After the War

Coping Mechanism

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Tony stormed to his room. He sat down furiously on his bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He began to shake. Oh no, he thought. It's happening again. Tony was sweating, and couldn't sit still. There were tears streaming down his cheeks. He knew he was having a panic attack, which had occurred a lot since Steve disappeared. He stumbled over to the nightstand, where he kept a bottle of whiskey for times like these. It helped calm him and make him forget about his problems and anxiety. Tony poured a glass for himself, and drank it down in an instant. He repeated this process until the entire bottle was gone.

"FRIDAY," he slurred, "can ya get me a whiskey of bottle-- I-I mean a bottle of whiskey?"

"Sir, given your present state, I do not recommend another--"

"DON'TTELLMEWHATTODO!" screamed Tony hysterically. He had no control over his words anymore. They were all just tumbling out.

"There was a pause. "Natasha would like to know where you are. She just arrived."

"Tell h-h-her I'm h-here. And don't forget-don't forget the whiskey."

"I'll send her up with a bottle, sir."

A few moments later, there was a soft knock at Tony's door. He stumbled to the door, and, missing the doorknob a couple times, opened it to see Natasha with a bottle of whiskey. He grabbed the bottle from her and went back to his bed. Natasha followed.

"Tony..." she started softly, "What you're doing isn't right. You're putting all the blame on yourself and then taking your anger out in negative ways." Tony grunted as he gulped down another cup of the bitter liquid. It was burning his throat, and he could feel the burn from his lips to his chest, but he ignored it.

"Nat...it is...my fault," he spoke slowly, trying not to slur. "Is...my fault."

"What's your fault?" she asked patiently. Tony didn't answer. He had fallen asleep, and was mumbling incomprehensible words in his slumber. Natasha sighed, and pulled the blanket over him. She was careful to position him on his side, so he wouldn't choke if he vomited. And he would vomit, guessing from how much whiskey he drank. The room stank of it, a smell that would linger for a couple of days.

Natasha left the room. She was met in the hall by Vision.

"How is he?" he asked gently. He looked very worried, even for a robot. It was like he was starting to develop emotions.

"He'll be fine, he just needs to sleep off the effects of the whiskey," Natasha answered.

"How-how much did he drink?" Vision inquired. Natasha held up two fingers. "Two cups?"

"Two bottles." Natasha looked at him. "Why is he so upset?"

Vision sighed. "He seems to think that this whole fight between him and Steve, this whole conflict over the Sokovia Accords, is his fault. He takes the blame for James's accident, and for everything else that happened."

"Oh, Tony," Natasha whispered. She pinched the bridge of her nose and walked away, leaving Vision standing by himself in the hall. Vision shook his head sadly, and left as well.

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