I hate "insane asylum" fics. They're always unrealistic and terrible. But I just spent a week in the hospital, and I used to use fanfic to process things. I'm trying that now. This is just a preview; the real first chapter will be somewhat longer.

This is unedited and un-beta'd.

"This," Tony Stark enunciated clearly, "Is bullshit."

He was right, of course. He usually was-hazard of being a genius. It was bullshit. But it was exactly the kind of trouble that his big fucking mouth tended to get him into. He shouldn't have been surprised.

And he wasn't surprised. He was pissed off. Because this was bullshit.

"Sir," the woman sitting behind the desk said, "You can sign yourself in or we can have you court processed. It'll be easier if you sign yourself in, and you'll probably get out faster-seven to fourteen days, instead of twenty-one to thirty." She was patient, her tone bland, like she'd given this speech a thousand times

Probably, she had.

Tony's frown deepened and he crossed his arms across his chest. The thin hospital gown he was wearing felt out of place in this office, and he was keenly aware that he wasn't wearing any pants. It made him feel vulnerable, and he hated feeling vulnerable. His voice was thus even more irritable when he replied, "I'm not signing myself into the nuthouse. I'm not crazy. I'm leaving." He tried to sound reasonable, sane. Normal.

He wasn't normal. He was a lot of things-billionaire, playboy, drug addict, strapped down to a gurney. Normal wasn't on the list.

The woman behind the desk sighed. "You have been petitioned by a mental health care provider, you do not have the right to refuse treatment at this time."

"That is bullshit!" Tony exclaimed, going quickly from 'irritated' to 'angry.' "This whole thing is a misunderstanding!" His head was starting to pound. He didn't know how long it had been since he'd woken up in the ER at the hospital after they'd hit him with the Narcan. Since that oh-so-glorious awakening, he'd had to talk to about four billion people including the goddamn social worker who'd landed him in this mess. He didn't want to talk anymore. He just wanted to get out of here and score. Anything to make the headache stop. But that apparently wasn't going to happen.

Taking his extended silence for a thoughtful pause, the woman behind the desk offered, "We offer drug rehabilitation services in addition to psychiatric care." She paused, then added,"If you sign yourself in, you'll get off the gurney and get your pants back faster."

And that...that was an intriguing proposition. Not the drug rehab shit-he'd been through rehab more times than he'd care to count. But getting his pants back? That sounded amazing. And once they got him started on the buprenorphine, the headache would quit on him. So Tony inclined his head. "You know what? Fine. Give me a pen."

She handed him one. Awkwardly, as he was still strapped to the gurney the EMTs had wheeled him in on, Tony leaned over to where the forms were sitting on a chest-level receptionist's desk. He signed his name in the highlighted spots, then tossed the pen aside. "There. We good?"

"Not quite yet," the woman said. "But these fine young men can let you down now and we can start getting you settled."

Tony sighed as the EMTs unbuckled the straps across his chest. This was going to be one long, stupid week.

The intake process itself wasn't too bad, except for the part where he had to get naked in front of a male staff member for a body scan. It was familiar-rehab kind of went the same way-but Tony preferred stripping down for more pleasurable activities. At least after that invasion of privacy he'd finally gotten his own clothes back. The hospital had even washed them for him, which Tony was thankful for-last time he'd seen that particular gray Henley and pair of jeans, they'd been covered in vomit.

The facility at which he found himself was the quaintly named 'Stonehearth Center: A Behavioral Health Hospital." There was, in fact, a stone hearth-the lobby of the hospital, which he'd seen briefly as he was walked up to his floor, had a cozy forest cabin getaway vibe going on. The treatment floors themselves, though, were less cozy. Not austere by any stretch of the imagination, but it was clear that the space was designed to be functional.

And safe. The pipes in the bathroom had a protective plastic cover over them. The doors had no locks. The furniture was nailed down. Small things, but Tony found them distasteful reminders of what he'd signed up for.

He'd arrived on the floor shortly after noon, and most of the other patients had gone down to the cafeteria for lunch. Tony was thus able to explore his room in relative privacy, for which he was thankful. All of his billions of dollars hadn't been able to buy him a private suite, a hazard of how he'd come to be here, he imagined, and so he was sharing a room with another guy. From the sparse number of personal belongings in the room, the guy seemed fairly normal. There were a few books on the nightstand, all with "Stonehearth Library" written on them. There were a few shirts and pairs of pants folded up on the shelves on his side of the room. The mental health aide who'd showed Tony around the ward had told him that his roommate's name was Bruce.

After exploring his room, Tony had made a beeline for the phone. He'd needed to call his assistant, see if she could get him some more clothes and some personal hygiene stuff. If he was going to be stuck in this place for a week or two, he wasn't going to wear the same clothes the whole time and he sure as hell wasn't going to stink.

Pepper Potts, who'd been working for Tony for almost ten years, was not impressed with him, as it turned out. No, she wasn't impressed at all.

"I thought you were dead!" She'd practically screamed at him, interrupting his greeting.

"Uh, yeah," Tony had replied, his brain abandoning him for the moment. "I'm sorry about that, it won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't!" Pepper said, still at top volume. "Because I'm quitting! I have a job offer back in New York and I'm taking it! I can't take the stress any more, I can't keep covering up for you-"

"Pep," Tony had interrupted, trying not to let his terror at the idea of her leaving him show in his voice, "Look. I'm in rehab. I'm going to clean up my act, I promise."

"Right," She'd scoffed. "Like the last ten times?"

Had it really been ten times? Tony had counted back. Yep, it had been. Shit. "No, for real this time. Please. Give me another chance."

There had been a long pause, and then Pepper had sighed. "Fine. One last chance. Where do I need to bring your clothes, Mr. Stark?"

Ouch. The Mr. Stark had hurt. "It's this place called the Stonehearth Center, not sure where it is exactly, I didn't get a lot of say in how I got here." Understatement of the year.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do." She'd paused again, and Tony had heard keys clacking. Then, surprised, Pepper had said, "Tony, Stonehearth is a mental health facility, not a rehab facility."

Like Tony hadn't known that. "Yeah, Pep, long story. Can you please just bring me some clothes? Shampoo?" He'd wanted to add 'and some oxy,' but he hadn't thought that would go over well.

"I don't even want to know," Pepper had said. "I'll be there as soon as I can get free."

"Thanks," Tony had said before he hung up. His life might be a disaster, but Pepper was as consistent as ever. At least, she would be if he actually got his life together, she'd stick around.

Wait. That meant...he actually had to get his life together.

Shit.