The Weight of Knowing

”Don’t do it, Tony.”

Steve’s voice is tight over the comms and it grates on his nerves. Tony sets his jaw with an audible crack and doesn’t bother answering. 

It’s been a mere a couple of months since the scattered remains of the team has been back together and it’s…challenging. Whatever they had before Vienna—let alone before Siberia—is gone, leaving behind distrust and brittle ruins of friends lost. 

Captain Goody-Shoes and his band of renegade backstabbers (sans Clint and Scott who were with their families) had been busy running around the world, putting down fires with ruthless efficiency, only to disappear again when WSC had gotten too close. With Thor and Bruce still off-world, Tony had been practically alone in the silent compound, trying to cheer up Rhodey and maintain something between himself and Pepper. The first, he’d done diligently and with every fiber of his being, the latter…not as much.

Pepper breaking up with him had been just a matter of time, really. Not that he would ever blame her.

It had taken a major international crisis and a potential HYDRA device way too similar to SI’s BARF (he really should come up with a better name) for Rogers to gather his comrades and come running with his head held high and no regret in his eyes. And Tony hates himself for the sheer relief he felt when they met at the tarmac.

Not that Tony needs him or his murderous sidekick. Not even in a former Soviet country with a collapsed infrastructure and a complete lack of decent coffee.

Nope.

He’s fine, he’s managing just perfectly, everything’s good. So, who cares if he’s staring at a chair that looks like a bastard love child of Hydra’s brainwashing device and an 80’s leather recliner.

”Tony…” This time Steve’s voice holds a warning note.

Tony lets out an irritated noise. ”Don’t get your tighty-whities in a twist, Cap. I know how to handle this.”

”But do you really?” A man asks from behind him.

Tony lets out a yelp at the sudden sound and whirls around, hand repulsors ready. The man is leaning against a doorframe, easy and relaxed, and he cocks his head and raises a brow. 

”Who the fuck are you?” Tony snaps. In his ear, Steve’s voice goes growly.

The man gives him a small smirk. ”Quentin Beck. I have to admit I’m disappointed but, sadly, unsurprised that you don’t recognize me. I mean, I was the one you ripped that off of.” He points at the machine.

”What? No, I didn’t,” he scoffs. ”I mean, the original design had some aspects that could be implemented but not without some heavy reworking. After FRIDAY and I were done, there was nothing left from your original design.” He pauses and shrugs. ”I guess I could credit you for a shit original work that was so bad I just couldn’t leave it alone but I’m not sure if that would do you any good.”

”Oh, you smarmy piece of shit,” Beck snarls. 

He sprints forward so fast Tony almost misses it, barely managing to scramble to the side. Ignoring Steve’s barking from his comm, he shoots at Beck only to drop his jaw when the shots shoot harmlessly through him and blast into the wall.

”What the hell…?”

”It seems you don’t know everything, do you?” Somehow, Beck is right beside him to whisper the words straight into his ear with a grin. 

And then he pushes Tony sharply. 

He lands on the chair and smacks his head on the support beam, shakes it to clear the ringing out of his ears. When he opens his eyes again, it is to a bright light he can’t name the color of, but it’s swirling and twisting and it feels almost like it’s reaching out and in, pouring through the slits of his helmet and—

”I told you not to do it, Tony! Why the hell won’t you ever listen!” Steve yells as he yanks him out of the chair.

Tony shakes his head again. The odd light is gone but a strange, woolly feeling resides, making him slightly nauseous. 

”Where—” He clears his throat. ”Where did he go?”

”Who?”

”Beck. The man who was right here.”

Steve frowns at lets go of him. ”There wasn’t anyone else.”

”I’m sure—”

”Tony, you were the only one in the room. What were you even doing, sitting on that thing? We have no idea what it does!”

Tony shrugs even though he knows it stays inside the suit. ”I just wanted to take a look.”

Steve gives him a flat look. ”Because that’s worked so well so far.” He shakes his head and scans the room in mere moments. ”I think we’re done here,” he says curtly.

”Uh, no we’re not,” Tony says. ”I want to study that throne a bit more.”

”What else is new?” Steve mutters. ”Fine, whatever. We’re out of here. You have your own transport.” Without further word, he marches out of the room.

Tony watches him go and bites his tongue to keep himself from snapping anything he’d regret more than usual. Instead, he lets out a long breath, turns to face the chair, and says, ”Okay, FRIDAY. Let’s see what this thing is made of.”

The next meeting with the team is awkward. They sit on the opposite sides of the table: Tony and Rhodey on one side; Steve, Bucky, and Sam on the other. Vision and Wanda huddle in the corner, not quite meeting anyone’s eye. When Natasha walks in and sits next to Steve, Tony isn’t even the least bit surprised.

”Where’s the kid?” Sam asks.

”At school,” Tony says.

”Good for him.”

Tony opens his mouth, ready to snap at Sam but Steve clear his throat and he falls silent.

