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When Tony stands up for the first time in hours to refill his empty coffee mug, he would have keeled over if not for the uncharacteristically fast reaction of his otherwise good-for-nothing housekeeping robot. Dum-E wraps his arm around Tony´s shoulder and stabilizes him until the blackness in his field of vision slowly subsides and his own, annoyingly shaky legs are able to carry his weight without support. He glances over at Peter, momentarily scared he might have seen this clumsy stunt, but the kid is merrily working away at an upgrade of his webshooters, wearing insect-like goggles and earplugs to increase his concentration and being blessfully cut off from the world at large. Tony lets out a relieved breath, mumbles a “thanks, buddy” into the robot´s direction - who seems to prop an arm into his non-existing hips as he regards him with the view of a strict teacher, clearly unhappy about Tony´s condition - and slowly makes his way towards the kitchenette in the corner of the lab.
Every cell of his body is throbbing, the pressure on his head and the pounding in his temples painful enough to make him constantly nauseous, and he feels as heavy as if he was wearing his full armour instead of jogging pants and an old sweatshirt. His fever must have climbed up, because he´s freezing badly now, but he can´t be sure because he has muted Friday´s temperature readings when her insistence on him getting bed-rest was becoming too annoying. Tony is not a stupid person, and although he´s never had a great record of self-care, he knows exactly that his genius AI is right. Which is why he muted her. He is sick enough to actually long for his bed by now. But as soon as he remembers the last time he´d allowed himself to sleep while being sick, that paralyzing anxiety creeps back up on him, threatening to take his breath away. The nightmares haunt him even on good days, but with a fever like that, he is already having a hard time differentiating between reality and his personal terror realm in a woken state. He doesn´t want to imagine what will happen if he lets his guard down and allows the dreams to take him captive.
So, he decided two days ago that caffeine, painkillers and distraction will do the magic, and that the next time he´d grant himself some sleep would only be once he´d gotten rid of that irritating bout of flu. Which is also why he hasn´t cancelled their weekly internship lab afternoon of “tinkering and blowing stuff up”, in Peter´s words. The kid needs all the experience he can get, and Tony needs something else to focus on. And, although he would never admit that aloud, he´s maybe a tiny bit glad about some human company, with Pepper away on a business trip at the other side of the world and him having run on nothing but caffeine, AC/DC and silly arguments with his AI for the last fever-hazed days.
The coffee in the pot is less than lukewarm, and he cringes when the smell of it turns his stomach further. He swallows decisively - no puking when that kid is around – and pours himself a cup anyways. When he turns back to his ever-messy working area, Peter is nowhere to be seen.
“Kid?” he calls, voice far too weak and raspy for his own liking, “if you´re again hiding in that armour of mine to give me a god-damn terminator imitation, I swear I´ll colour your next suit pink!” Next, half of his body is caught in a skilfully flung web that seems to come out of nowhere. It´s a soft shot and definitely not something that should catch an Iron Man off guard, but he sways nevertheless and can barely keep his coffee mug from slipping out if his sweaty grasp. The sudden movement makes his stomach climb higher in his throat, causes his head throb even fiercer. He squints upwards and of course the kid is dangling upside-down from the ceiling, grinning from ear to ear. His smile quickly dies down when Tony glances at him angrily.
“Didn´t I tell you, no more pranks in the lab? There´s explosive equipment lying around here, you want to end up like a god-damn Guy Fawkes puppet?”
It comes out harsher than he intended it to be, and the kid is visibly taken aback, mumbling “Sorry, Mr. Stark” and swinging down to the ground much more elegantly than any human being should be able to, winding up his web at lightning speed. Guilt creeps up at Tony - it was just a joke, after all - and he swallows it down together with the ever-increasing nausea.
He expects Peter to be sulking, but instead his eyes reflect worry when he bounces over to Tony like a hyperactive Easter bunny – god, can´t this boy just once in his life walk like normal people do? – and hesitantly asks him “S-Sorry if I´m overstepping, but are you okay? You look pretty worn down…”
Tony is decidedly not okay on just too many levels. But there is no way he would ever let the kid know. Sarcasm is the best defence, so he puts on the coolest smile he can muster.
“I didn´t remember hiring you to babysit me, Pre-K? Aren´t you supposed to be working - I´m pretty sure that web you pleasantly decided to tie me up with is much too thin to withstand someone who actually wanted to tear it apart.” He´s exploiting the kid´s ambition, knowing very well that any criticism directed at his work tends to hit him hard. And yes, in no more than two seconds Peter is back at his workplace, bending furiously over that impressive little piece of tech he created - but only after shooting Tony a worried look and “inconspicuously” nudging the chair closer to him. Tony is secretly grateful for it, because the lab has decided to turn into a ship on stormy sea, swaying to and fro under his feet with every rattling breath he draws. His face is burning, but the rest of his body feels like Captain America just after he came out of that freezer. Tony sits down heavily, sets his mug as far away from him as possible, the smell of coffee just reminding him of how there is already too much of it in his burning stomach. He pulls up a holographic projection of the Bleeding Edge in front of him and gets to work.
