PTSD: Short for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, a condition of persistent mental and emotional stress occurring as a result of injury or severe psychological shock, typically involving disturbance of sleep and constant vivid recall of the experience, with dulled responses to others and to the outside world.

You could be the world's greatest and renowed therapist- If you went up to Tony Stark and told him he suffered with PTSD and anxiety, he'd simply laugh in your face and insist he was fine; that he was eccentric and was allowed to have weird little quirks and actions. So what if he removed all the tubs from Stark Tower after Afghanistan? Tony was rich, he could renovate anything he owned at anytime he wanted- it wasn't paranoia.

If he avoided staring up into the sky, especially at nighttime so what? Tony Stark was completely and utterly fine; he didn't have to answer to anyo-

"Stark!"

Tony looked up, snapping out of his thoughts and givin Fury an owlish blink. "What, we calling out last names here?"

"Have you caught a single damn word I've said yet or are you too busy daydreaming?" Fury glared at him with his one black eye- Tony could swear he had no soul sometimes.

"I was only thinking of how cute you'd look with a pink eyepatch." Tony cooed. "I have a very good seamstress, amazing work. You'd like her." A smile worked it's way onto his face hearing Clint's unmistakable laugh.

"Just pay attention, I don't want to repeat myself again- do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Tony grumbled, leaning back in the chair and raising his eyebrows at Steve frowning at him.

"It's a simple mission. Some dumbasses got their hands on antimatter guns and things like that. It's your jobs to go in, get the weapons- and get out. Understand?"

There was a chorus of agreements from the other five people in the room. Tony simply nodded, toying with a loose thread he found on the cuff on the sleeve.

"Then go on and get me those damn weapons."