After a moment they start going through the mission part by part but in mere minutes the conversation escalates.

”—you always do that, Tony, you never listen—”

”—I knew what I was doing—”

”—testing a piece of technology you know nothing about—”

”—I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive—”

”—it’s always about you, isn’t it?—”

”—when I’m the one who actually knows what he’s doing—”

”—just trying to find new, exciting stuff, damn the consequences—”

A shrill whistle pierces through the arguing.

”This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Natasha snaps. ”Next time, how about we work together?” She raises a brow at Tony and he…

He just can’t.

”Yeah, sure. Let’s do that again never, shall we?” He says with a grin that’s all teeth. ”I’m done.” His chair drags against the floor as he pushes himself up. ”Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

To his credit, Steve tries. He comes to Tony but it doesn’t work anymore. Steve is too stubborn and prickly and Tony too fractured and paranoid, and where they sometimes had easy camaraderie and relaxed smiles, the only thing left is the knowledge to hit where the other hurts the most.

Neither hesitates to use that knowledge.

When the revised version of the Accords lands on his table, Tony closes his eyes. He knows what it means and what he has to do. It doesn’t make it any easier, though.

He pretends he doesn’t see General Ross’s smug face when he gives his speech. He pretends he doesn’t see the disappointment on his former friends’ eyes.

He pretends it doesn’t hurt when Steve leaves him a voice mail saying, ’I don’t know why I even bothered. I… It’s over, Tony. I hope it was worth it. You deserve everything that’s coming your way. I have nothing more to say to you.’

It doesn’t matter.

They need to be accountable.

He needs to be held accountable.

When Spider-Man is attacked by a psychopath in a green cape and bright pink hoverboard, he doesn’t even think. The suit bleeds over him as he steps on the launch pad and he speeds off. 

When he arrives, the battle is in full swing and Peter is running for his life.

Tony doesn’t think. ”FRIDAY, front gunners,” he snaps, bringing his hands in front of himself.

”Boss, I don’t think that’s not a good idea,” FRIDAY says but he doesn’t want to listen.

”Front gunners,” he snaps again and with a sigh, FRIDAY complies.

His gauntlets blend together and shoot out a beam of brilliant light. The green villain swerves suddenly, bringing the hoverboard up like a shield.

Tony doesn’t think and, as a result, his shot reflects back from the hoverboard and shatter into a spectrum of shots. The office buildings around him explode into a million shards of glass and metal, gleaming like diamonds in the air. 

”Shit!” Tony swears and whirls around, just in time to see Peter being hit.

He looks like an angel, suspended there in midair, framed in shattered glass and ricocheting propulsor blasts.

He looks like an angel, and then he falls.

He doesn’t remember much after that. The camera flashes, the jeers, the protesters. The way Pepper looked at him and then looked away. The way his hands shook when he poured himself a drink.

In the courtroom, Tony sits silent, a stricken shell of a man. His lawyers try their best but he already knows the verdict.

Guilty.

They send him to the Raft. It’s no wonder—Tony Stark is a genius after all, and in a normal prison he might either get too many visitors or create too much disturbance. In the Raft, he gets a small cell with bolted-in furniture and a clear glass door. It’s on a different level from other prisoners and the silence is…maddening.

He gets decent clothes but no shoes. 

Silent guards deliver him food three times a day and monitor him while he eats. He tries to engage them in a conversation but they regard him with calm, empty eyes and he drops his attempts after a short while.

None of them wear name tags. It’s disconcerting.

After a couple of months or so, Pepper visits him. He gets two hours with her in a separate room and tries not to flinch when her eyes go wide. 

”You look…” she tries and falls silent.

”Yeah,” Tony says. ”So, what’s up?”

She blinks a couple of times and then lets out a small breath. When she opens her briefcase, she’s Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. ”I need you to sign these,” she says levelly and slides him a stack of papers.

”What… Bankrupt?” 

She smooths her palms over her dark blue dress. ”After covering the structural damages, Mr. Parker’s funerals, legal fees, and considering the stock drop… yes.” She pauses for a moment. ”The Avengers are covered. The separate fund we created years ago is intact. However, to keep functioning, they had to make a clear distinction between the team and…Iron Man.”

Tony closes his eyes and nods once. ”And they signed me off.”

”I’m sorry, Tony.” Her voice is soft but it’s edged with relief.

He doesn’t blame her.

He signs off the papers, steeling himself against a wave of nostalgia. Stark Industries, his projects, his bots, his life, all gone. 

Perhaps it was a long time coming.

”Will that be all, Miss Potts?” He asks when it’s all done.

She gathers the papers and pens, stands up, squares her shoulders, and then meets his eyes. ”That will be all, Mr. Stark,” she says. ”Goodbye, Tony.”

He never sees her again.

Rhodey visits a couple of times. It’s hard on both of them because, for some reason, they make him take his leg braces off and sit on a wheelchair. It’s humiliating for both of them.

