Author's Note: I had a terribly angsty day for completely stupid reasons, and ended up writing these ridiculously dark and angsty drabbles...

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Four Times Tony Wasn't Trying to Kill Himself, and One Time He Was

by Veldeia

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1. Black

It's not the first time he's driving under the influence.

The night is black, as is his new Corvette, as are his thoughts, as he speeds along at 150 mph, as if he could outrun them if he's fast enough.

The headlights of the truck cut into his brain like a knife.

His mind is doing the math - 1/2mv2 - so much energy - but his body reacts, a sharp turn of the wheel, screeching tires, and he's back on the proper lane, panting.

Though he knows it's wrong, he's exhilarated. He laughs.

So, it's not the last time, either.

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2. White

She's never heard Jarvis sound as human as he does when he pronounces the words. "In the bathroom. Miss Potts, please hurry."

She learns why he always wears long sleeves these days.

He is sitting in the tub, naked, streaks of crimson running across both forearms, the widest on his left wrist, a stream pulsing in time with a fast heartbeat, running down his bare thighs onto the white porcelain.

He stares into the distance. "An accident, Miss Potts," in a toneless voice. "Cut too deep."

"Why, Tony?"

"Cuts too deep. Never goes away. All their blood on my hands."

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3. Gold

The suit looks as if a great hand has grabbed him and tried to squeeze the life out of him: indented and cracked, red flowing through the seams, blossoming on the now lusterless gold.

Gently, she takes his helmet off, and runs her fingers through his damp hair. "Help is on the way. You'll be all right," she hears herself say.

He coughs, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth - like the tears at the corners of her eyes.

She wonders if he hurts as deep as she does.

"Is it really worth this, Tony?"

"There is nothing else."

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4. Blue

She finds him on the couch, lying on his back, one hand hanging laxly over the edge, the other holding an empty vodka bottle.

His face is colorless except for the lips, blue like his arc reactor.

"Pep... You better call an ambulance," he mumbles, half-open eyes full of fear.

She picks up the packet of painkillers from the floor. It's empty. She waves it at him. "Why?"

"I was in pain."

She grabs the bottle from him, and asks again, "Then why this?"

"I was in pain," he repeats. She can see it was far deeper than physical.

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5. Silver

Why not?

He's thought about it often. It would be so very easy. He's so tired of it all. Whatever he does, it's never enough. Why not do it right now?

He grabs the silvery rim, twists, pulls. It hardly feels like anything, a pale hint of the agony that follows. He lies down to wait.

He feels his heart struggling valiantly against the sharp shards of pain even though his mind has already given up.

"Don't bother," he says aloud.

But then: sharp clicks, approaching fast. Heels against the floor. Hands on his chest.

Why not?

There's his answer.