Big man in a suit of armor; take that away and what are you?

Just a note, I have yet to see Iron Man 3 (I know, I know, what's wrong with me?!) so if anything in here for some reason contradicts with something in the movie, sorry. Feel free to yell at me, just no spoilers please! I can't imagine that there would be anything like that, but I thought I'd mention it just in case.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel's The Avengers. If I did...Oh, man, if I did...

Not Made of Iron

Pepper always has her phone glued to her ear. Go figure she doesn't answer now.

But I'd bet Stark Tower that she can see me. Doesn't matter though, because she still isn't answering.

Jarvis's voice fades. I lose the connection. The arc reactor flickers out. My suit fails.

I keep my eyes open.

The ship is an ominous metal monstrosity, surrounded by hundreds more of those spiny serpents we were having so much fun with down there in Manhattan.

Then they're gone, lost in the blinding blue flash and the fiery death they deserve. Serves them right, thinking they can take over my planet. Morons.

I think I can feel the shreds of shrapnel moving towards my heart, but that doesn't matter. Whether those kill me, or it's that I'm pretty much stuck in the middle of space, I'm going to die. I close my eyes in acceptance and let the force of the explosion send me backwards.

I start to feel less and less until finally, I feel...nothing.

I should be waking up now. I remember that part, with Banner bellowing his Hulk scream at me; I didn't comment, but that breath is something I'm not likely to forget anytime soon.

But he doesn't yell. The arc reactor doesn't zap itself back to life. I don't wake up. Those things should happen - that's how they did happen - but they don't.

"TONY!" voices call. They're all jumbled and messed up, like they're trying to shout at me from underwater, and I can't pick out any familiar ones. "TONY!"

I start to panic. I claw my way to the surface - whatever surface that may be - where I think the voices are coming from, in hopes of finding something. I'll do anything to get myself out of this black hysteria.

I gasp myself awake and look around, my eyes darting and my breath short and fast. Pepper's anxious face is the first thing I see. I don't usually wake her up.

"Tony?" Her voice is hurried. "Are you okay?"

Am I okay? Well, I haven't stopped having nightmares since New York. I can't sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. I keep dreaming that I die.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," I say, brushing it aside.

"Are you sure?" she asks in that way she has that tells me she knows I'm lying. I nod anyway.

"Go back to sleep," I tell her quietly. I rest my head against my own pillow and close my eyes, but I can feel her looking at me. I refuse to crack the lids, and eventually there's some movement as she repositions herself. Only then do I open my eyes again, because sleep won't be coming to me tonight, not if I don't want it to. And I don't.

Take away the suit of armor and what am I? A paranoid schizophrenic. A guy who can't even close his eyes.

I can still see the way Pepper was looking at me. Her eyes held worry and the slightest hint of suspicion, and I could tell she was thinking about sending me back to the psychiatrist Fury was ordering I go see.

But I've never taken orders very well, and they were ridiculous orders anyway.

I mean, really? Had I died, they would have hailed me as a martyr and a hero. They would have depicted me through paintings in museums, statues in town squares, maybe even given me a day on the calendar. Tony Stark Day, to commemorate his sacrifice to save our world.

Actually, that deserves a full month. At least.

But not when I'm alive. No. Alive, they tie me down and sit me in front of a shrink, thinking I've now revealed a formerly concealed death wish and I'll hurl myself from Stark Tower if they look away.

Take away the suit of armor and what am I? Suicidal, according to the shrinks, though I've never had the patience to sit with one long enough to be diagnosed.

It really was ironic, though, how I was the one about to go, the one giving it all to save the world. It was never supposed to be me. That stuff is reserved for Captain; he's the goody-goody original champion of the meek and feeble and whatever. Me? A hero? Yeah, okay. Excuse me while I check that Hell froze over.

I never wanted to take on that role anyway. Not my thing, honestly. I'm not a team player. I'm not a white knight. I don't have to be; I'm smarter than that. Why be on a team when they slow you down? Why ride a horse when you can have a super suit?

Take away the suit of armor and what am I? An antisocial thirteen-year-old boy stuck in an adult's body. And everyone knows it.

But that decision, that split second decision to give your life for someone else's? That was...simple, actually. It wasn't even a decision, really. It just happened, though mostly because we were running out of time and everyone else had their hands full with those metal snake things.

So I sucked it up, picked up the damn missile, and flew into another spacial dimension. You know, just another day at the office. I accepted the fact that I wasn't going to make it. I think I accepted it when I was still on earth. I was a goner.

But when you continue to live after that, that's when things get tough, and not just because everyone thinks you need therapy.

It's because you do.

Take away the suit of armor and what am I? Vulnerable. More vulnerable than I'll ever know, and far more than I'll ever let on.

I don't normally write angst or drama - I'm pretty much a unicorns farting rainbows at the end kind of person - but I had this idea and decided to go with it. Let me know what you think.