But concentrating is becoming increasingly hard as his vision keeps disappearing at the edges and every breath dials up the nausea. He can feel cold sweat running from his hairline into his eyebrows. His hands are trembling so badly that he modifies the wrong parts of his holographic armour more often than the right ones, and he finally has to let go of the work and lean forward to rest his aching head in his hands. He breathes in through his nose, presses the knuckles into his eyes.
“Mr Stark, are you feeling alright?”, Peter asks immediately, and Tony is sure that the kid was just pretending to be distracted all the way long while secretly observing him. It was a mistake to let him come, Tony definitely doesn´t deserve anyone worrying about him like that.
“Ya kid, I´m good, for god´s sake.” he growls, removing his hands to shoot Peter a glare and immediately regretting it when the bright light hits his irises and burns its way into his aching head.
“You sure, Mr Stark? Because your skin colour is literally looking like you´re about to hulk out, and I know you got zero work done on that programme since you started it. Not to mention that you haven´t even touched that coffee in front of you, which is a tiny bit off-brand for someone who normally tends to inhale that stuff within seconds.”
Damn it, that kid is cleverer than is good for him. And knows him better than Tony should have let him. But Anthony Stark is stubborn to the last breath.
“Ever heard of creative meditation? I´ve been using my mind to design some updates that” – he pauses to swallow heavily, saliva starting to flood his mouth - “will blow that infant mind of yours once you” – a cough is working up his throat, bringing bile with it, and he muffles it in his sleeve - “see them.”
Just to prove the boy wrong, he takes a big swig of stale coffee. He should have known better. As soon as the liquid runs down his throat, it is met by angry stomach contents forcing their way upwards. Tony knows that if he opens his mouth the smallest bit, he´ll lose it. He needs the bathroom, now. Getting up hastily, kicking over his chair, he starts to make his way through the lab. But after two steps, the vertigo is back worse than ever, with pulsating black areas taking over the largest part of his vision, and for a moment the receding light turns into that cursed hole in the sky, taking earth away from him faster than he can fly, and then he stumbles into the wall and goes down like a beaten boxer.
Vomit rises in his throat, and he scrambles to get up, but gravity still hasn´t sorted itself out. Then, thank god, Peter is there to shove a trash can under his chin just as he heaves and heaves and feels like his screwed-up brain is emptying itself into the trash can together with the contents of his stomach. He tries to keep up appearances, but he can´t breathe and every retch hurts and he isn´t so sure anymore whether this is New York or Afghanistan. He´s back shivering in that icy cold night in the cave, being sick from god knows what they put into him, he can´t breathe as his stomach just won´t stop contracting. He swears he can feel cables sticking out of his chest.
A hand hesitantly starts to rub his back and he pushes it away, doesn´t want these terrorists to touch him even for a moment longer after having cut a damn hole into him. But then the voice tears through the ringing in his ears and it´s Peter, trying to calm him down, panic only badly contained in his words.
“It´s o-okay, Mr. Stark, you´re okay, just breathe, breathe please. You are here, you are in your lab-”
Tony is trying so hard, but catching his breath has become impossible, and it makes sense, considering he´s in outer space, miles away from Earth´s protective atmosphere. When the heaving finally stops, he all but collapses into the wall, allowing himself 30 seconds to get back to reality. God, there were procedures for dealing with situations like this, there were things he was supposed to do to calm himself down, but his fever-heavy brain works as slowly as Windows Vista, and it takes a while till he finds that string of sentences that´s supposed to ground him in reality. I am Iron Man. I am home. Pepper is safe, as are Happy, Peter, Cap – the kid´s voice interrupts his sequence, high-pitched from fear and twice as fast as usually.
“Mr Stark, can you hear me? Are - are you sick? Are you running a fever? Friday, what´s his temperature?”
“103.1 degrees Fahrenheit”, comes the prompt answer before Tony can stop her, and he´s sure this traitorous AI had just been waiting for that moment to come back at him for ignoring her warnings. But damn, the fever has actually climbed, when did it get so bad? He´s halfway sure that he had been below 103 in the morning, but on the other hand, he can´t really trust his memories in the state he´s in. Behind his eyelids, the cave and the wormhole and the mountains of anxiety are looming more tangible than ever, ready to strike.
