This is it, the Apocalypse

Chapter Seven: Iron Man Continued

Tony could feel himself floundering in the abyss, conciousness existing just out of reach, fleeting and taunting and it was frustrating him to no end. He fucking hated sleep. Especially sleep he literally could not wake himself from no matter how frantically he struggled.

There was a rhythmic beeping. Familiar and irrepressible. And There were voices, and he wasn't quite sure exactly what was being discussed but he knew the conversation was about him when his deluded mind recognized that his name was being uttered multiple times. His eyelids were far too heavy to be mere skin...

He drifted again.

When he regained a small semblance of awareness once more, he was greeted anew by that moronic, useless beeping. This time, there were no voices. Again, he couldn't will his eyelids to move. Diving in and out of the teasing grasp of understanding, like a bird caught in a violent gale, was too difficult for his brain to process so he relinquished himself to unconsciousness, hopeful that the next time he came to, he would be capable of... something. Anything.

A nightmare. Pepper was upset with him and he had no idea why. She left him. If he had been weeping in his sleep, he wouldn't have been surprised.

'Pepper, please...'

When he felt it coming this time, he fought. He fought for a foothold in reality, for a mind able to comprehend basic thought and deliberation. The darkness threatened to take him once more, to own him, to smother him. But he fought it. And what the fuck was that beeping sound?!

Tony's eyes snapped open, and he instantly regretted the action, the bright lights overhead sending knives burrowing into his skull. An attempt at groaning was met with severe resistance and he gagged around something in his throat. Instinctively, he reached up to remove whatever it was, and found ribbed plastic and tape holding it in place. A ventilator. What the hell? Better not mess with that.

He swallowed violently around it, eyes watering with the effort of suppressing the normal bodily response as he took stock of the rest of him. Thankfully, he seemed completely unharmed. An IV pumped saline into his arm, and the ventilator was unbearable, but otherwise he was fine.

He spent a moment in miserable confusion. Obviously he was in a hospital, and he'd located the source of the beeping noise attempting to drive him into lunacy; a heart monitor beside his bed. But what had landed him there?

Then it hit him, the previous events becoming a macabre slideshow in his head and the sudden, shocked gasp he released made him choke, his esophagus rebelling against the foreign object. He coughed violently, eyes wide and streaming with the effort of relaxing his uncooperative throat. Just as he started to reach up once more, this time to pull the toturous thing out, consequences be damned, a face appeared above him, the man's glasses shimmering in the artificial light and his graying hair ruffled in characteristic certainty. He swiftly grabbed Tony's arm and forced it back down to his side and the inventor released a pained, frustrated moan between his strangled hacks, fixing his desperate, pleading eyes on his friend.

"Just relax, Tony. I'm gonna take it out." Bruce told him calmly, and started peeling away the tape from around Tony's mouth. Meanwhile, the inventor was almost positive there was no way he could relax, as panic set in, and the stupid tube hurt, and the arc reactor was shifting mercilessly in his chest, and he was coughing so violently he was sure he would damage ribs, and goddammit, he couldn't catch his breath! He distantly heard Bruce say something about keeping his head back and opening his airway, so he did, and the unforgiving plastic was finally removed.

Sitting up and clutching his abdomen, Tony's body continued its vindictive punishment, attempting to force him to expel his heart, lungs, stomach and all other organic matter contained within his torso. At some point Bruce had snuck a mask over his mouth and nose, and the pure oxygen helped immensely. Finally, finally his choking died down and he slumped back against the elevated bed, panting and absolutely extinguished, wiping the remaining tears away from his face. A groan broke through his parted lips and he turned to regard Bruce with intense disdain. "If you stick anything down my throat again, Banner, I'll kill you. Hulk be damned, I'll decapitate you with a big ass longsword." His throat was agonizingly raw and his voice sounded like he'd recently done vocals for a Rage Against the Machine concert. He tried to clear it, but it only increased his discomfort.

Bruce chuckled darkly as he washed his hands. "If only you knew exactly what kind of state you were in, you'd be thanking me right now." he said. Tony glowered at the ceiling, organizing his scattered thoughts, the act of which was entirely like piecing together a monstrous jigsaw puzzle the size of Big Ben.

