Now it has unfortunately taken some time. I'm currently struggling a lot with migraines, but I try to upload more regularly again.

This chapter is about Tony's rock bottom, I promise. After that, things will take a different direction again.

Chapter 24

On the drive home, Tony and Happy did not speak a word to each other. The car glided along silently, leaving the city and heading toward the sun.

You need to stop while you still can! You need to stop before it's too late!

It is already too late.

He had spoken the words spontaneously. Without thinking. But now they hit him with a terrible realization. It was indeed already too late. He could no longer stop. The damage had already been done. He was addicted. Not only psychologically, but apparently physically as well.

Of course, he had noticed his shaking hands more often lately when he had woken up. But his waking up was usually accompanied by anxiety over a nightmare, and he had attributed his shaking to panic. Apparently, the full implications had escaped him as well.

Tony felt afraid. It had been an obvious, yet insidious process. He gazed out the window with a stiff expression. What could he do now? Seek treatment? Go to rehab? How was that going to work? He needed alcohol. He needed it. Only drunk could he make it through the day, through the panic attacks, through the terrible images, through the constant anxiety. It was the only thing that helped at all... He couldn't live without it. And because he couldn't, he didn't want to. He didn't want to stop. On the contrary, what he wanted was the next drink. That comforting warm coat that alcohol put around him, bedding him softly and protecting him like an impenetrable wall.

When the car stopped and Tony got out, Happy said something to him. But Tony wasn't even listening. He wanted to go inside and hide. And that's exactly what he did - with a bottle of whiskey.

When Rhodey entered Tony's house late that evening, he felt his high pulse throbbing uncomfortably all the way to his throat. Pepper had called him sobbing, reporting what had happened today. Rhodey still couldn't understand how Tony could fall so deep into addiction without anyone noticing how deep. Of course, they had noticed Tony's breakdowns, most prominently the incident in New York. But the withdrawal symptoms Pepper had witnessed today pointed to heavy and, above all, constant drinking - and that they hadn't noticed. Tony must have been secretly getting drunk all the time, to be precise every day.

Of course, there was also the fact that Tony had evaded him again and again. But Rhodey still blamed himself. Because maybe he just hadn't been looking close enough. He had observed how Tony got drunk without restraint, how badly he had been doing in the last few months, how much things had gotten out of hand. And yet he had not interpreted some of the clues correctly. Out of ignorance? Out of naiveté? Rhodey didn't know the answer to that. He only knew that he had overestimated Tony's mental strength and underestimated his strains. Or maybe he hadn't confronted Tony enough about his behavior.

Rhodey went down to the workshop and was downright flabbergasted. The workshop was partly messy, partly wrecked. As if Tony had shot at everything with the repulsor. There were broken shards, metal parts and scraped objects everywhere. Even two cars looked like total losses. Tony himself was standing next to Dumm-E, apparently tightening a screw on it.

He doesn't look that bad, Rhodey thought involuntarily, looking at Tony's fine black suit and tie, well-fitting haircut, and practiced hand movements. But when Tony turned to face him, his heart dropped. Tony swayed so violently that he crashed into the desk, knocking down a glass in the process. Not that it would have mattered in this mess.

"What happened here?" Rhodey asked, stunned.

Tony's eyes swam aimlessly around, finding eye contact only briefly. Then he mumbled something unintelligible.

"What?" Rhodey asked as a result, sensing a growing unease within him.

"Been redecorating," Tony finally called out more clearly as he held himself up against the desk.

"Tony..." Rhodey couldn't bring himself to go on for a moment. It was just as Pepper had told him. Tony seemed to be wasted, he could barely see straight, let alone stand safely on his feet. An absolutely desolate condition.

"Did you come to get on my nerves?" Tony muttered, chuckling as if he'd made a particularly good joke. "I knew Pepper would send her Doberman."

"I came to pick you up," Rhodey countered, struggling to regain his composure. "Pack some things. I'll drive you to rehab."

This time Tony laughed out loud and fell backwards to the floor. "Don't be ridiculous, Rhodes. I'm not going anywhere."

