A/N: Just trying out something. Major AU, though. Major Kidvengers, too.
"I am the fourteen-year old child prodigy son of multi-billionaire Howard Stark, with an intelligence quotient that rivals Albert Einstein, who is currently in the process of getting accepted into the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, who dismantled a whole Volkswagen vehicle at the age of four, admittedly with the help of my father but I did most of the work, who –"
"No, Tony, you don't get to pull the I'm-Too-Intelligent-For-This-Shit card today," Rhodey interrupted his best friend's tirade, running a hand through his hair and sighing softly, completely familiar with the small speech that Tony was currently giving. "You are going to follow us to the museum for a short field trip like all kids do, or I swear we're going to drag you through those automatic glass double doors, and I don't care who your father is."
"But, Rhodey," Tony whined, folding his arms and pouting. "Field trips are boring." He dragged the last word out. "They're for normal kids! You know, kids with an IQ of less than a hundred, who've never skipped a grade before in their lives, who still eat from packed lunches that their moms made."
"Just because you're intelligent doesn't mean you get to insult all the other kids, Tony."
"Excuse me?"
"Just because you're extremely intelligent for someone your age," Rhodey corrected with a roll of his eyes, "does not mean you are excused from field trips. Come on, Tony. This is just a visit to the museum for less than three hours. I'm sure you can handle that! It will be fun, I'm sure of it. Stop it with the puppy eyes, Tony, you know that only works on Phil. It will be good for you to finally be out for a change instead of being cooped up at home, working on your robot. Which, if I may add, only comprises of a motor and a metal hand."
"His name is Dummy, idiot," Tony stuck his tongue out. "And I've got the schematics for another one, who's going to be called Butterfingers. And, they do not just 'comprise of a motor and a metal hand', they are fully capable of thought patterns and interpreting situations. They're just, you know, not sentient, because they can't express themselves, due to the lack of parts."
"Whatever. That is besides the point, Tony," Rhodey sighed again, his patience beginning to wear thin. "I do not care what you say, you are coming with us on this field trip, and that's that. Besides, we're already at the museum," he gestured to the large marble building they were arguing in front of, complete with two orange marble lion statues flanking the double doors. "Since we're here, we're going to make the best of what we have. It's not like this is going to be dangerous or anything."
"Museums are dangerous," Tony deadpanned with a subtle eyebrow raise. "Didn't you read the papers? My dad told me that just between the last two months, four kids went missing."
"That makes no sense, Tony."
"Three of those kids went missing after they visited the museum. This museum, in particular." Tony gestured to the wide double doors. "Three kids is a lot, you know, they're probably going to make a study of the number of kids who mysteriously vanish after visiting a museum. I refuse to be a statistic on that chart." It was a weak argument at best, but at this point Tony was grasping at straws.
"Tony, stop being ridiculous." Rhodey rolled his eyes. "I read that article. And they did not go missing while in the museum. It's a coincidence. Maybe they wandered off or something. And besides, the article you read was in a freaking tabloid, not in the papers. Nobody reads those things and believes them. They post dumb things in there, you know, things about celebrities and stuff. Look, I promise we'll be here to take care of you. Pep, Phil, and I. Your bodyguards for the day. Nothing's going to happen to you, cross my heart and hope to die."
He cut in when it looked like Tony was about to interrupt him. "Don't make me get Pepper. She's wearing her heels today."
Tony paled, and Rhodey smirked in triumph, turning his gaze to check if the remnants of their school group had left, or if they were still waiting for the other kids who had yet to return from their toilet break. "We're going in soon. It's just less than three hours, Tony. We'll just be in there, following some tour guide around, looking at ancient Egyptian or Incan artifacts and stuff – and then we'll be out before you know it, and then we can go grab Chinese once we're dismissed and you can go home and rot there for the rest of the week, hanging out with Buttertoes."
"Butterfingers. He's not completed yet, by the way."
"Whatever. Just humor me, okay? It's just for the experience. I'll let you order whatever you want on the menu tonight, even if it's a quintuple-shot espresso."
"They serve coffee at the Chinese place?" Tony's pout was momentarily wiped off his face, both his eyebrows raised.
"They make it on request. I didn't tell you because I know you'll order it whenever you get the chance to." Rhodey took the opportunity to grab Tony's bony wrist and lead him in a manner most unceremonious to the front of the school line, where both Phil and Pepper were back from their respective toilet breaks, waiting for them to show up. "No running away till the tour has ended, Tony, otherwise I'll follow up on my threat and get Pep to track you down. You know I am fully capable of that."