"Yeah, you almost died, man. What did you say his BAC was, Banner?" The voice came out of nowhere and Tony nearly jumped out of his bed. His eyes shot over to his left to find Clint, seated comfortably on a table.

"Were you there this whole time?" Tony demanded, mouth hanging open beneath the oxygen mask in furious surprise.

Clint shrugged, grinning at him. "Of course. I happen to offer outstanding moral support."

Narrowing his eyes, Tony regarded the Hawk with skepticism. "How could you possibly support me morally, when I'm unaware of your presence, Barton?"

"Because, I'm always right... here." He poked the arc reactor with a smile and a wink and Tony emitted an indignant growl, hands flying up to grab Clint's arm, but the archer was already jumping outside his reach, knocking over a cart full of medications. The orange bottles scattered and rolled noisily around the room, and they both looked to Bruce, who wore a disapproving frown.

"Regardless of the dancing pill bottles, Tony, you have something you need to address." Bruce said, his tone severe, yet caring.

Tony nodded slowly in acknowledgment, biting his lip, sour gaze focused on the IV set deep in his vein. He was very much aware, now at least, that he had indeed suffered a horrific relapse. No matter how much he had avoided using such language in the past, he now had to identify the issue for what it was. Because that was the first step, wasn't it? Admitting you had a problem was both the first and hardest part, or some other such nonsensical bullshit.

'My name's Tony, and I'm an alcoholic.' Was that right?

"Ugh, Jesus Christ." He grumbled in disgust, his hand coming up to shield his eyes from this horrific reality, from the machines with their haunting melodies, from Clint's prying, almost pitied gaze and Bruce's evident concern. "Fuck my life."

"Tony, I think it's important to tell you what happened." Bruce said quietly, all ire from Clint's mishap completely gone from his voice, and Tony lifted his hand to eye him wearily. "When we carried you up here, after you collapsed, your Blood Alcohol Content was registering at .38."

His blood froze in his veins. He was surprised the saline drip managed to penetrate the ice he knew had formed there. He could have died. By all rights, he should have died. That much alcohol in anybody else's system would have been lethal. So what made his selfish ass so special, so privileged? Next to him, the air shifted as Clint settled solemnly into a chair, but he barely noticed it. Good lord, what had he done? Didn't Pepper already have enough to worry about with him being Iron Man? Now he was gracing her with the possibility of him drinking himself to death? What kind of cold-hearted bastard was he?

He didn't deserve someone like Pepper.

"We had to go through a series of extreme measures to bring you back." Bruce explained. "Have you been hospitalized over this before?"

Tony thought for a moment. "Yeah." He said, rubbing the itchy stubble on his face and neck. It was more out of anxiety than it was a desire for comfort. "Yeah, once before, like over a decade ago. Amsterdam, I think. A, uh... a buisness trip. There were so many hookers." Clint released a huffing snicker which he covered quickly with a cough. "BAC was .37. The doctor there told me I should've been dead. I donated a large sum of money to the staff to keep them quiet and went along my way."

Looking back, Tony realized he should have heeded that subtle warning from above, but he had been too stupid and so enveloped in his insufferable God complex, that he'd seen it then as acute invincibility. In his young, conceited mind, a near-death experience meant only that you had defeated death itself. He'd considered himself above the concept of dying. It wasn't until Afghanistan that he really understood that he wasn't nearly as untouchable as he believed himself to be.

Bruce was watching him as he leaned back against a counter. "You know, admitting you have a probelm-"

"-is the first step, blah, blah, blah. I know, ok? I'm working on it." He grumbled irritably. "I've been hearing the same shit for years now, from just about everyone I know."

Bruce smiled at him knowingly. "Well... that should be a pretty big hint for you. So what are you gonna to do about it?"

Tony shrugged dejectedly and gnawed the inside of his cheeks, feeling very much as though he was standing in a burning spotlight. No, in the sun itself. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Go to AA meetings in which he could rest assured that every single person there would know exactly who he was? Trash his million dollar liquor collection and renovate his penthouse to rid it of the bar? Go to rehab and disappear for a few months, basically halting all of Stark Industries' operations and projects, and watch from afar as his company burned to the ground?

