Where I am? I can feel a chill running up my spine, making every little hair stand on end. Where are the others? I wonder if they know what's going on. I can't open my eyes, whether it's against my own will or otherwise I am blinded. I feel weightless as if I were stuck floating a vast ocean. This is weird. I can't feel anything. 'Jarvis,' I call out.

No answer. I'm not surprised. I'm in trouble aren't I? Nothing other than utter silence rings in my ear other than the sound of my shallow yet steadily growing breaths.

I'm surrounded by total darkness I can feel it I don't even need to see it, nothing but the cold, quiet void of empty space. My hands begin to shake. I've never been this far from my comfort zone I don't know what to do. I have a pretty good idea what's around me. I chose to be oblivious rather than its counter; after all it's a better state than panic. I feel nothing just weightlessness and the absence of oxygen in my lungs as I continue to drift.

This is a scary place, I don't want to be here anymore, but I don't know where else to go I'm stuck. I feel like I'm in an endless loop, no matter how much effort I decide to put forth I am nothing more than a hamster running on its wheel. There is nothing, no destination although the tower would suffice. Like that was even a choice. There is nothingness in every direction I'm sure. None of which was more comforting than my current position.

I feel like I am not breathing though there wouldn't be any reason to draw a breath. As if I were in a state of suspended animation. In a way I have a strong sense that I've been left to parish. I refuse, especially not in the dark lonely place. I am determined to find a way out and help the others. Alas I cannot move. But I must find a way out of here. I am needed back home.

I do something I have yet to think of, for the sheer thought of it chilled my still form. I finally open my eyes. I was right. There was a sight far worse than that of pitch black. It was in open space littered with stars and debris floating over head. In some instances it might have been more comforting than absolute nothingness. But that wasn't the most disturbing aspect. There it was, the Chitauri.

I am back in space. Home was in the opposite direction and I was facing an armada in which I have no means of defending myself. The suit is no longer responding, blatantly unable to correspond once on another plan. Jarvis stopped talking to me and I am left with only my thoughts. Although pessimistic they were there, speaking to me. They're coming at me, their target: the small hole I assume was still behind me and well beyond my reach.

Our last means of hope were sent from the government which originally was meant to obliterate us all and our home. With quick thinking I threw it right where it needed to be. Up at the mother ship and hoped for the best.

A blinding light distorts my vision as a drift back, the shock of the explosion expelling me. I'm out of it. Everything fades back to black. I don't know where I am anymore. I'm lost yet again. I think. Am I dead? Is this hell, just one constant reoccurring sadistic void of darkness? Emptiness.

It happens all over again like a reoccurring dream. Each time I get closer and closer to the dangers. I can almost feel the heat and then nothing. Quiet. This will happen a few times over before I begin to wriggle and sweat. Even after each time I see it I can never get used to it. The only difference is I know when it's coming. I'll never get used to feeling of falling, completely out of control. The nightmares never seem to cease.

Although every now and again I'll reach a resolve and make it back to the Earth. No recollection, seeming as though it were merely a skip in time. Just with a bang and I'm faced down in the ruble, such a pitiful state for the so called genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. All titles to mask the broken man who carries them. In reality I'm the most fragile one that hides beneath a layer of overconfidence, locked away inside of a shell of metal. Weak.

I was never cut out to be the hero. Someone who spends the majority of his life manufacturing articles of war doesn't deserve to be speculated. Subconsciously creating the tools for the other guys to attack us with, killing innocence. I will never stand for that kind of disbelief ever again. So long as my body draws breathe it will never happen again.

He likes to believe he's making a difference in the world, when in fact he completely ignore the fact that he was the one that helped make it that way in the first place. I suppose that's why he contributes to self poisoning with every dose of alcohol. It helps dull the guilt that lingers within him.

I am still again. Broken. I think I am home but I cannot see anything. I am heavy and I can't breathe. Frozen. Am I back in the void? No, I can see Pepper crying. I hear the muffled sobs that refuse to be contained behind a pair of soft hands. And Rhodey with that blank almost dead look in his eyes. This must be what it's like when you die. Others around you suffer. I'd hate to believe that anyone really cared that much. Most only look out for their best interests. Or at least it would be easier if they did.

Even if that's so, I can't stand to see Pepper cry. She's always been there for me. I can't just up and leave her alone. It would be selfish of me. Then again, I was well known for being a self centered egotistic jerk. So maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if I died?