"Whatever," Tony rolled his eyes, folding his arms, still pouting as their teacher herded them into two distinct lines and began the headcount for the number of children present. "I still say this is a stupid idea, Rhodey."
It had been two hours and forty-five minutes, and here they were still listening to that dull tour guide drone on and on about the Chinese emperors, specifically about a particular Qin Shihuang, whoever that was, something about building the Great Wall of China, blah blah, many people died, yadda yadda yadda, bodies were tossed in the Great Wall while it was being built. And then something about burning all books in China, too. Tony thought that was stupid – what a waste of good books, he told Rhodey – and received a lecture from his best friend about how dictators didn't want anybody (particularly people with academic backgrounds) interfering with their plans. Again, totally boring. None of this was going to be useful in the future to Tony Stark.
He'd been attempting for the past nearly three hours to sleep while standing up, although that failed miserably, and every time he closed his eyes he got an elbow in the ribs from Pepper – which hurt, a lot – and every time he made faces behind the tour guide's back he got a foot in the rear end from Phil. They'd moved from exhibit to exhibit – and if he was correct, they'd visited about five exhibition halls – and nothing had managed to pique his interest, not even in the slightest. From Nazi Germany to Tsarist Russia to some weirdo called Chandragupta Maurya to the Sacred Valley of the Incas to Chinese history – all boring. Insipid. Dull. Drab. Mundane. Unimaginative. Uninteresting. Stodgy. Tony had a variety of words for Rhodey to pick to describe this 'field trip'.
"It is fascinating," Pepper had tried to interest him in the museum trip. "Isn't it marvelous how much humans have progressed over the years?"
"It will be fun, he said," Tony attempted to mimic Rhodey's tone, folding his arms and posing like how his best friend would usually stand. "I'm sure of it, he said. Someone remind me to kick Rhodey off the 'people I can trust' list."
"It has been fun," Phil rolled his eyes, laying a firm hand on Tony's shoulder and dragging him along to the next artifact on exhibit as their little school group moved along. "It's just that you have not exactly been the epitome of cooperative, Stark. If you would be a little more appreciative of these ancient artifacts, I am sure you'd find it as fun as the next guy does –"
"Oh, really." Tony leaned over and nudged the boy beside Phil, one of their schoolmates who'd opted to follow the school field trip. "Hey, Jeremy – that's your name, right? – you having fun on this absolutely substandard excuse of a field trip?"
"I was," the boy replied smoothly, "until you talked to me. Also, my name's Peter."
Phil folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at Tony, cocking his head slightly and with a smug grin plastered on his face – the one he knew that always annoyed his friend. "What did I tell you, Tony? Stop being a damn jackass about the whole thing and shut up and actually listen to the nice tour guide for once. If you try to like it, I'm pretty much certain you'll end up enjoying yourself. Now, be a good boy and promise me that you won't argue with the tour guide for the whole of the last exhibition hall we're going to, and that you won't try to fall asleep on your legs. Or I'll call Pepper."
"You suck," Tony muttered under his breath, but conceded defeat, and skulked off after the disappearing tour group, Phil walking beside him to make sure that he stuck to his promises.
"I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy the last one," Phil tried to placate his friend. "It's something about Egypt, and you know how everyone finds Egypt interesting, what with all the mummies and the sun gods and Cleopatra and all the pyramids and tombs with all their funky booby traps for the tomb raiders."
"We'll see," Tony grunted, since he really didn't want Pepper breathing down his neck about enjoying the museum visit and making sure that he behaved himself. Egypt did sound like fun, though. He'd always been, as a kid, fascinated about how the Egyptians managed to find a clever way to preserve their dead, along with the gory parts, like something about sucking the brains of the dead Pharaohs out through their noses. Totally gross, maybe, but it would be a fun fact to share with Rhodey once they got to the exhibit; he would totally love to see Rhodey squirm with the willies. Despite his seemingly tough exterior, Rhodey hated gory things. (Like the time Rhodey passed out after they had watched Saw II together.)