But Rhodey tries. He talks about the good old days and what’s going on with the world but it gets strained when he tries to skirt around topics about the team. Tony knows it’s because Rhodey doesn’t want to rub it in his face but somehow it makes everything raw.

”Just tell me, damnit,” he snaps one time. His fingers keep tapping a frantic rhythm on the tabletop and Rhodey’s eyes flicker on them before averting his eyes.

”Vision and Wanda are dating,” he says. ”Clint has retired for good but he referred us a new Hawkeye. She’s pretty amazing. Sam and Bucky go along like a house on fire—they kind of remind me of us back in the day.” He falls silent for a good while and then adds, ”Steve and Natasha run the team now. It’s good—they’re good.”

”Yeah, I bet,” Tony mutters.

”Hey, they’re trying their best,” Rhodey says. ”As convenient as it might be, you being here didn’t magically solve all our problems, you know.”

Tony doesn’t say anything.

”I didn’t mean it like that,” Rhodey says quietly.

”Yes, you did.”

He never expected to see Steve.

”Natasha is dead,” he says.

Time has been good on him. Tony isn’t sure how long it’s been but Steve is as broad and straight-backed as always. He has a beard now. It suits him, just like the slightly longer hairdo does. He’s going slightly silver on his temples and unless Tony’s eyes are failing him, he has some white on his beard too.

”Did you hear me?”

Tony sighs and meets his eyes. ”I heard you.”

”And?” He snaps.

”And what? What am I supposed to say to that? I’m sorry for your loss, Steve, but it’s not like I killed her.” Too. Killed her too, echoes in his head.

”It was one of your missiles.”

They stare at each other for a long time, and it’s Tony who averts his eyes first. 

”Why are you here, Steve?” He asks, suddenly tired to the bone.

”I honestly have no idea. I guess I wanted to see if there was any remorse in you, any decency left. Clearly, this was a waste of time.” He pushes his chair back and stands up. ”Have a nice rest of your life, Tony.”

It feels almost like a dream when they finally release him from the Raft. It’s been a long…two decades? Three? Tony isn’t sure. The first couple of years were lost in a haze of rage and humiliation and after that, it’s been just an endless walk of shame.

He wonders if there’s someone out there waiting for him.

Is there even anyone left anymore?

It’s been years since the last visit and he has no idea whether it’s because of some extreme visitor restrictions or if everyone finally gave up on him.

He can’t say he’s surprised. After all, he’d given up on himself a long ago.

”Stark,” a guard barks and beckons him closer. ”A suit, a watch, a pair of loafers, red thongs, a dress shirt, and glasses,” he rattles off with a bored expression on his face. ”Sign up here.”

Tony does and then stands still. The guard stares at him for a moment and then raises his brows. 

”Where am I supposed to go now?” Tony asks. All he owns is right there in his arms and the bundle feels weightless.

”I don’t give a fuck,” the guard says. His uniform doesn’t have a name tag. None of the guards carry a name tag. They never have.

Slightly at a loss, Tony nods and looks around. There’s a door at the far wall he doesn’t remember seeing before and he hesitantly starts walking towards it. It’s bathed in light that feels oddly familiar but he can’t quite place it. It swirls behind the glass and almost seems to reach out for him and touch his hand when he’s about to turn the handle. He pushes the door open and is bathed in bright, blinding light and—

”Tony! Tony!”

Someone shakes him. His body feels lethargic, confined in a tight space he doesn’t remember being in in an eternity. He blinks and stares at—

”Steve?”

”Oh my God, Tony,” Steve says in a rush of breath. ”We didn’t know what happened, you fought someone and then everything went silent and… I saw you in that chair and you didn’t respond. God, Tony, I thought—we thought we’d lost you!”

”What?” He asks, bewildered. ”They…they were supposed to release me.”

”Who? Tony, what are you talking about?”

”You said you didn’t want to talk to me anymore. You said I deserved everything that’s coming for me.”

Steve stares at him, eyes wide. ”Tony— what? When?”

”After the Accords.”

”Tony, they were repealed,” Steve says slowly.

”Guys,” Natasha says quietly. 

Tony turns sharply. ”You’re dead,” he whispers.

She shakes her head. ”No. It wasn’t real. Tony, none of it was real.”

”None of what?” Steve asks.

Without another word, she hands him a note. Steve reads it, a deep frown between his brows and then, ”I have no idea what this means.”

It takes Tony a moment to gather his courage to reach out and pluck the note from his grasp. In a messy scrawl, it reads,

’Your machine was built to heal trauma.

Mine is to make you live through your worst nightmare and give you the punishment you know you deserve.

Enjoy your 2 ^nd chance, asshole.’

Natasha kneels in front of him, an intense look in her eyes. ”It wasn’t real, Tony. Your mind made it up.”

Tony nods. ”Yeah,” he croaks.

But when he closes his eyes, the only thing he sees is the line ’the punishment you know you deserve.’

And he knows exactly what it means.