𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓, science bros ✓

𝐢.

ㅤ𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 only a few days after the battle between Ultron and his team, Tony Stark couldn't help but sob; he was already damaged after Loki tried to conquer earth, even more since his best friend left, and now that he has no one, he doesn't know if he can cope anymore.

Tony slid down to the floor, clenching his hair tightly, as if trying to pull them all off as he continued to sob.

Why does this always happen to me? He asked himself again and again, and sometimes even wondering if he was even meant to live. I probably should've died a long time ago.

He was breathing heavily now, shaking as he punched the wall in front of him, causing his knuckles to cut open, his bones cracking. He hugged his broken hand and cradled it like a baby. He sniffed and let out a cry of agony.

"Why am I even alive?!" He asked desperately. "I should've died! I should've died! I should've just...just died," he started to whisper quietly to himself.

He stood up and begrudgingly walked towards his bathroom. He let his broken hand sit on the counter while his other, unbroken one tried to grab the things needed to fix the broken hand. As he picked up the scissors, he whimpered slightly and held it tightly and directed it towards his chest.

"Maybe I could just...I-I could just...m-maybe," he started talking to himself as he stared at the mirror, his gaze fixed on the reflection of the scissors. He lowered it closer, just above his heart.

But he quickly slammed the scissors to the counter, trying to refrain himself from doing the unimaginable. He ran his unbroken hand through his hair and sighed as he continued to sob.

He leaned down closer to the sink, his head dropped low and his hands placed on either side of the sink.

What was I thinking? He asked himself. I've never stooped that low.

He sighed as his sobs decreased, replaced by hiccups and short intakes of breaths. He looked up again, now staring at himself in the mirror.

"Pull yourself together, Stark," he scolded himself. "Don't forget that you are Anthony Edward Stark, a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist who practically resides in a big suit of armor." Then he laughed to himself. "Is this what being crazy feels like?"

He jumped up and walked towards his room, still cradling his broken hand. But when he reached his door, black spots danced around in his eyes before he was enveloped in complete darkness.

Gasping as he woke up, Tony looked up at the ceiling with wide eyes, immediately recognizing the place he's in as a hospital. He looked towards his broken hand and it heavily casted, buried deep inside a rock-hard cast.

"Ah, Mr. Stark, you're awake," a doctor said as he came into his room. Tony almost wanted to reply with, No sh*t, Sherlock, but refrained himself and instead smiled at his doctor.

"How long was I out?" Tony asked curiously.

"Almost a month," the doctor, named now known to Tony as Dr. Martin, replied. "Your A.I., J.A.R.V.I.S., automatically called an ambulance, just about a second after you collapsed."

Tony sighed and ran his good hand through his hair, noticing that it grew a little before asking, "What was the damage?"

"Well," Dr. Martin started, "Broken knuckles, a little bit of broken bones and a lot of fractures on your right hand. But you collapsed due to losing a lot of blood. You should've called right after you punched that poor wall, Mr. Stark."