The blue tinge of my arc reactor slowly blinked on. Like someone hitting the switch to a light in an old abandoned building. They couldn't have been happier once it finally flicked back to life. I jerked awake at the roar of an angry green giant standing over me. I don't know where I am. Oh I remember. Alien attack. Falling from the sky. Surrounded by people dressed in costumes. I remember now. I almost died. Almost.

I thought this was over with, all this hero stuff back and forth saving and risking lives, a onetime contract. It's exhausting. I'm tired. Why can't I just drift off back into sweet oblivion. Quiet no worry, a peaceful serenity. Oh I know. There are still things to be done. Old ghosts I have yet to deal with, things to build and lives to improve, people to look after. I can't die, at least not yet.

I remember where I am now, stuck in my head again. This is a bad place to be, in my dreams. A place I know is false yet then again doesn't stop it from feeling any less real. The same reoccurring thoughts cross my mind. I hate this place it's supposed to be a place of comfort but that's never been the case. I only feel anxiety. Fear.

I can feel a sharp pain. It's overwhelming I can't stand it, and in my subconscious no less. Something is very wrong and I don't know why. I can feel myself wriggling with discomfort. It's so bad it forces me to wake up and deal with the issue firsthand.

...

Tony woke up gasping for air. Every inhale burned like an inferno. He was in such unimaginable amount of pain he could hardly think. Gripping the sheets with whatever strength he had left, unable to keep the cries from remaining contain. That didn't prevent him from trying; he bit his lip and muffled them best he could. He hated pity and he wasn't about to submit to this feeling how unbearable it may be.

He forced his eyes open finally, it was dark. Too dark, if it weren't for the light beeping from machines and blue tint on the ceiling he would of had to deal with a full on panic attack as well as his injures. He felt the need to sit up. He needed to see the light in his chest still glowing. Feel it and know this wasn't a dream anymore. He moved one hand and touches the brightly lit glass in his chest it brought him comfort to know it was real, even if it did bring with it the dread of why it was there in the first place.

Between gasps for air he gave the room another look over and noticed a small digital clock in the corner. It read 4:46 am. Slowly the why of him being there was returning to him. The alcohol in his system had completely dissipated by now especially with the aid of numerous medications. Just the throbbing headache and horrible pain remained. It was too much to bear; he felt he needed to move even if I was just a little. He grasped the rail of the bed to hoist himself up.

"Where..?" His voice was harsh and scratchy and he tried to contain the cough lurking within his throat. But to no prevail, he hacked what seemed like his other good lung in a fit. His entire body pulsed in agony. The flexing core as he coughed only made it feel like he getting stabbed a thousand times over. He managed to cover his face with his palm before he unable to so. He felt something wet seep into his skin.

Once he could keep the coughing at bay he gave up his attempts to sit up and let his head sink back into the pillow. He felt every inch of his burning insides as the slowly settled back down as well. Pained tears worked down the sides of his cheeks although he wouldn't want them too. With the rest of his efforts he lifted his hand to wipe them away. It crossed over the light cast from the reactor the substance on his palm reflected. It showed dark liquid against the blue glow. He knew exactly what it was.

His heart began to race yet again as his eyes widened at the sight. Blood ran from his palm down the length of his wrist. He couldn't help but think the worst. That maybe his dream was a warning of his imitate demise. He needed to know where the others were. He needed to see them.

Against his better judgment he mustard his strength and hauled himself up. Every inch of his body screamed in disagreement but he ignored it. He grunted painfully, his body warn and tender.

After some time a doctor entered the room. The heart monitor sent an alert to his station that his patient was in distress, which he clearly was. Tony was hunched over the side of the bed bordering about passing out or puke. His oxygen mask was removed and dangling down at his side. The only thing still filling his lungs was the thin tubing fixed in his nose.

Red trickled down his chin profusely all over the bed spread and white tile in front of him. He hacked slightly from the pressure that set on this good side. The doctor rushed over and carefully pulled him back in his bed. Tony winced and panted best he could manage, blood thinly trickling down with chin. His eyes were unfocused and darting around the room.

Once his patent was settled the doctor then rummaged through several drawers before pulling out a little vile and a syringe. Since he found what he was looking for he rushed over to Tony and pierced the covering of the vile and filled the needle with dull yellow liquid.

A shaky yet firm hand reached out and grasped the wrist of the doctor before he was able to inject the substance into the IV. His finger tips dug into his sleeves as he lifted his head to look him in the eyes.