The Egyptian exhibition hall was, as Tony predicted to himself three seconds before their tour group actually entered the hall, milling with visitors, both local and from overseas. Phil was right, Egyptian history was definitely the most interesting out of all the other boring stuff they'd seen so far. The tour guide (who had calmed down noticeably when Phil had restrained Tony from arguing with her any further, like how the two debated in the Chinese exhibition hall when Tony insisted that the museum tours department had gotten the chronological order of the crowning of one of the princes of China wrong – and the department did get it incorrect, of course, because when was Anthony Edward Stark ever wrong) had them crowded around a large glass case, with a body wrapped neatly in linen bandages enclosed within.
As she droned on and on about the process of mummification – which Tony knew intimately, thank you very much – his eyes wandered around the hall, still looking at the other artifacts placed on exhibit. Some emerald amulets, two papyruses, an odd-looking statue of a Pharaoh – maybe Tutankhamen. How utterly predictable. Tony rolled his eyes, supporting his head with his left hand, while his elbow rested on Phil's shoulder, leaning against his smaller friend.
"Don't you find it interesting at all?" Rhodey asked with a raised eyebrow as he leaned over, closer to Tony so that nobody could hear them.
"I admit this is more interesting than the other exhibits," Tony murmured, "nevertheless when I say 'more interesting' I am comparing it with other exhibits. I find them all dull. Some are just, you know, less dull than the others, just slightly. Like this one."
Rhodey sighed, rolling his eyes again, shifting his weight to one foot. Tony would never find history interesting. Tony never found anything interesting, unless it was related to mechanics and technology. Oh, and food. Tony found food interesting. Rhodey would guess that if marriage to food were legal, Tony would already be married to Shawarma. That guy could eat Shawarma for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
"Moving on," the tour guide gestured to the next artifact, a stone slab of some sort, with a wave of her hand and a fake smile that told Tony that she really hated her job and didn't want to be here introducing a bunch of poorly-disciplined kids to priceless ancient findings, "I am sure all of you will find this one interesting. I present to you our latest artifact – flown in all the way from Egypt just two months ago. This stone slab was discovered in a previously unmarked pyramid, buried underground, hidden by layers of sand and grit. This is the only artifact that managed to leave the hidden pyramid, because the moment it was removed from its stand, the walls of the pyramid mysteriously began to crumble. The team of Egyptologists had no choice but to run and take this stone slab with them. The rest of the artifacts they had seen in the hidden pyramid were buried in the sand following the collapse of the pyramid. As I am speaking these very words, an excavating team is currently digging around the area where the hidden pyramid was said to have been, trying to excavate any of the other artifacts that survived the pyramid's collapse."
"How mysterious indeed," Tony deadpanned to Rhodey, who was craning his neck for a better view of the stone slab, since the both of them were standing right at the back of the school group clustered around the artifact and therefore could not catch a single glimpse of the slab. "This pyramid was built several thousand years ago, I don't see anything mysterious about its poor structural integrity."
"Can it, Tony, I wanna hear what she's saying," Rhodey glared at his best friend, still trying to get a good view of the stone.
"As all of you can see," the tour guide began –
"Not all of us can," Rhodey sighed in defeat, throwing up his hands.
"The slab has some extremely interesting words carved in it," the tour guide continued. "Well – they're not really words. Just symbols to us, at least. The funny thing is, none of the existing languages on this planet match up to the language engraved on this stone slab. Perhaps it's a pattern of some sort, no one really knows. Our hired team of Egyptologists have been trying to decipher the code engraved on it ever since it's been discovered – it doesn't even match up to the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, much less any language used by other ancient civilizations."
"I bet you could decipher that code," Rhodey remarked to Tony with a raised eyebrow. "If, you know, you actually could be bothered to take the time off your supposedly busy schedule to go figure it out."
"Now why would I ever waste my precious time on trivial things like these?" Tony replied nonchalantly, with a wave of his hand. "Whatever the message is, I bet it's probably not important. Maybe a secret recipe for Egyptian stew, or something. Maybe this Pharaoh liked to cook. Don't look at me like that, Rhodey, it's a perfectly legitimate hypothesis!"
"I have one more artifact to show you before the tour is concluded," the tour guide said, and she sounded relived that she was finally going to get this bunch of monkeys out of her hands. "This way, please -"
"Hurry, Tony, I want to see the stone thingy," Rhodey had his best friend's arm in a vice-grip and was pulling Tony to the front of the fast-dissipating group, stopping just in front of the glass casing that protected the ancient stone slab from the hands of curious children and visitors alike.