“Geez, Mr Stark, why on earth are you still working with a fever like that?” Now the kid is angry, finally. Tony opens his eyes and tries to give him a reassuring look, mumbling “Calm down, kiddo, it´s only a cold”, but it comes out all raspy and broken. Peter doesn’t even bother to answer, just raises an eyebrow at him. Fuck. How could he ever allow himself to have such a breakdown in front of the kid? He clutches his chest as his breathing accelerates again, willing the memories to stay out of his mind.
“Is – is this an anxiety attack?” Peter´s voice is calmer now, his eyes x-raying Tony. Damn it. That kid all but sees right through him, and Tony can´t let him anymore. He´s much, much too young to be confronted with all that nonsense and chaos in Tony´s head. He knows that Pete wouldn´t mind, that the kid is kind-hearted enough to play therapist for him, but that´s a task no one, especially not a 15-year-old should have to take on. So, he forces himself to calm down, makes his eyes hard turn hard, his voice go strict, drags some strength from god knows where in his worn-out body and looks Peter directly into the eyes.
“You´re definitely overstepping boundaries now, Parker. Sorry you had to witness that Exorcist mess I created here,” – he motions at the trash can that´s reeking of stomach acid mixed with coffee – “now make yourself useful and get me some water and lots of ibuprofen, will ya?”
Peter seems about to object, but something in Tony´s eyes – maybe the hint of desperation that threatens to overwhelm him any second – makes him obey. The few minutes of privacy Tony gets while Peter fills a glass from the tap and searches for a medicine box that isn´t yet empty are enough for him to rebuild the façade. When the kid comes back, he´s got his poker face back. He rinses his mouth, pointedly spitting taste and anxiety into the trash can while Peter watches with unconcealed worry.
He swallows three pills with small sips of water, wondering for a moment how many he´s had during the last days, then batting the thought away. He knows full well that the chances of them staying down would be much higher with food in his stomach, but there´s no way he´s able to ingest anything solid right now. He presses the still half-full glass against his forehead for a minute, the coolness returning some clarity to his thoughts, and then pushes himself up on the wall, slowly as to avoid the vertigo, ignoring the way the pain in his head spikes with the change of altitude, deciding that he´s fine now.
“Okay, back to work. Friday, what happened to your DJ skills? Are we in an old-age home? Turn on something good!” Peter stops her with an angry tap on the tablet before the first song has a chance to start playing.
“Mr. Stark, are you - you aren´t going back to work like this, you really need to rest!” he tries frantically as Tony pushes away his supportive arm.
“Pete, boundaries. No more comments on my health or I´ll send you home. That´s a good idea, actually. You got the afternoon off, go, play some video games and watch sesame street with your friends”.
He takes a few tentative steps towards the work bench, the ground even more unstable than mere minutes ago, light-headedness making each step a challenge. He´s aware that he´s shivering hard.
“There´s no way I´m leaving you here like that!”
The kid´s literally trying to have a contest of stubbornness with Tony, which would be fun and a certain win for him any other day, but he just can´t do this now, when all his concentration is needed for maintaning a sense of equilibrium and keeping that wormhole from closing up around him. He reaches the table and leans heavily on it when the smell of the forgotten cup of coffee hits him. Suddenly, the nausea is back with full force, the pills taking revenge on him. He swallows desperately. He´s fine, he has to be. But his head is killing him, and the memories are all there just behind his eye-lids, waiting for him to open a tiny gap in his defence, and that kid just won´t stop caring, and god, it´s just too much. Breakdown is imminent.
“Fine, do what you want, but give me some goddamn privacy!”
It takes all the strength he´s got left to make it to the other side of the workshop and into the tiny lab bathroom. “Friday, lock the door”, he rasps, and then collapses in front of the toilet, retching and heaving and hurting till the memories overwhelm him and all he can do is hide his face in his armpits and shut himself off from the world as darkness finally takes over.
The next moment, there are men with huge claws instead of hands. Every time he breathes, they are allowed to rip parts out of the bodies of Pepper, Peter, his mother, everyone he loves. It´s a game he can only lose. He knows that he´s not allowed to breathe, tries to keep it in as long as possible, not caring whether he suffocates, but in the end there is this instinct, that thing he just can´t control and it forces his mouth to open and his lungs to work. Parts of Peter and his mom are strewn around on the ground like carelessly dropped puppets. When he wheezes again, they strike, and half of Pepper´s face is gone, blood pouring all over her light blue dress, her leftover eye staring at him with so much sorrow that it makes his heart burst and shatter all over the world. You didn´t save me-
He comes to by someone calling his name over and over again, “Mr Stark, Mr Stark, you are here, it´s all good now-”.
There´s the kid, blurred but alive, holding down his thrashing arms, forcing him to breathe in and out and in and out. It takes him so long to come back, so long to fully realize that Peter still has all his limbs and is not bleeding from the gashes these claws left on him because Tony fucked up once again.
