In The DC World With Marvel Chat Group

"You mentioned that you intend to shut down Stark's weapon manufacturing department?" Schiller inquired.

"But shouldn't you be discussing this with someone else?" Schiller continued.

Stark, looking somewhat troubled, rubbed his forehead and replied, "Because of the good deeds you all have done, Pepper has received thousands of employee complaints in the past few days. She had to completely revamp the entire employee benefits system, keeping her incredibly busy."

"That's not the main issue," Schiller said. "If you want to talk about it, she's always willing to listen."

Stark touched the bridge of his nose but remained silent.

After a moment, he admitted, "Alright, I know the decision I'm making puts immense pressure on her. I know I'm a selfish bastard, and I know she's done more than enough for me. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I have no other choice."

Schiller opened his notebook and, as he wrote, commented, "What you're about to do is akin to passing a death sentence on a firearm."

"But my weapons have killed many people," Stark confessed.

"Those weapons had no other choice," Schiller remarked.

"Are you suggesting they should all be like JARVIS? Speaking, protesting, enjoying being sent to godforsaken places like Afghanistan?" Stark asked. "Or do you believe that when a bullet is manufactured, its life's purpose is to go to the battlefield and kill others?"

Stark sat in silence across from Schiller, feeling vulnerable. "I acknowledge that I've wrongly blamed everything on the weapons because I know I'm the real culprit. But I can't judge myself."

"However, Mr. Stark, you can't judge yourself not because you want to evade responsibility, but because you believe you have the ability to make amends. When a crisis arises, only you have the capability to save the world, to turn the tide, and it's this sense of responsibility that drives you to take these actions."

"But have you ever considered that always finding someone or something to hold accountable for everything is a somewhat arbitrary and rash notion?"

"But every occurrence has its roots."

"Yet these roots are not necessarily just right or wrong. You should understand better than me that the world isn't just black and white. You found something you believe should be held responsible, but it hasn't made the situation any better. You think weapons should be responsible, so you want to shut down the entire weapon manufacturing department, keeping Pepper up for nights, leaving many employees jobless, and even if those on the battlefield won't be grateful."

"Is the agony brought by this relentless pursuit of the ultimate cause really worth it?"

Stark appeared tormented, with every feature of his face creased. If Spider-Man's transformation was like a grand firework display, Stark's transformation might be an implosion of a dying star.

At this moment, Stark had no idea that he would have a similar debate with Steve over the same issue, leading to the downfall of the entire Avengers.

"My mind tells me I can't help but dwell on right and wrong," Stark admitted.

"Well then, if that's the case, your mind should be held accountable for it. It won't let you off the hook, so you should confront it. That's your theory, isn't it?"

"Ask your mind if there's a way to achieve what you want without hurting those around you. That's the answer it should give you, because it's the one making you suffer."

Stark didn't feel any better and leaned back in his chair. "Look at me, I'm a fool. I paid a devil doctor a million dollars an hour to listen to my problems."

"Your damn therapy sessions have never brought any positive changes. Every time I leave here, I feel even more miserable."

Stark almost gritted his teeth as he spoke.

Schiller, unusual for him, refrained from making a joke and said, "Consider me a catalyst. You'll understand in time."

"Thinking always brings pain, and no one is exempt. Let me give you a head start on dealing with it; you'll thank me later."

Stark crossed his chest, saying, "If you keep talking like this, you might surpass Howard in my mind."

"It's the first time I've heard you mention your father voluntarily. That's unusual; most people, when in pain, tend to call out for their mothers."

Stark pounded the table vigorously. He didn't want to admit that he mentioned his father because he was in distress.

He wasn't a fledgling in need of shelter, nor was he the eagle that had flown off a cliff and never returned. His father was not the person he should think of in times of despair and agony.

Schiller said, "Perhaps that's why you created the Mech armor for yourself. You wear that suit of iron wherever you go, believing it's the only thing that can protect you, that only by wearing it can you be the most powerful Iron Man."

"But I have to say, if you can't learn to take it off, you'll never truly become Iron Man."

Schiller had thought before that Stark and Batman were quite similar. Their upbringing, education, and even their methods of dealing with certain issues were surprisingly alike.

They both created a slew of weapons that no one else could make, armed themselves with them, feeling invincible. When they realized that this couldn't solve all their problems, they fell into a painful struggle.

Schiller jotted down some notes and drawings in his notebook. Stark asked, "What are you writing?"

"Steve's therapy session has ended for now, so Natasha took back the monitoring device. I have to write your case notes by hand."

Stark squinted and asked, "You wrote down everything I just said?"

"I didn't write down everything else, but I remember the sentence where you called me 'dad' very clearly."

"Five million dollars."

