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cap_ironman2011-08-22 06:01 am
notuninvisible.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2011-08-22 06:01 am
Entry tags:
First Post, Fanfiction: No Promise Of Eternity
Title: No Promise Of Eternity
Author/Artist: *raises hand* I claim responsibility for this.
Summary: Tony is dying and lying. And then it gets worse.
Pairings/Characters: Tony/Steve after the first chapter.
Universe: Some sort of ambigous time in 616 prior to Civil War.
Rating: PG-13/T for drug use and angst.
Warnings: Death is discussed. And comes close to happening. Some swearing. Alcohol usage in later chapters. Um... I don't really think anything else needs warned for, but tell me if it does.
Beta: None.
A/N: A very terrifying idea my brother had after seeing movie!Tony's actions when he was dying. Because this pairing doesn't have enough bad angst-fic. Future chapters will be longer.
Tony feels like he's dying.
He's only standing because the wall is nearby and he grabbed ahold of it, fumbled for it like it would be his salvation. It keeps him upright as his world crumbles out under him. His vision swims briefly and when the fog of dots clear there are still little ones floating dangerously about the corners of his vision. Hot, he's so hot, he has to get out of here. He has to go, now. He knows what's happening and he's powerless to stop it, like all his science and willpower and accomplishments mean nothing. He staggers forward rapidly, clutching his chest with one hand, the stabs of pain coming in around the time he clears the corner.
It twists and turns inside him, a knife of raw hurt that is driven deeper and deeper, repeating, matching up with his own heartbeat and he wants to die. He doesn't relly but he does and his knees are shaking, sweat is rolling down his face, the door in front of him is salvation and it's a million miles away. Stab, stab, twist, his neck explodes in heat, his pulse is in his head. He can feel his pulse in his forehead, hear it swish, too fast, he stumbles forward like he's diving on a grenade. Somehow, by the grace of a God he hasn't believed in since he was seven, he makes it inside his room.
He lays on the floor and gasps for a minute, body jerking occassionally from the more sharp or off rhythm stabs. Then, slowly, he pulls himself to his feet with Herculean effort. The room spins violently. He leans against the wall until it passes, rips his shirt off (he can afford new shirts) and lunges for his desk. Unmarked bottle, cliche as hell, he counts out four pills and fumbles for the water he keeps under his desk. He takes three and crushes one under his tongue. He whines for Jarvis to turn the lights down.
Then he goes back to the floor, where he waits an agonizing eight minutes for everything to kick in.
---------------------------------
There's a lack of balance and grace to his movements afterwards that makes Steve notice.
He must've overdone it. He shouldn't have - he was already over safe dosages on a regular basis - four was stupid. His ability to concentrate is shattered. His words are slow and slurred together. His eyes aren't quite focused. But the pain. Tony Stark was honestly afraid of the pain. A combination of fear and bad judgment made him overdo everything and now he was swaying on his feet, rubbing his eyes, looking like Hell. He tries to smile at Steve and thus secures that something is wrong.
"When's the last time you slept, Tony?"
"What day is it?" he asks honestly. Steve faceplams.
"What was the last thing you ate?"
Tony's stomach churns. The more he eats the longer it takes to process the medication. He needs to be as empty as possible so it burns into him quickly. And with the attacks coming in more and more rapid succession, with less stimulus or triggers, he had to try not to eat much. Paranoia was slowly beginning to seep into his thoughts and actions. The pain scared him, the near-unconsciousness scared him, life and death scared him. He doesn't want to think about everything haunting him lately.
He shrugs. He'd had some vanilla pudding this morning. It didn't interfere with the process. And sure enough, he'd been right. He's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't notice Steve touching his shoulder.
The blonde frowns. "You can't work yourself like this, Tony. Bed. Now."
He's not so far gone he can't make innuendo out of that. "Sounds sexy. My place or yours?"
"Tony, I'm serious. We don't have anything major going on. Get some rest. Get one of those tea-things you like without the caffeine and watch that show about cakes-"
"I watched Cake Boss once!"
"-and unwind. Okay?" Steve pulls the puppy dog eyes.
Tony falls for it. He's been less and less immune to Steve's nurturing lately. Some part of Tony Stark's twisted little soul would enjoy being nurtured. Too much, maybe. He'd like to be coddled and taken care of and held. Instead he shrugs and leaves, lets Steve manipulate him out of the room so he can go hide until he's ready to put on the mask and face the world again, brave the gauntlet of people and questions and pressure that is his life. He has to put on a brave face and resist the urge to run into the arms of the nearest person blessed with a Nurturer/Caregiver personality.
Because sooner or later, this is going to kill him. And it will hurt everyone less the less they're close to him before the big one happens. Tony Stark doesn't just feel like he's dying. He is. Or at least, he's inching closer. One day soon he's not going to get to the (illegal, honestly) drugs or he's going to overdose or not take enough and they'll find him, curled up on the floor alone, completely unnoticed.
