Iron Man: It's A Wonderful Life
Chapter Twelve
December 24 - 7:46pm
Among other things, he had inherited his father's love of car. The Stingray was smooth, fast, and Tony pressed it to its limit with no thought to the damage he might do or the danger he was putting himself in. The scotch was a soothing anesthetic to his oozing guilt, and he applied it liberally as a solvent for the chittering noise skittering anxiously in his head. The furious buzzing of every waking nightmare competed with each other for his sanity till he thought he might explode.
Tony wanted nothing more than to disappear. The convertible piloted itself skillfully on an aimless path toward Pennsylvania, through the woods along winding roads that only occasionally took him past houses or through small Townships he had never even heard of. He could keep going, see how far he could get before he was no longer recognized. Tugging at him though, was the knowledge that if it were seen as an admission of guilt, it might reflect back onto Pepper, and he couldn't live with that.
It would be the same if he were to…
No.
Taking a turn too hard, tires squealed beneath him, and Tony's impulse to hold tightly to the wheel froze mid-twitch; then he let it go, letting it spin beneath his hands. It was freeing, not to be in control. Just like the old days. To not care.
Tony reached out and snapped on the radio, turning the dial until he found something he liked in Nirvana's 'Lithium'. They were better without him, safer. He wished he could go back to the beginning, to before he'd come into their lives, and prevent bringing on them any of the pain he had.
A ball of emotion built in his throat, and he reached for the bottle, only a few swallows left. As he swung around another turn on the unlit road, the scotch slid to the right, falling into the gulf between the seat and the passenger side door. With a grunted curse and a glance shot through the windshield, Tony stretched his arm in pursuit of his much-desired prize.
He didn't see the curve, or the guardrail protecting the embankment, until it was too late to avoid the fall. Although this time he followed through with the impulse to counter gravity, he could not prevent the Stingray from rolling in what seemed to be excruciatingly slow motion. And then it was tumbling faster, picking up speed as the bottom of the hill came closer. Tony bounced around as limp as a marionette, the wind battered out of his bruised lungs, and he felt something in his chest break, then his arm.
A scream arrested in his throat as the car came to a violent stop, top down, vaguely accordioned. Tony's head struck the steering wheel and, almost gently, he slumped into unconscious, a breath of red hair drifting through his head before he slept.