"No sedatives.." He managed through clenched teeth, wincing at what few words he could manage. The doctor only gave him a confused look. It didn't make any sense to him. It was obvious he was in a substantial amount of pain.

"But Mr. Stark, This will make the pain easier. You need to rest. I promise you'll feel like a million bucks when you wake up." He insisted but not moving from his spot; waiting for a signal of some kind to reassure him he understood.

"I.. don't want to.. go back to sleep.." The doctor looked into his patient's eyes and saw something that should never be there, pure terror. Tony Stark wasn't afraid of anything. He took on an alien armada just a few days ago. He thought to himself. The countless terrorist he'd single handily taken out, and yet he was afraid of going to sleep? It was odd but he wasn't one to judge a man who helped save the planet.

He acknowledged his request and set the needle down on the side table, trying to comfort the other best he knew how. He took his shoulder and he could tell he was shaking. Whatever he was dreaming about surely disturbed him. There's no telling what goes on in the genius head of his.

Blood still ran from his chin while he silently painted. He continued to shudder underneath the blankets. The doctor held up a hand and felt Tony's forehead. He could tell a growing fever from the radiating heat from his temple. As for the blood well that wasn't a surprise. His lung has yet to fully heal. Bleeding was bound to happen time to time.

"Lye still or else you'll opened up the rest if your wound." He said as he walked to the cabinets, pulling out another small bottle and syringe. "Don't worry. I'm not going to put you to sleep or anything this is just going to ease the pain. Is that ok Mr. Stark?"

He approached cautiously this time and waited for some sort of answer. Tony looked at the needle then back at the doctor and managed a small nod. It was enough of course but every little movement brought with it a shudder of pain. No matter how subtle it was it still hurt like hell.

The doctor injected the now clearer liquid into the split in the IV. Small swirls sprawled out every which way. It looked almost surreal as it began to flow in one single direction, eventually leading into his veins and blood stream. He then took a cloth with antiseptic and wiped the red away from his still clenched jaw.

After a few minutes it had taken its full effect. Tony's eyes became less strained, his muscles relaxed and the stern look his face had held slacked into a softened, peaceful one. His breathing became more steadied and controlled. Having once been hunched over the side of the bed in complete agony, now allowed himself to be settle back under the covers by a man he didn't know.

"What's your name?" He let out slowly as he was being examined yet again. This man looked up in surprise at the sudden interest in him of all things. Doctors in some instances were meant to be seen and not heard. That is unless when delivering bad news to patents or loved ones. Considering Tony had never liked going from his early checkups he really hated to be in this position. Mostly the bed ridden thing, but he could tell there was an awkward conversation just waiting to be stirred up.

The doctor redirected his gaze back towards the slightly shifted and stained bandages that wrapped the man. He looked almost like a mummy at the waist. He pulled out a small pair of surgical scissors and began cutting the cloth away. "My name is Hector sir."

Tony smiled at the man. He had to of been no more than 22 from the looks of him. He seemed like a kind hearted person and smart to of been a doctor at his age. Then again by the time he was his age he was building turn of the century warheads, but impressive none the least. He could feel the cold steal scissors as the glided above his bruised skin. He was still debating whether or not it felt relaxing or the polar opposite. The touch nearly made him want to shift under it. He alleged to ignore it.

"Well aren't you going to ask for my name?" He suddenly said breaking the silence. The other look slightly confused, like it was a question that really didn't need to be asked. Everyone knew who Tony Stark was. It would have been asinine if he hadn't.

"I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are Mister Stark, the incredible Iron man who saved the city just a few days ago. You're a hero sir." A genuine smile never left his face as he continued to work.

"Huh I guess so." He seemed to daze off a bit, the thought of that battle still haunting him even though he'd been awake. The thought of sleeping and potently reliving those nightmares over and over again terrified him. 'A hero? More like a frightened puppy..' he thought.

He snapped back to reality before the man even noticed he was completely out of it for a moment. A drew a now faker smile on his lips as he worked to push the nagging uneasiness into the back of his mind. He took in a deep breath, well as deep as he could manage without hurling over or becoming comatose out of the stress put on his body.

"What's with the formality? No one else's here but us, so just call me Tony. After all we're just two people living and breathing side by side on this planet of ours." He said barley threw his teeth as he looked up at the nearly blacked out ceiling. Only a single part of it was lit thanks to the small lap to his side.

His eye lids weighed heavily along with dark circles but he refused to let them fall, however exhausted he may be. He was not looking forward to hellish slumber. "Umm uh Tony? Are you feeling alright? I mean other than you know hole in your side. You know despite my age I tend to pick up things rather quickly. So why is it you don't want to go back to sleep?"

