Reflection
Five fandoms, Five oneshots, Five days
Happy Hallowe'en
Tony Stark would never not claim that he was vain. He was known to take a peek or two in a mirror, after all. And sometimes those peeks called for immediate primping when out in public. He absolutely was not embarrassed to stop and prod at his face in the closest reflective surface. Pepper knew this, and she knew it well, so really it was her fault for trusting him in a carnival funhouse of mirrors.
Okay, so she didn't exactly know where he currently was. Still counts.
He was supposed to be following her around as they toured the shabby little park. Some kind of Stark Industries publicity stunt that would toss him in front of cameras for the bettering of the city, as far as he knew. He may have been playing Snake on his cellphone under the table when the matter was discussed.
Now, he was far too amused by the silly caricatures being created by the insane amount of mirrors. Fat Tony was immediately holding an air gun, and when he ran into Slim Jim Tony, he went for more of a dejected homeless person look.
Pepper found him happily investigating Tall, Built Tony. Already angry as a hornet, she was not ashamed to sneak up on him, making sure to stay out of his less-vertically-challenged reflection. Crossing her arms (for effect), she suddenly and loudly cleared her throat, causing the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist to jump and smash his head into the mirror.
He was obviously fine, as he immediately set about blaming the new crack in the glass on 'the destructive Ms. Potts', and she was obviously still angry because she replied by smacking him with her clipboard before dragging him away to the closest escape vehicle, brushing glass dust off his suit as they went.
"Okay, Tony, remember, you MUST use the cards. If you get caught rambling again, our stocks will plummet. So stick to the story, and WHAT happened to your eye, oh my god!"
"Pepper, Pep, okay, yeah, that's my face. Yep. Squishing, really don't need that. Would you calm down and tell me what's wrong with my eye? Is it an 'oh wow pity that guy' kind of situation, or more a 'call the date off'? Because I have a lot of those."
She glared up at him, and obviously is wasn't a 'pity that guy' type of serious because she smacked him with her clipboard (again!) not half a second later. He yelped dramatically, rubbing at his arm.
"Just get out there, keep your left side away from too many cameras. We don't want people saying that the head of Stark Industries is passing around pink eye. Now get, you goof."
He was in a forest, so far as he could tell. A huge ring of straight, pole-like trees stretched all the way around him, broad at the base but tapering to a narrow, quivering tip. The ground was spongy, and he wondered if he was standing in a swamp, his feet dampened in the socks he wore. The ground was too dark to see, a black so complete that it was glossy. As he lifted his foot to inspect the steadily more soaked foot, the black ground suddenly started rushing towards him on all sides, contracting into a perfect circle of pitch around him. Red had flooded the area beyond the black circle, deep and veined with black radial streaks.
He jumped back as a shadow- but it couldn't be called that because it was white against the darkness- shot straight up, blotting and reforming into misshapen fingers that reached, reached straight for his face and started digging into his eye, gouging and tearing and-
He woke up with a strangled scream, palm of his hand pressed firmly over his eye. He glanced at the floor before taking a spring leap to land squarely on the wooden floor, avoiding the dark carpet with every fibre of his being. He threw himself down the hall, never removing his hand and constantly slamming into the walls. JARVIS brightened the lights for him as his hand slammed out to stabilize against the bathroom mirror.
He took long minutes, trying to control his breathing, before he was able to lower his hand. His eye was whole, as he knew it would be, but pink from irritation. He raggedly sighed as he dropped his head into the sink and turned the tap on full cold.
The next day, he added a pair of dark sunglasses to his wardrobe.
He took pills. When that didn't work, he took some more. And then some other pills. A shot of whiskey. Hell, even a few shots of tequila. It was actually making it worse. His eye was nearly a full red now.
But no one else could see it.
He was making himself sick with worry, and him being sick was making everyone else worry.
He didn't really care, though. Too little sleep had him grouchy and vile, but he simply refused to crawl into bed. Every time his eyes closed for more than five minutes, images of the black and red field filled his mind, the darkness contracting and shrinking enough to make him nauseous. And every time he tried to run, the pallid form would shoot up and dig into his orbital socket.
He found he spent a lot of time in the bathroom, either vomiting or staring obsessively into the mirror. On days where his mentality was failing, he could almost imagine that red swirling in his eye, sloshing around so much that it would overflow and drip down his cheeks like some kind of emo tears. It was almost an amusing thought.
Until it happened.
He spent the day shuddering, curled up inside the tub as his actual tears mixed with blood.
And, exhausted already, the added stress of his mind breaking apart caused him to fall into a fitful slumber.
There was no contraction, the black was only just large enough for him to stand in as the white form started pushing its way through. He tried to step back, to get away, but when his foot hit the red his entire leg, to his knee, sunk into a gel. Like a punctured balloon leaking air, clear viscous liquid welled up and glued him in place, seeping up his clothing as the hand reached again. He didn't have the ability to blink or close his eyes as the tips of the fingers once more slipped past his eyelids.
He woke, standing in front of the mirror once more, skin sallow as he watched the red welling up and cascading down his cheek. He felt no power in his limbs, no urge to wipe away the blood. It was as if he was still frozen from his nightmare.
As he watched, his body moved completely on its own, hand lifting up to smear blood into the other eye. It took little time, seeping in until a full set stared back. His face, still half coated, shifted into a grin, and one hand lifted to press a finger against his lip. The mirror image turned, walking away, but Tony had still not moved. He willed his hands up and smashed the mirror's surface, panic welling up and choking him.
He suddenly realized the colours around him dimming, the whitewash tile that wasn't visible in the mirror's surface turning black under his feet. Behind him the image of the bathroom died away, and those tall trees faded into view. Soon he was standing in his nightmare, only this time he could still see his bathroom, his home, through the cool surface his hands had not strayed from.
Like a carpet being tugged out from under him, the entire world shifted. He tumbled away from the mirror, falling on his ass as gravity threw him seemingly sideways. The ground was now a wall, and from that wall a great red eyeball, eyelashes and all, was staring at him. The mirror landed in the centre of the pupil, shattering and reforming again into a familiar, familiar hand.
Tony would have screamed, but in this mirror world there was no sound.
Already getting ready for Hallowe'en! Hope you all have a wonderful night!
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