irondad & spiderson oneshots

xxxviii. sleep

So this is some Tony angst sorry

Tony heaves a deep sigh and runs his hands through his hair. He knows what Rhodey would say if he was awake. "Go to bed, Tony." "This isn't healthy, Tony." But he's not.

Rhodey is in a coma in the hospital and the doctors say he'll never walk again. Maybe if Pepper was with him, she'd try to get him to sleep or actually eat some food instead of living on coffee.

But she wasn't here. She had left him. Everyone had left him. Steve, one of his best friends, left him. Natasha, the spy that he'd known since before the Avengers assembled, left him. Clint, Wanda, even Vision left him.

Vision wanted to be with Wanda. He hadn't said it outright but it was obvious. Everybody had left him. They were the ones who kept him grounded. They were his friends, his family even.

If he could take it all back, he would. If he could just forget what Zemo showed him, he would. He'd grown used to them being around at all times. He was used to Clint and Sam's pranks. He was used to Steve scolding him when he made inappropriate jokes or comments.

He was used to Vision phasing through doors and walls and scaring the crap out of them all. He was used to them just being there. He was used to the game nights and the movie nights and every little thing about them.

What's he wasn't used to was the empty halls and the silence where there used to be laughter. He wasn't used to actually succeeding in staying up for days on end. He usually had people there to send him to bed. To care about him.

But he has no people left. He used to save his fake smiles for the press. Now he doesn't bother. Even his grim expression seems fake now. Sometimes all he can do is lay in bed and hope to fall asleep before he falls apart.

But on the worse days, he never goes to sleep. He stays up, fueled only with coffee and works in his lab, pretending he's not breaking down. When he does manage to sleep, he doesn't have nightmares.

No, it's much worse than that. He dreams. He dreams of happy times. He dreams of laughter and happiness and the good old days. He dreams of a world where they were still a team; a family.

When he wakes he cries harder than he ever has. He doesn't eat. He tries not to sleep. He doesn't leave his lab. He got a package he knows is from Steve but he doesn't open it. He doesn't have the strength to. If he opened it, he woukdn't make it.

Hell, he isn't making it as is. He's wasting away but he can't find it in himself to care. He's too miserable to even cry. He's cried all he can. He's probably set a world record with how long he's been awake. Twelve days.

He's so tired that his bones ache but he just can't sleep. He doesn't want to sleep. The only reason he's still alive is because he thinks there's water in coffee. He's not sure anymore. He's not sure about anything.

He's been staring at his screen for four hours and he doesn't understand anything on it. He's vaguely aware that it's something he used to know, but doesn't care. He sure has a whole of 'used to's.

He's practically skin and bones now and he's sure he looks like a corpse. But nobody is around to tell him so. He finishes his cup of coffee and he feels so dreadfully empty. He heaves another sigh and he hurts.

Everything just hurts so bad. His stomach, his heart, his eyes for crying out loud. His vision blurs for the millionth time and he can sort of make out an alarm and Friday saying something.

He realizes what's happening and he smiles his first real smile in months. His eyes fall closed and he slumps in his seat. And he sleeps. He finally sleeps peacefully for the first time in a long time; never to wake again.