Young Hector finished patching up the soiled wrapping and just sat back examining the man in his care. Tony thought for a moment wondering whether or not he should answer the man at his side. He really didn't want to go into it. If it was possible he wished the feeling would have died along with the Chitauri. Never to be brought up again. Doesn't seem like that would be an option in this case, however this didn't mean he had to share every detail if any at all.

He took in a shaky breathe before deciding to give an answer. "Just a bunch of stuff I wish I could forget. Old ghosts I guess." It was becoming a far too familiar feeling lately. At first it was simply the time he spent in Afghanistan, being torture and made a slave to build weapons; nothing but a useful commodity who was only good for crafting articles of war. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree in that department.

But now it's gotten way out of hand. There were things out there too big for any of us. I mean they got extremely lucky the first time but that's an understatement. How is anybody supposed to just walk away from what happened that day. Our entire world has been turned upside down and now all kinds of craziness is happening all around. No sane person could walk out of that unaffected. So I guess that sums up where Tony's sanity lies, up there in that hole that opened up over the city.

What came out was an even more distorted version of the once known man of iron, now riddled with a PTSD that no one on the Earth could even begin to fathom. The curse of a never ending nightmare that is constantly haunting his sleeping form and slowly working to destroy his waking one with anything he can, alcohol being his main poison. Tony's face slowly became stern and troubled at the thought of it all. It was too much even for someone as ingenious as him to handle.

Hector could tell that the question was a little much for his patient to deal with at the moment and he had a pretty good idea why. He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of stuff he's been through and now this. Whatever was eating at him must have taken quite a huge chunk. "Better clean up this mess. Surly you don't want your friends to worry anymore than they already have over something like this."

"Sorry about that." Tony admitted half regretting and half embarrassed as he watched the man hunching over with a towel to sop up the blood on the floor. He thought himself better than that, letting a panic attack getting the best of him and blinding his judgment. He could have killed himself with an idiotic act like that. You can't just simply walk out of a hospital the night after having major surgery. That doesn't happen, even for iron man. Even with all the money in the world he was only flesh and blood, proof of which was scattered on the floor below him.

"It's no problem really. I've dealt with worse. Sure beats the hell out of bed pan duty." Hector said unable to keep himself from chuckling. Tony smiled, refraining himself from anymore unnecessary movement. In this case laughter was not the best medicine. After a few carefully calculated scrubs the mess was gone, almost like it never happened.

Hector collected the used cloth and set everything back in pristine condition for when he left. "So when I looked you over it seems like you popped a few of your stitches. For now I put a bridging tape on that area to keep it held together. If you can promise me that you'll stay in that bed from now on I won't call the staple guy in here until the morning. Save you a little extra discomfort.

"Thank you Hector, sorry to be such a pain in the ass this late." He heard the man scoff at his remark, obviously unprepared for it. The fact of the matter was he didn't want to move even if he could, the medication made him almost mend into the covers. Hector nodded his head and exited the room leaving Tony in silence yet again. He rolled his eyes back over to the digital clock, 5:16 am.

He blinked once again to see if the time would change any quicker but it didn't. At this point he had two choices. One he could go back to sleep and let the sun or staff wake him up, even worse his subconscious. Or lie awake and wait till morning. Right option two it is. He let his head weight back into the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. The reactor in his chest a constant night light, yet it did no justice in scaring away the monsters. He sighed figuring it would be better to get his mind off the subject and distract himself.

The thought of his friends came flooding into his half asleep mind. 'I wonder if they'll show up in the morning. Hell they're probably glad to get me out of their hair for the night, if not longer.' He couldn't help but be pessimistic, it was in his nature. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what tomorrow will bring. Well technically speaking today but whatever."

He ran a hand down his tightly bandaged side. Even with all the drugs running though him he could still feel the dulling sensation as his finger tips caressed the cloth covering. He didn't even want to know what it looked like, might even throw him back into a state of unwelcomed panic. No thank you.

'I wonder what Steve has to say to me, he looked kind of out of it when I last saw him. There's no telling what's going on with that guy. I don't even wanna know what Banners thinking in that hyperactive mind of his. Hell I'm not even entirely sure what happen. All I know was there was blood, muffled what seemed lots of screaming and the urge to nod off when I was too afraid to. Glad that's over with; maybe they can enlighten me when they come. If they come."