It wasn't anything spectacular, Tony noticed. Just an old block of stone, about the size of an A4 sheet of paper, the width about four inches or so. Greyish-black, with little flecks of white powder on practically every surface. A few intricate carvings into the rock, just like what the tour guide had said. Tony didn't even bother to glance at the artifact, despite his growing interest, while Rhodey was practically examining every visible surface of the slab, changing positions every five seconds. "Tony, you need to take a look at this," he insisted, once his search had got him to the surface of the stone where the text was clearly visible. "This is remarkable."
"Not interested," Tony kept his eyes on their school group, which were crowded around another glass display case twenty meters from where the two were still standing.
"No, Tony, you really have to take a look at this," Rhodey breathed. "It's remarkable."
"I doubt it actually is," Tony huffed, finally giving in to temptation and craning his neck a little to get a good view of the symbols. "What –"
The symbols were definitely odd, now that he had a good view of them. One was comprised of a few squiggly lines and a circle. Another had a bird – a flamingo, his subconscious whispered to him – dancing in the middle of a square. And another looked suspiciously like a modern-day submarine, stranded on an island with a single palm tree. Tony frowned, marveling at how intricate the carving of the symbols were, taking note of the precision of each cut, not caring that Rhodey had gone silent and was now staring at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Huh," he murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets. Something niggling at the back of his mind told him that he'd seen these patterns somewhere, although the still-coherent part of his brain, the part associated with memory, told him that he had never actually seen anything like this in his whole life. Most of these symbols – if not all of them – looked incredibly familiar. They sent a spark down his spine whenever he examined them closely. Moving his head sideways slightly, although he kept his eyes on the text, Tony exhaled and continued examining the carvings, not knowing that his breathing rate had increased and he was now beginning to sweat. How can it be that I am experiencing deja vu when looking at these oddities?
"You're thinking of decoding this, right?" Rhodey shot him a grin, although it wasn't returned. "I knew it. I knew you'd find something that would capture your attention in this place. Pity the museum doesn't allow photography, though, we could totally snap a picture of this and have it sent to your computer in seconds –"
"Hush, I'm thinking," Tony scolded, ignoring the annoying smirk on his best friend's face, which was growing bigger and bigger. Rearranging his arms so he had his right knuckle pressed to his mouth while his left arm was tucked under his right elbow, his left hand clenched into a fist, pressing against his body, Tony did not move for the next five minutes. The symbol with the irregular dodecagon and the triangle with the fish within represents the word 'evil'. Tony blinked. Wait, how did he know that? And the one with the three-sided pyramid and the wheel represents the word 'buried'.
His mind was starting to sort and filter out this new information, as if he was just suddenly remembering something he had no intention of remembering. As if the answers were memories he had kept locked away in his mind for years, never taking them out to look through. As if he'd been told what these strange symbols meant a long time ago, and hadn't remembered it till this very moment. Which isn't possible. I have absolutely no recollection of seeing these.
In less than five minutes, his mind had already managed to decode the message – well, more or less so – and had pieced the bits of the puzzle together. The Aether is buried underground, carefully concealed from the likes of mankind. Those who seek its destructive power are doing so for greedy, evil means. As such, those able to comprehend this language must never reveal the location of this entity. And below, the precise area of which this supposed entity was buried in. Three areas, as a matter of fact. Tony tilted his head again. One was in the walls of the seventeenth underground level of the hidden pyramid – now lost to all mankind, what a pity – another was buried several thousand meters below the surface, somewhere in the North Pole, and the last was buried right in the hadopelagic zone in the ocean (beneath several tonnes of rock, Tony supposed.) Whoever would want this apparently evil Aether would have to secure trillions of dollars worth of drilling and excavating equipment, built precisely so that it would withstand extremely high pressures. And they would definitely need a high-pressure submarine that would get them to the bottom of the ocean. Another few millions of dollars used. Whoever had gone to such lengths to bury the Aether had to know that the Aether was definitely powerful and dangerous, indeed.
Tony raised an eyebrow. It was highly likely that this was all a ruse by the ancient Egyptians. Although he did understand the text. Or perhaps that was his genius, playing tricks on his conscious. Was it even possible for the extremely primitive ancient Egyptians to go right to the very bottom of the dark ocean to bury this Aether? And what in the world was an Aether? An element of some sort, Tony theorized.
"Hey, Rhodey. You understand any of this?" Tony jabbed a finger to the slab.
"You kidding me?" Rhodey looked incredulous. "Of course not. They're just weird glyphs." He bent down to take a closer look. "I see triangles and circles, and some squares." He pointed to the symbol that had the submarine stranded in the one-palm tree island. "That one's a triangle, right?"
"Ha ha ha," Tony rolled his eyes. "Good try, Rhodey. We both know you can't do sarcasm."
Rhodey frowned. "I wasn't...uh, being sarcastic, Tony. It's a triangle." He looked deadly serious, and Tony almost believed him. "Are you blind? Look, it has three sides. I'm pointing to it right now! Yes, that one! The third row, second from the left. One, two, three sides. It's a triangle, Tony. Quit screwing with me."
Now Tony was speechless. Rhodey was calling him blind? James Rhodes was the one who clearly couldn't see that it was not a freaking triangle. "Rhodey, it's an ancient rendition of a modern-day sub, which has beached onto an island with a single palm tree. Don't you see that?"
Rhodey looked utterly unconvinced. "Uh huh. Sure, Tony, whatever you want. I thought you were topping the glass in Math. Doesn't that mean you should have a very good grasp on the concept of geometry?" He sighed at Tony's expression. "We're looking at the same glyph, how is it possible that we see different things? And let's face it, the possibility of the Egyptians even accurately predicting what a modern submarine looks like is non-existent."
"Fucking hell, I'm not screwing with you this time, Rhodey," Tony sucked in a shaky breath. "I am telling you what I see now, and I am seeing a submarine."
Rhodey paused. Tony was using his serious tone – which he hardly ever used, but when he did, he was definitely not joking about the matter at hand. "Whatever. Maybe you're just tired, and are seeing things differently. Or maybe it's me." He looked up. "We should rejoin our group. They're already leaving. Come on, the museum's closing, soon." The security guards were already locking the glass doors in the exhibition hall and the visitors were already starting to leave.
"Wait," Tony murmured, studying the text once more. "There's fifteen more minutes till the museum really closes, anyway. You go ahead, Rhodey. Tell them I've already gone home, that you saw me waiting at the bus stop and that you witnessed me boarding the bus. Something like that, so Miss Carter will believe I've gone home safely. I want to...uh, look at this a little while more."
"And you said you wouldn't find anything on this trip interesting," Rhodey grunted. "All right, all right. Will you still be joining us for Chinese tonight?"
Tony chewed on his lip. He was really hungry – when was the last time he'd eaten? Yesterday? Two days ago? - yet this Aether had already taken full control of his attention, and he was going to find out what it was. Till he had the answers, he wouldn't stop, because a Stark did not give up when he was looking for answers. "I think not. I'll see you guys another time. I want to spend the next week or so building Butterfingers."
"Okay." Rhodey rolled his eyes, knowing that he wouldn't get to argue with his friend. "See you around, Tony."
"Mmhmm," Tony hummed, not even registering when Rhodey turned on his heel and left, much less noticing that the hall was completely devoid of any other visitors.
Let's piece the facts together. Tony calmed himself, closing his eyes. I can read the warning on this stone slab, but Rhodey cannot understand it. He believes he sees a triangle when what I clearly see is a sub. Nobody else can understand this code save for myself. I am clearly not hallucinating, and my subconscious is sure – positively certain – that I can understand this language. This is like something out of those B-rated horror movies. I can see things that aren't there. Fuck, maybe I have watched too many shows. Should stop letting Pep choose the movies from now on.
When he opened his eyes again, nope, the weird symbols hadn't changed at all, still there, engraved carefully on the surface of the stone. Am I dreaming?
And the message on this stone is quite clear, Tony continued thinking. Does it imply that there are only a select few who can read this message? And it clearly wants me to not reveal the whereabouts of this Aether. And whatever this Aether is, it has great powers and, apparently can be used for massive destruction and chaos. I find myself suddenly questioning the existence of science. How do you even pronounce the word 'Aether', anyway? Ay-ther? Eh-ther?
Groaning, burying his head in his hands, he wiped at his eyes and continued staring at the artifact, his mind now blocking everything around him. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. He'd never not been able to comprehend things before, much less something that came from the primitive society of Egyptians, and he was definitely not going to give up now till he figured everything out. Perhaps this was some sort of a trick? Unlikely. That certainly wouldn't explain anything about the anomaly he'd just witnessed.