Truthfully, his options were very limited. He could not risk the possibility of the American Government finding out anything about this. And he'd thought being forced to build weapons for terrorists was bad. He could only imagine in his worst nightmares the horrors that would befall him should he be arrested by the world's greatest superpower. They would not allow his sharp mind to go to waste, not when it was capable of producing some of the most debilitating weapons technology known to man. And currently, they were searching for any excuse to detain him.

"I don't know." He finally admitted, eyes low and expression hopeless. Extracting himself from beneath the blanket, he was relieved to find that they had spared what dignity he had left and not put him into one of those ridiculous gowns. He was quite comfortable in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Swinging his legs over the bed, he sat on its edge, vision vibrating suddenly and a strange ringing in the back of his head which told him that he'd moved just a little too quickly. The two other men in the room were watching him closely and Tony's eyes darted suspiciously between them. "What?" He snapped, "Stare at me much longer and I'll be forced to make you two pay full ticket price for this freak show."

"You know, I was actually in a freak show." Clint said simply, as though there was nothing wierd and creepy about it whatsoever, and Tony's fatigued, irritated gaze rested on the Hawk. "It's true. Anyway, I don't have all the answers, but I do know where you should probably start."

Now, Tony was not so annoyed. He was genuinely curious. Even Bruce removed his glasses to polish them impulsively, something that Tony noticed he did when he was either nervous or on the verge of an enormous breakthrough. "Hit me with it, then."

"Well, first you need to call Pepper and let her know what's going on with you." At Tony's extremely vivid wince, Clint put his hands up. "Now wait, let me explain. Calling her will put some very important things in her head. One: That you're not a pussy and you're not afraid of her anger."

"But I'm terrified of her anger- ow!" Barton had grabbed the nearest moveable object, a tablet resting on his bedside table, and whacked Tony over the head with it. "You're an asshole." The inventor proclaimed, glaring at Clint and rubbing his scalp as Bruce snickered behind them.

Clint replaced the tablet and sat himself back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking accomplished. "I said 'let me explain'. Therefore, when you interrupt me, I have every right to fucking bop you. I'm trying to help here, and you're in no place to take it as anything less than the most important advice you'll ever receive in your life."

Oh, Tony wanted nothing more than to extract revenge from Clint's face, but he truly did want to hear what the man had to say. Anything was better than his own non-existent plan. He held his tongue and nodded at the Hawk who smiled gratefully back. It took a great physical effort to keep his mouth shut.

"Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, calling Pepper will show her that you're not a pussy... which I'm starting to question." Tony found it incredibly unfair that he was forced to maintain silence during this berating crap-fest, but he did anyway. "Second: Tell her you were on death's doorstep. It will show her that, regardless of her anger towards you, you continue to care enough to let her know that something messed up just happened. It fosters trust and communication skills."

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Tony watched Clint thoughtfully. The man was speaking the truth and he knew it. His logic was pin-point accurate. For not the first time, he wondered whether Clint's intelligence had been highly underappriciated. Or perhaps he hid it well.

"Third: Come clean with her." He continued. "She wants to know what's going on with you because she cares. Now don't do this over the damn phone, you need to be face to face. Tell her everything, every nasty secret, every painful experience, and she'll know that it takes a lot of courage. Women respect that. And honestly, if you want a relationship to last, that's just part of it. Trust is the most important part, and what better to trust each other with than your darkest secrets?

"And last, but not least, when it comes time to discuss solutions, ask her what she would like to see. Don't go rambling on, telling her what you're gonna do to make it alright. Right now being a humble little shit is your best bet and you need to really listen, like really hard, when she talks. I know it's hard for you, but you need to do it. Women insert subtle little hints into nearly every sentence. You can learn far more by just shutting up and letting her talk than you ever would asking her questions."

Tony looked on with restrained awe as Clint finished speaking. The archer shrugged at him indifferently. "Do you read minds?" he whispered sarcastically. and Bruce burst out laughing.

Clint just smiled at him. "No, not quite. You gotta remember, ninety percent of my job description is just fancy language used to describe 'people watching'. I literally sit in high places and watch people, and sometimes kill them. After so many years of doing this again and again and again... you start to learn a bit about them. And guess what? They're all the same."

"You should write a book." Tony suggested, taking the ice chips Bruce had fetched for him with a thankful nod and removing his oxygen mask so he could shovel them into his mouth greedily. They were soothing as they slid down his raw throat.

