Title: The Bad Days
Author: Daisy
Fandom: Avengers
Setting: Shortly after the Avengers movie, before Iron Man 3
Pairing: None
Genre: Angst/Horror
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 403
Type of Work: Drabble, Character Study
Status: Complete
Warnings: PTSD!Tony, Malnutrition, Alcohol abuse
Disclaimer: I do not own Tony Stark or any Avengers characters.
Summary: There were the good days, and then there were the bad ones.
AN: Just a bit of ventwork with Tony. This came to me last night when I was in a similar position.
The Bad Days ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There were good days, days when a Tequila Sunrise was not on the breakfast menu, days when he could deal with the world as long as he avoided looking at the stars.
But the bad days didn't seem to do him any favors.
Those were the days that the only thing he looked forward to was the split second the pounding in his head seemed to stop after he purged his guts into the toilet. Seconds later, it would return with more bile pouring from his mouth. They were the days that he often didn't want to get out of bed, but he couldn't sleep because all he could see were those aren't my stars. An explosion in his dreams would shoot him awake, pin straight in his luxurious bed, sweating on the silken sheets and feeling his hair sticking to his neck and face.
Now, Tony Stark was currently on day three of no sleep, tinkering away in his basement workshop like it was his only tether to the real world. He fielded calls left and right, ignored texts, had J.A.R.V.I.S. take calls like he was out and busy in the real world. Fake meetings, appointments and parties seemed to be the only places he would go, as of late, even trying to limit food intake and bathroom breaks in order to feel he could finally sleep.
Hair an absolute mess, sticking up in whatever fashion it wanted, large dark circles under his eyes… The famous (or infamous, in some cases) Tony Stark was not really caring what he looked like these days, locking himself away like a hermit in the basement of his home. He was up to Mach 43, at this point, working with new metals and deploy methods while he tried to numb his mind to the thoughts that sent him into a panic with alcohol. Delivery was no problem, J.A.R.V.I.S. could handle making the calls, and he had enough money any liquor store in town would deliver to him.
After another two days like that, wearing himself thin between barely eating and throwing up what he had because of his nerves, Tony sunk into bed, hoping that some of the sedatives he'd taken would prevent those horrible nightmares.
Sadly, he still woke around two am, quivering and panting with a scream on his lips.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: