The eighth time it happened, Tony hadn't expected it.

He'd been having more nightmares than usual, and had wallowed away the increasingly sleepless nights in the workshop like he always did. He'd had three projects running at the same time; upgrades to Steve's uniform after the old one had failed to protect him completely from gunfire, fixing the malfunctions in the com-units that had been affected by the EMP blast last week, and tinkering with the nanochips in the new StarkPhones to get them on the market sooner for Pepper.

By the time his vision had started to go fuzzy in the dim lighting of the room and he'd reached for his mug of coffee only to find it empty, Dummy had wheeled over to him, toting a blanket carefully clamped in his four fingers. He gave Tony a concerned beep, nudging at his grease-stained arm and raising the blanket pointedly.

The genius rolled his eyes at the over-protective 'bot, and pushed half-heartedly at his metal arm. "I'm not tired, Dummy, quit being a mother hen." But even his voice sounded exhausted and rough, and he had to rub at his eyes to keep from closing them.

Dummy whirred at him impatiently, and continued prodding at his arm. Tony just kept pushing at him until the 'bot resorted to desperate measures. He backed up to turn his arm and click worriedly at the other two 'bots in residence, who perked up at their older brother's calling, as though they hadn't been eavesdropping on the entire spectacle from the beginning. Tony made a face at them when they rolled over to help, crossing his arms and telling them, "I feel betrayed."

You seemed to make the robotic equivalent of a snort, moving forward and grabbing a clawful of his shirt, tugging hard enough to make the cloth start to tear.

Tony smacked at the metal arm, standing to get more leverage, only to be pushed forward by Butterfingers and directed towards the ratty cot on the edge of the workshop. He threw his head over his shoulder to glare at the persistent 'bot, and he swatted at the arm that kept pushing him. "Let me go, you brutes. I have work. JARVIS! Call off the hounds!"

"I believe they are trying to get you to sleep, sir," the AI said instead, and did he sound amused? "You have currently been working for 46 hours and twenty-seven minutes straight, and have only eaten three energy bars, half a box of pizza, and fourteen cups of coffee in that time. If I may, sir, I firmly believe that such behavior is unhealthy, and would likely lead to medical difficulties in the future is kept up at such a pace."

"Yeah, well, no one asked for your opinion," he grumbled, planting his heels on the floor in an attempt to slow Butterfingers down to no avail. To the group of overly concerned 'bots, he had to stifle a yawn in his fist and blink rapidly to say, "I'm donating you all to a community high school. No take backs this time."

"Of course, sir."

"Who made you sass-master, JARVIS?" Tony snarked, only to be soon pushed onto the cot. Dummy carefully laid the blanket over him, and it was starchy and rough but strangely warm. Tony couldn't help but squirm when Dummy tried to tuck him in and made him a blanket burrito, and he glared tiredly at their happy beeps. "I am so done with you."

You pat his stomach consolingly before rolling away to his charging station with Butterfingers in tow. Dummy nudged his cheek before rolling off as well, and JARVIS dimmed the lights on his own accord. "Traitor," he hissed at the AI, wriggling half-heartedly in his cocoon when his fatigue made itself even more known. He really was tired, but that didn't mean he couldn't argue.

It also, apparently, didn't mean JARVIS would argue back. Traitor. Tony was going to recode his programming if this kind of blatant favoritism didn't stop.

Almost against his will, his exhaustion became more and more pronounced. The comforting whirs and clicks of the machinery around him combined with his bone-deep weariness pulled him to sleep in no time at all.