Clint shrugged and Bruce walked over to stand next to the Hawk, looking very tall from where Tony sat. "He's absolutely right, you know." Bruce confirmed, bringing the subject back on point. "Out of everyone affected by this, Pepper got it the worst, Tony. She deserves an apology. And probably the Nobel Peace Prize."

He knew that better than anybody. What an unbearable prick he'd been, and Pepper was a damn saint for dealing with it all, supposedly under the guise of love. He would do whatever it took to earn her trust back, even if it meant removing his beloved bar, and accompanying liquor supply. It didn't matter what he had to sacrifice. Nothing else mattered when he was with her.

He looked at his two team mates, his allies, his brothers-in-arms and realized then that despite their annoying tendencies (well, okay, Bruce not so much, but Clint. Definitely Clint) that they were much more than just the joes he fought along side of. They were companions and protectors and they all watched each other's backs.

"So... who knows about this?" Tony asked hesitantly. This was it, the defining moment that would tell him if the American Military would come storming into his tower tomorrow morning or not.

"Well, everyone knows there's something very wrong." Bruce elaborated. "I mean, Tony you threw a damn blender into a television. A very expensive television. And none of us are stupid. But as far as the drinking thing, no one is any the wiser, except for myself, Pepper and Clint. I knew you would want to keep this as far under wraps as possible."

Tony stuck a thumb out in Clint's direction and the archer shot him a cautionary look. "So why is Arrow Head in on it?"

"Because I owe you my life, you dumbass." Clint shot back. "What, did you really think after all you've done for me that I would turn this down? I don't want to be in your debt. It's embarrassing."

"You know what, just for that, I'm gonna keep you forever indebted to me. I will physically push Cap out of the way and save you myself, every time." Tony smirked at Barton's exaggerated eye roll.

"You know I had to help pump your nasty gut, right? Do you know how stomach-turning that is?"

Tony winced slightly at the thought. It was a low blow, considering how recently the events had occurred. "And I was wrist-deep in yours, so what's your point?" Snapping this had not been his intention, but the previous comment had made him edgy.

"Okay, guys, let's cool it down a few degrees." Bruce interjected, recognizing Tony's discomfort, and the inventor was thankful for it. Reading Tony like a book was something the doctor excelled at, and he'd been the direct result of many stifled arguments between him and Pepper which had never come to pass. "We all need to get along if we're gonna make this work."

Getting along... yeah. Wasn't getting along, or the lack thereof, what had landed him there in the first place? "I need to talk to the team." He said quietly. "The whole team." Bruce and Clint both turned quickly to stare at him, and then exchanged dubious glances with each other. Tony noticed immediately and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What?" He demanded. "Your poker faces are god-awful."

Bruce grimaced. "I don't think that's such a good idea right now."

"Why the hell not?"

"Well..." Bruce shifted uneasily before Tony's questioning glare. He was half tempted to slap the doctor for being so withdrawn, especially when it was causing him to withhold extremely pertinent information. Releasing a deep sigh, Bruce removed his glasses and began to polish them. Tony knew then that whatever it was, it was damn pressing. "Let's just say somebody who was present in the kitchen when you had your fit, didn't find it very desirable."

Sitting there confused, Tony just stared at his friend. "...Huh? Who?" But he already had a sneaking suspicion, and his features darkened.

Clint scoffed, jumping to his feet angrily and heading towards the window, where he positioned himself in the sill, his arms crossed. He looked angry as well, maybe more so than Tony. "Can we just address the enormous pink elephant in the room? I mean, the goddamn thing is pink. Kinda hard to ignore now."

"No wait, just let me take a shot at this." Tony spat sarcastically, "Does this person happen to sing the National Anthem in the shower?"

"You're burning hot there, boss." Clint replied, turning to stare out the window. Bruce also avoided his gaze, focusing instead on organizing a cart of supplies which had already been organized when Tony had first woken up.

The story was being kept intentionally vague and If they thought doing so was for Tony's benefit, they obviously didn't know him very well. Not knowing would drive him up a wall much faster than discovering the truth, no matter how gruesome or horrific that truth may be. "So what's he saying, exactly?"