Schiller tossed the notebook directly in front of Stark. Stark picked up a lighter and set it ablaze, cursing softly, "How did I end up trusting a damn vampire doctor?"

"It's getting late. You should go back. You can't deal with your argument with Miss Pepper by staying outside," Schiller advised.

Stark clearly didn't want to leave. He said, "That Spider-Kid can stay here; why can't I? I don't even mind your run-down place. You're lucky to be able to cook breakfast for the genius Stark."

"Yeah, and then Miss Pepper will be working overtime alone in Stark Tower. The employees will have left, and that building is dark and cold... Oh, JARVIS might keep her company. I heard JARVIS has developed feelings; maybe he understands Miss Pepper's sense of loss better than you do."

Stark immediately couldn't sit still. He sprang up from his chair with a start, donned his coat, and said, "I won't be jealous of my own AI butler, not at all."

Schiller helped him open the clinic's door and said, "Of course, of course, may God bless JARVIS."

After leaving the clinic, Stark's mood was quite sour, his thoughts tangled messily in his mind. He had long accepted the fact that geniuses are often lonely. Most of his life had been spent this way, and he had always believed he was doing well – wealthy, intelligent, with enough resources to fulfill his life's purpose. The overwhelming sense of responsibility had never troubled him before. But today was different; he felt an unprecedented need for companionship.

He rarely refrained from summoning his armor, and he even turned off his mobile phone. Slowly, he walked down the street and arrived at a rundown bus stop. The last bus of the night had a driver whose heavy scent of cigarettes made Stark uncomfortable, but he still approached and found a seat.

Thanks to Schiller's notorious reputation, there weren't many troublemakers in the nearby area, allowing Stark to safely board the bus and leave Hell's Kitchen. As the bus traversed the cold neon streets of New York, the jazz music playing inside complemented the late autumn atmosphere perfectly. Stark sat in the back, hands on his knees, burying his face in them.

In his heart, he thought, "Alright, I'm just a fragile little boy, not a great hero. Right now, all I want is to see Pepper and give her a hug. Let saving the world go to hell."

Stark had never been willing to acknowledge his own immaturity; he preferred to call it childlike innocence, a trait unique to geniuses. But he had to acknowledge that in every person's life, there must be someone who plays the role of a sheltering eagle, protecting fledglings beneath their wings.

Pepper was just an ordinary person, not a majestic eagle or a fierce predator, but when Stark, this hungry fledgling, felt the chill, he still wanted to nestle under her feathered embrace.

After getting off the bus, Stark almost rushed toward the building. He knew the office on the top floor must still have its lights on; Pepper always worked late there.

Stark hurried into the elevator, not sure what had come over him. He felt like an inexperienced youngster, nervously rubbing his hands and pacing inside the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, he bolted out.

He wanted to say something to Pepper. What should he say?

But there wasn't a single light on the entire floor, which was highly unusual. "Pepper, Pepper, are you here?" Stark shouted.

Only echoes replied to him in layers. Stark slammed his fist against a nearby glass door and yelled, "JARVIS? Are you there? JARVIS, where have you gone?"

The response remained silence.

Stark was truly panicked now. If JARVIS didn't respond, it meant he had likely been kidnapped or had his power source severed. If someone had done that, their target must be Pepper.

Inside the office, Stark dashed to the office Pepper commonly used. But without the Mech armor, Stark was just an ordinary person. He lacked night vision, and without JARVIS, the office's intelligent lighting system remained dark.

Stark had barely entered when he tripped over an office chair lying across his path. After getting back up, he realized he couldn't see his surroundings, let alone investigate any details.

He opened his mouth to call for the Mech armor, but with no JARVIS, the intelligent remote control wouldn't respond.

Stark was on the verge of breaking down. He suddenly realized that everything he had thought he had control over didn't really belong to him. Without that outer shell, Iron Man was just an ordinary person, unable to see in the darkness.

His voice quivered as he started to frantically search Pepper's desk in the dark, trying to console himself in a low voice, "Damn it, she'll be fine... This is Stark Tower; no one can breach its defenses. I'm Stark..."

Suddenly, all the lights on the entire floor came on, dazzling Stark's eyes. He shielded his eyes and turned to see Pepper holding a remote control, appearing at the doorway. Stark stood frozen in place.

Without waiting for Pepper to speak, Stark rushed forward and embraced her. Pepper had never seen Stark so frightened.

She heard Stark repeating, "I knew you'd be okay... Of course, you'd be okay..."

Pepper sighed. This fledgling, who was now almost bigger than an eagle, was so repulsive yet irresistibly endearing.

Now, let's rewind a bit to when Stark had just left the clinic not long ago, and Schiller received a call from Pepper.