keep it all held down, that keep Tony sane.

And it’s when he’s fucked up one too many times that everyone’s had just enough of his shit. It’s that or us, Tony. It’s the pills or us, Tony. It’s the alcohol or us, Tony. He’s supposed to be one of the smartest men on the entire planet but it’s at those moments where he proves just how incredibly stupid he can be. How incredibly stupid he is.

“Tony, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Sure he can.

“Tony, you’re killing yourself.” No, he’s not.

“You almost died, Tony. You have to stop, please.” Since when does he have to do what someone else wants?

“You have a problem, Tony.” He does not, in fact, have a problem.

“Stark, you can’t control this.” Yes, he can.

“I can’t do this anymore, Tony. I can’t handle not knowing if you’re going to be okay or…” Wait, what?

It takes awhile for Pepper to finally give up on him. She’s always stood beside him, supported him since she’s worked with him. When he unknowingly signed the death contracts of innocent people, when he had her break into his company to find out what Obadiah was doing. She never gave up on him then.

There was that time where she couldn’t handle it anymore, after Monaco. When he was dying and he’d made himself accept that fact. She had given up on him after he got drunk at his birthday. He’d seen the disappointment in her eyes but hadn’t cared. Hadn’t cared until he tried to make it right, tried to tell her that he was dying.

Because, really, Tony had only wanted to keep Pepper from getting hurt. He didn’t want her to worry over him because he’d accepted it himself. He’d tried everything to keep himself alive for a little longer. But it wasn’t going to last. He just wanted her to be okay.

So when he monumentally fucks it up, completely ruins everything he’s tried so hard to make work with Pepper, he doesn’t really know what to do. Pepper’s been mad at him before, mad enough that she only looked at him or snapped something at him. But she’s never been so mad as to disconnect herself from him, to cut Tony off just like that.

He knows it’s not because she’s mad at him either. It’s because she’s disappointed in him. She’s disappointed that she honestly believed Tony could change. Because when it came down to it, he chose his medications over Pepper. Over Pepper who understands him, who loves him. And he proved that he’s just as selfish as he’s always been.

He’s so weak-willed, so terrified of the things in his mind, that he can’t accept that Pepper can help him. That he can’t face life without something numbing his mind. His pills, his alcohol are his comfort blanket; they make him feel safe and secure in knowing that his demons can’t get him. Pepper’s the sun; warm, bright and revealing all the imperfections that he works so hard to hide.

Maybe that’s why he can’t choose Pepper over the pills or the booze. Maybe that’s why, no matter how happy she makes him, he can’t accept that he needs Pepper more than the drugs. She shows him everything that’s wrong with himself but she doesn’t know it. She doesn’t realize that he’s always comparing himself to her, to Pepper who isn’t perfect but is perfect to Tony Stark.

The drugs and the booze don’t make him feel two inches tall.

“I know just how you can prove that you aren’t a tight ass, Rogers.”

“How’s that?”

“You don’t tell anyone, and that means anyone, about what I’m doing with my medication.”

“That’s asking a whole damn lot, Stark.”

“Prove you’re not a tight ass. Everyone thinks I’m sober and okay and Pepper takes me back.”

“Prove you’re a man and actually get sober and earn her back.”

It’s not one of Tony’s finest moments. It shows Tony just what’s wrong with himself. He’s so greedy, so determined to keep something that controls and something he has no right to even have, that he’s willing to put Steve in that position. He’s willing to let Steve know that he’s self-medicating to a point that’s not even remotely healthy and that there is simply nothing that Steve can do about it.

No one really realizes how good of a liar Tony Stark is. He knows what he’s doing isn’t healthy, knows that it can, and will, kill him but he doesn’t care. He lies to himself, tells himself that it’s for his own good. If he doesn’t do this, doesn’t keep the demons away, he’s not worth anything. And he believes it.

When Natasha makes him sober up, when he inadvertently makes himself sober up, it’s terrifying. Despite it being a habit by now, he forgets about it because Pepper’s not there. Such an integral part of his life is gone that it’s disorienting. He doesn’t realize how many hours it’s been since he’s self-medicated that, when he does, it’s too late.

Because now, he knows just how horrible a person he is. He’s more like his father than he’s ever wanted to be. It’s not himself that he sees in the mirror. It’s some horrible Frankenstein abomination of himself and his father. And something else that he’s not really sure he understands or has ever noticed until now.

Even then, he doesn’t medicate, doesn’t swallow more pills or down more booze. There’s a masochist in Tony Stark, a part of him that won’t let himself be happy. He wants himself to hurt, wants himself to be nothing more than a person crippled by debilitating fears that he’s buried under booze and drugs.

How many people has Tony Stark hurt? How many families has he destroyed? How many people have lost someone because of Tony Stark? He doesn’t want to think about those numbers. But his mind does. And it mocks him as he sits there, demons unleashed and uncaged to wreak their havoc on his mind.

There’s not a single part of himself that wants to be here, not without Pepper. He has friends, has people who care, but they aren’t Pepper. Pepper is the only person he has, the only person who knows that Tony means well. Because he does. Tony means well, he just can’t do well. He just can’t be good enough for everyone when they need him to be good enough.

He’s a control freak, has to be in charge of everything in his life. But how does he control something that controls him? Because Tony can only take so much of his repressed PTSD, can only take so much of being mocked by his own mind before he snaps. Finding himself on that ledge terrifies Tony more than not being in control does.

All he needs is someone to look at him, to be disappointed but tell him that it’s okay. That everything is going to be okay despite how much he’s hurt himself, hurt everyone else. He can work with that.

It’s not Pepper that comes to make everything better though. It’s Natasha who comes because Tony finally admits that he’s scared, that he needs someone. He hates himself and the places that thought sinks him to terrify him. He’s tried suicide before, but he’s never wanted it this badly.

The only thing he wants as badly as this is to be good enough. He just wants to be good enough for Pepper, to prove that he’s not a waste of her time. She’s the only thing that he wants more than he wants to be dead. She’s the only thing that matters to Tony.

But he’s still a greedy person. And he just wants all the demons to stop. He wants his brain to shut up. If he could just make it stop, he could be good enough. He could be the man that Pepper deserves. He could be the person his mother wanted him to be.

And he tries. He honestly and truly tries to be a good person for Pepper. The demons never stop, never let him sleep. And it’s not long before he’s sneaking in a quick session of self-medication here and there when he can. He’s terrified of losing Pepper but he’s still terrified of being nothing more than a shell of the man he should be.

So when he’s just sitting there one night, trying not to let his fear get the best of him, it’s the worst. Because he knows that there’s nothing he can do to make it stop. There’s nothing Tony wants more than to prove to Pepper that’s he good. That he needs her more than he needs everything to be quiet so he can function.

It’s the soft sigh of “Oh, Tony,” that says everything though.

“Oh, Tony.” What have you done to yourself?

“Oh, Tony.” It doesn’t have to be this way.

“Oh, Tony.” It’s going to be okay.

“Oh, Tony.” We’re going to be okay.

“Oh, Tony.” I love you.

That’s what he wants to hear most. ‘I love you.’ It means that she hasn’t given up on him, that she needs him as much as he needs her. It means that he’s somehow good enough for her.