"He wants you off the team, Tony." Clint replied without hesitation, and for the second time that day Tony's blood ran ice cold. Off the team? What the hell? He couldn't quite comprehend what he was hearing.

"You're kidding me, right?" Tony said loudly, an inappropriate chuckle of disbelief escaping him. "Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? How is it possible that the giant, unpredictable green bullet sponge gets a spot, but I'm at risk of being booted over one little incident?" He was standing now, ignoring the vertigo, hands flying through the air in his fury as he gestured wildly. "Hulk can take down the whole helicarrier, damn near kill two of our own, and he's good to go, but I throw one of my appliances through one of my fucking TVs and Rogers gets his patriotic undies in a bunch over it?" He noticed Bruce off in a corner, looking slightly downtrodden and Tony felt guilty for his outburst. "No offense, Dr. Banner, I'm just trying to make a point."

Bruce looked up and offered a half-smile so shallow it was almost a grimace. "No, I agree with you Tony. You made your point, and it was the same point I brought up when he gathered us together to talk about you." Tony wasn't sure whether to address how ridiculous it was that Steve had called some kind of fucked up traitorous meeting to gain support for his removal, or to thank Bruce for putting himself in the spotlight to spare him. But he found himself far too shocked and exhausted to do either, and he instead collapsed back onto the edge of the bed, head cradled in his hands and eyes fixed on the floor between his feet.

Clint nodded his confirmation of the story. "The only one who wasn't opposed to booting you was Thor."

This caused Tony to glance up at Clint, and it was all he could do to mask his hurt. "Thor?" he asked quietly, expression incredulous and the archer nodded.

"He wasn't for it at first, but Steve was able to bring him around to his side. It took a lot of convincing to do so."

Well that didn't make him feel at all better and he dropped his head down into his hands once more with a groan. His initial plan of action was to immediately boot both of them from the tower, and put the ungrateful bastards out on the street with the rest of the scum, but he pushed that thought away when he considered the fact that he didn't want to stoop to their level. Should he approach Rogers head-on? Would it finally show him that Tony was no coward? Because obviously, making the sacrifice play and saving millions of people in the process had not been nearly sufficient enough to gain the Captain's glorious approval. Did Tony even give a shit about what that man thought of him?

He did if he wanted to continue being an Avenger.

And Thor... really? It was all too much.

"Anyway," Bruce piped up, stirring Tony from his furious and saddening thoughts. "Now you can see why it wouldn't be such a great idea to come out with your alcoholism. Right now, it would just give Rogers more fodder to attack you with."

Tony sighed, and relinquished himself to his exhaustion, laying back on the hospital bed with his feet still planted firmly on the ground. "What a nightmare." he whispered. "Please don't tell me Fury's caught wind of this."

"Not yet," Clint assured him. "Luckily, we were able to postpone that."

"Luckily." Tony repeated, as he stared into the ceiling, dejection and betrayal resting heavily on his heart. He had no desire to discuss it further, quite terrified of even more disheartening revelations about his team. For once, his curiosity was adequately placated, and in the most dispiriting way possible. He wished a black hole would randomly form beneath him and suck him in, painlessly removing his entire existence from the world. It's not like he'd done much good for it anyway.

"Tony, I think this topic has damn near been beaten to death." Bruce said, echoing his thoughts. "I think it's time you called Pepper."

"Yeah." was his half hearted reply. Actually, he wasn't positive he could deal with that daunting task at the moment, his fragile composure having already been damaged enough. "I'll come up later, I think. I don't know." He didn't even really want to move, if he was honest with himself. He heard the door open as Clint and Bruce prepared to leave.

"Actually, your ass is staying right there." Bruce replied, and Tony lifted his head to find the doctor smiling at him warmly with Clint standing next to him looking placid. "Three days bed rest for you. No exceptions." His smile faded slightly, his concern just barely apparent. "Hang in there, Tony. I'll be back down with food shortly."

Clint also offered a small nod. "We're gonna be fighting for you out here." he said, and in an instant they were both gone, leaving Tony wishing for once that he'd never even asked.

A/N: Damn my ADD... See? This is what happens when you can't get your mind to stop spinning.

Anyway, for obvious reasons, this is not the last chapter. Up next, Tony starts to put his life back together.

Tanks to all the reviewers/followers/favorite...ers. Please don't forget to review this one.