“Pepper?” he gasps as soon as he can draw a breath, and by some miracle, Peter understands.
“She´s fine”, he assures, visibly relieved that Tony is finally making sense, “she´s in India at a board meeting, right, Friday?”
Friday takes all but two seconds to hack into the facility´s surveillance system and show him life footage of Pepper, in one piece and clearly annoyed by something happening in the room filled with elegantly clad people she is currently giving a speech to, and she´s so incredibly alive and beautiful that Tony can barely suppress a sob. It´s only then that he realizes there´s tears running down his face. He´s quick to wipe them away with the arm that Peter reluctantly lets go off, and embarrassment burns hot at his cheeks. The blurred picture slowly clears up and he becomes aware that he´s still lying on the bathroom floor where he must have fallen asleep, or rather passed out. His body aches more than ever before, he can feel his heartbeat shattering his forehead. Peter is halfway bent over him, visibly shaken, worriedly biting his lip. Tony knows he can´t delete what just happened, but he tries anyways.
“Geez, how on earth did you get in here? Got some secret lock-picking skills I haven´t noticed?” The effect is diminished by the shattering of his teeth.
“You told me the override code at that birthday party of Happy, when you were drunk and lost your helmet in the bathtub and me and Pepper were searching for ages to find it”, Peter says matter-of-factly. “And it was a good decision, considering what just happened now. But that´s not the point.” He takes a deep breath. “Mr Stark, is this why you haven´t slept in ages? Do – do these dreams always happen to you?”
Tony knows when he´s defeated. And he owes the kid an explanation at the very least, after all he´s just made him witness. Apart from that, he is just too exhausted to put up appearances anymore, and his grasp on reality is still anything but stable. So, he lets Peter pull him upright, shakily leans against the wall, flinching at the freezing coldness of the tiles – tiles, not the wall of a cave, not an all-consuming vacuum - on his burning skin, before sighing and looking directly at the boy.
“Not always, kid. But yeah, recently it´s gotten a little worse, and when I have a fever, these… these dreams really suck.”
“And that´s why you try to power through the flu, working till you literally keel over? To avoid sleep? Are you even aware how stup– “
The kid cuts himself off, probably afraid of insulting his mentor. But Tony´s incapable of being annoyed right now, he´s just too glad that Peter is alive and well and able to stare at him with this worried-angry-disappointed look that Tony absolutely deserves. And maybe he´s just glad to have a living person around to help him catch sight of reality.
“Ya kid, I know. Told you I´m not the greatest role model, didn´t I?” He rests his aching head back against the wall, Peter´s face pulsating in front of his eyes, just feeling so weary and tired and done with the world.
“You will - you should – have you gotten help, like, someone professional?” Peter asks hesitantly. Tony realizes the kid´s unsure how far he can go, the comment about boundaries echoing in both of their heads. Guilt and vertigo make him tilt to the side, but Peter´s hand is there to steady him before either of them can think about it.
“I used to see a therapist, kid, I´m not a complete idiot.” Just incredibly self-destructive, his subconsciousness adds. “But it got a lot better during the last years, and recently there was just a lot of work, and I…kinda didn´t get the time.” And didn´t want to acknowledge that he wasn´t fine, that this is not the kind of illness that ever gets healed for good, that this is now part of him and will always be.
Peter seems to weigh his next words carefully, doubt and fear and empathy clearly written on his face before finally being replaced with decisiveness.
“Mr Stark…. Go there again. Once this flu is over. Please, just, just – just promise me you will, okay?”
Tony might be a total emotional idiot, an expert at constantly hurting people´s feelings and doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, always, but even he recognizes the significance of this moment. It´s incredibly tempting to run off, to pull himself out of this situation with a grin, a trick and a punchline as he usually does as soon as emotions and promises are involved. But then…right now, he doesn´t want to do the wrong thing, doesn´t want to fail again. Not this time. Not with this untainted, unbroken person in front of him who cares so much about all the wrong people. So, when his eyes lock Peter´s, when he says “Okay, mother hen, I will”, it for once is not a lie.
The rest of the day and the following night pass in a haze. He´s aware of Peter supporting him into the elevator, then to bed, of both of them pretending that Tony could make the way on his own if Peter just let him. He´s aware of Peter being there when he throws up painfully again and again, of forcing him to drink water he doesn´t want. Someone else appears at some point of time, Rhodey maybe or probably Happy, because Peter is so much cleverer than Tony and gets help when he needs it. And he´s aware of Peter pulling him back into reality when the cave and the wormhole once again hold him hostage in his feverish dreams. When he wakes up, sweating and gasping for breath and suppressing the sobs, and there is this real living person beside him desperately mumbling comforting words, he knows that nothing is fine. Nothing ever will be. But he´s a little less alone in the darkness now.