I need a freaking drink.
Author/Artist: *raises hand* I claim responsibility for this.
Summary: Tony is dying and lying. And then it gets worse.
Pairings/Characters: Tony/Steve after the first chapter.
Universe: Some sort of ambigous time in 616 prior to Civil War.
Rating: PG-13/T for drug use and angst.
Warnings: Death is discussed. And comes close to happening. Some swearing. Alcohol usage in later chapters. Um... I don't really think anything else needs warned for, but tell me if it does.
Beta: None.
A/N: A very terrifying idea my brother had after seeing movie!Tony's actions when he was dying. Because this pairing doesn't have enough bad angst-fic. Future chapters will be longer.
Tony feels like he's dying.
He's only standing because the wall is nearby and he grabbed ahold of it, fumbled for it like it would be his salvation. It keeps him upright as his world crumbles out under him. His vision swims briefly and when the fog of dots clear there are still little ones floating dangerously about the corners of his vision. Hot, he's so hot, he has to get out of here. He has to go, now. He knows what's happening and he's powerless to stop it, like all his science and willpower and accomplishments mean nothing. He staggers forward rapidly, clutching his chest with one hand, the stabs of pain coming in around the time he clears the corner.
It twists and turns inside him, a knife of raw hurt that is driven deeper and deeper, repeating, matching up with his own heartbeat and he wants to die. He doesn't relly but he does and his knees are shaking, sweat is rolling down his face, the door in front of him is salvation and it's a million miles away. Stab, stab, twist, his neck explodes in heat, his pulse is in his head. He can feel his pulse in his forehead, hear it swish, too fast, he stumbles forward like he's diving on a grenade. Somehow, by the grace of a God he hasn't believed in since he was seven, he makes it inside his room.
He lays on the floor and gasps for a minute, body jerking occassionally from the more sharp or off rhythm stabs. Then, slowly, he pulls himself to his feet with Herculean effort. The room spins violently. He leans against the wall until it passes, rips his shirt off (he can afford new shirts) and lunges for his desk. Unmarked bottle, cliche as hell, he counts out four pills and fumbles for the water he keeps under his desk. He takes three and crushes one under his tongue. He whines for Jarvis to turn the lights down.
Then he goes back to the floor, where he waits an agonizing eight minutes for everything to kick in.
---------------------------------
There's a lack of balance and grace to his movements afterwards that makes Steve notice.
He must've overdone it. He shouldn't have - he was already over safe dosages on a regular basis - four was stupid. His ability to concentrate is shattered. His words are slow and slurred together. His eyes aren't quite focused. But the pain. Tony Stark was honestly afraid of the pain. A combination of fear and bad judgment made him overdo everything and now he was swaying on his feet, rubbing his eyes, looking like Hell. He tries to smile at Steve and thus secures that something is wrong.
"When's the last time you slept, Tony?"
"What day is it?" he asks honestly. Steve faceplams.
"What was the last thing you ate?"
Tony's stomach churns. The more he eats the longer it takes to process the medication. He needs to be as empty as possible so it burns into him quickly. And with the attacks coming in more and more rapid succession, with less stimulus or triggers, he had to try not to eat much. Paranoia was slowly beginning to seep into his thoughts and actions. The pain scared him, the near-unconsciousness scared him, life and death scared him. He doesn't want to think about everything haunting him lately.
He shrugs. He'd had some vanilla pudding this morning. It didn't interfere with the process. And sure enough, he'd been right. He's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't notice Steve touching his shoulder.
The blonde frowns. "You can't work yourself like this, Tony. Bed. Now."
He's not so far gone he can't make innuendo out of that. "Sounds sexy. My place or yours?"
"Tony, I'm serious. We don't have anything major going on. Get some rest. Get one of those tea-things you like without the caffeine and watch that show about cakes-"
"I watched Cake Boss once!"
"-and unwind. Okay?" Steve pulls the puppy dog eyes.
Tony falls for it. He's been less and less immune to Steve's nurturing lately. Some part of Tony Stark's twisted little soul would enjoy being nurtured. Too much, maybe. He'd like to be coddled and taken care of and held. Instead he shrugs and leaves, lets Steve manipulate him out of the room so he can go hide until he's ready to put on the mask and face the world again, brave the gauntlet of people and questions and pressure that is his life. He has to put on a brave face and resist the urge to run into the arms of the nearest person blessed with a Nurturer/Caregiver personality.
Because sooner or later, this is going to kill him. And it will hurt everyone less the less they're close to him before the big one happens. Tony Stark doesn't just feel like he's dying. He is. Or at least, he's inching closer. One day soon he's not going to get to the (illegal, honestly) drugs or he's going to overdose or not take enough and they'll find him, curled up on the floor alone, completely unnoticed.
I need a freaking drink.
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Yeah, Tony's trying to self-medicate. Because he's totally got this. Of course. *facepalm* God help him, he's got good intentions.
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