Running a hand through his hair in an exasperated attempt to clear his mind, Tony was coherent enough to notice that his hand had come away slick with sweat. Since when did he sweat so much? Wasn't the museum air-conditioned? Now that he had thought of it, it was starting to get unbearably warm in the exhibition hall.
Trying his best to ignore it, Tony wiped his face of sweat with the sleeve of his turtleneck, continuing to focus on the slab. Since when had it gotten so hard to see? Was this fog in a freaking museum? Freaking hell, it was in the middle of October. The weather outside was cool and most definitely not hot and not foggy. And he was getting sleepy, too.
Casting a gaze around him, Tony could clearly see that the hall was filled with fog. This isn't...I'm hallucinating, right? I must be. Panicked, now, he began to run in what he knew was the general direction of the exit. He couldn't even fucking see what was in front of his face, oh god, and everything was getting white. And his legs, was he even control of them? It seemed as if they were just running on their own accord. What's happening to me?
Tony thought he'd been running for the past five minutes, when he realized that his legs were currently not moving and that he'd collided with something. A glass case. And it had been smashed upon. He must have run into it, and the impact of collision had broken the glass, he deduced tiredly. It was getting harder to see straight now, and oh god his eyes were burning. It was weird how the alarm hadn't sounded, though. Weren't museums full of those motion sensors?
His vision was full of white now. The fog – it was fog, right? It didn't smell, so Tony had to assume that it wasn't because the museums were fumigating their halls, although why would museums even fumigate their halls? It was freaking October, it wasn't like there were going to be mosquitoes or anything – was getting everywhere, and he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face, and he was getting so sleepy.
"Help," he gurgled, something blocking his throat and preventing his larynx from articulating words properly. Letting his upper body fall to the ground now, he knew that he was – oh, how terribly cliché – fighting a losing battle. His recalcitrant body wouldn't respond at all, no matter how much his brain screamed at him. His limbs were numb, and his mouth was open in a silent scream. Where are the security guards when I need them? They couldn't have left this place already. There's a night patrol guy, there's always a night patrol guy in museums, I need to get his attention –
"Please," he screamed – or at least tried to, it came out as a whisper instead. "Help. Pep, Rhodey, Phil! Help me!"
Phone, Stark. Don't get yourself so flustered you can't even remember that you have a fucking phone in your pocket which you can use to call for help. That would be rather embarrassing, now wouldn't it?
Tony fumbled for his phone, his hand wouldn't fucking fit in his jeans pocket, and oh god he was sweating so much, his breathing rate increased drastically. It clattered to the floor, and he groped around, trying to find his bloody phone in the stupid fog – oh god, he was so getting his father to sue the museum, who the hell put fog in the museum anyway – and yes, there his phone was. Tony swiped the screen, tapping in his twenty-number password – why the hell did he put so many safeguards – and tapped his call application desperately, and ohgodhecouldn'tbreathe.
Tapping in Rhodey's number desperately, his arm shaking so badly, he took deep, gasping breaths, no longer in control of the panic that had built up in him. Bashing his thumb against the call button, he took another long breath and waited for Rhodey to answer. That idiot better pick up my call, or I swear I'll wrangle his skinny neck with my bare hands.
His eyes really stung, now, and his heart was thrumming in his ears, his pulse sky-rocketing. He had no time to think coherently, all he knew was that he felt restricted – did anybody know Tony Stark suffered from claustrophobia – and the monotonous ringing in his ears didn't help. He was dying, goddamn it, and Rhodey chose today of all days not to answer his phone. The guy always answered Tony's calls, no matter what the time.
"Hello? Tony?"
Tony couldn't even move. The Starkphone slid from his hand, dropping on the floor again, and he couldn't even pick it up. He tried, of course, but his hand wouldn't obey him. It was as if all his muscles had become unresponsive. Perhaps they had gone on strike, from all the late-night binges and all the working till exhaustion. Huh. It's just like what Phil always said. Karma's a bitch. And his mouth wouldn't even move, so all he could do was just lie there and let his eyes gaze towards the ceiling – which was hidden from sight by all the fog. The stupid fog. It was finding its way into Tony's throat and nose, because now breathing was getting harder and harder, and his throat felt funny. His buccal cavity felt as if it was filled with cold gas, and his pharynx felt stuffy. Although that was stupid, because technically fog was a gas, and couldn't fill Tony's throat –
His eyes rolled back into his head, and Tony Stark was no longer conscious.
A/N: Please R&R!