Rhodey was tempted to help his friend back to his feet but held back and instead watched the misery at his feet in horror. "Tony, I'll tell you without mincing words. You're an alcoholic. I'm sure you know that yourself by now, but I'm happy to tell you again. You're a drunk. And what you need is help. We have watched far too long. I have watched far too long. But that's over. I'm here now, Tony. I'm here. And I'm gonna help you. So get up, pack a few things and then we head for a clinic. Once the alcohol is out of your system, you'll be able to think more clearly again and then I'll be the first one to stand by your side to support you through everything that led to this point. I'm going to be there for you and I'm not going let you down, not again. But the first step must be taken, and it must be taken now. You're going to rehab, even if I have to drag you there. So, get up and start packing a bag."

Tony didn't move an inch, but he didn't seem amused anymore.

"Get up, Tony," Rhode repeated sternly.

"No," Tony then mumbled. "I'm not going. This here is all I want."

"That's not true, and if you weren't so drunk, you'd know it."

"Leave me alone, Rhodey. You better go before this gets any more uncomfortable. You and Pepper can go fuck yourselves. I don't need you and I don't give a shit about you. I already have everything I need here and an idiot like you isn't one of it."

Rhodey didn't let on and tried not to take personally what Tony threw at him. The alcohol is talking, he told himself. The poor man in front of you is sick.

"Tony..." Rhodey tried again. "You're my best friend. You're my most important person. I'm not going to let you down, and I'm not going to watch you kill yourself. Because that's exactly what's going to happen eventually if you don't stop drinking."

"Who cares..."

"I do. Tony, please... don't give up like this. I know it's a lot to ask for. Going through withdrawal, Taking away the alcohol that obviously gives you so much... But we have to go through that now."

"We?!" Tony's voice was suddenly louder, and he was now glaring angrily at Rhodey. "We you say, huh? What sacrifice do you have to make? You don't know about the hell I live in when I'm sober."

"There are other ways to deal with this hell than drinking yourself to death!"

All that could be heard from Tony was a cynical tzzz.

"Tony... By 'we' I mean I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone. I'm going to help you."

"You all still don't get it, do you!? I don't want your help! I! Don't! Want! It!"

Now Rhodey could well relate to Pepper's feeling of helplessness. It was exasperating. And Rhodey was beginning to doubt he could persuade Tony to come with him. Also, could rehab even succeed if Tony didn't want it in the first place? Wasn't the most important step of all that the alcoholic wanted to stop drinking. Maybe he could get Tony into rehab, maybe he could somehow manage to get him involuntarily committed. But if Tony didn't want to, wouldn't he start drinking again immediately after being discharged? Or would Tony understand what he was doing to himself in therapy there? Almost paralyzed, Rhodey looked down at Tony, but then a jolt went through him. He had to at least try.

"Fine... I'll pack the bag for you then," he said more to himself and headed toward the stairs. "You can get your ass upstairs in the meantime."

But as Rhodey arrived at the door, a glass shattered loudly right next to his head. Stunned, he turned around and just saw Tony slowly lower his outstretched arm. He had indeed thrown a glass at him. Whether Tony had meant to hit him or not, Rhodey was pissed.

"I'll let you get away with that because you're a mess and clearly don't know what you're doing anymore. But enough is enough, Tony. I want to see you upstairs in ten minutes."

Tony actually got to his feet now. For a moment Rhodey had the hopeful thought that Tony would now go upstairs with him, but the next moment Tony grabbed another glass from the desk and threw it at him as well. This time he was more accurate. Rhodey was able to raise his arms just in time, before the glass hit him.

"Get out of here or a whole lot of other things are going to happen!" Tony shouted angrily. "You're acting like you're so important. Like this is important. I don't care. So, stop interfering!"

Then Tony attacked him. It wasn't hard for Rhodey to dodge the stumbling Tony, sending him to the ground again.

"You should have left me in the desert!" Tony yelled, staggering to his feet again. This time he caught Rhodey by the collar, who then tried to get off Tony's hands. "You should have just crashed your fucking helicopter there yourself!" Rhodey had to take a painful punch to the chin.

"That's enough!" Rhodey now yelled himself, pushing Tony off of him roughly, who had no chance to keep his balance and landed with his back in a pile of shards. Rhodey rubbed his aching chin and tried to keep his own anger in control.

Rhodey could guess what Tony was up to. It wasn't true that this meant nothing to Tony, that he didn't care about Pepper or him, that he hadn't wanted to be rescued from the desert. Tony tried to push him away - as he had done again and again for quite a while. So he could keep drinking with no one complaining about it. So that he wouldn't have to be patronized in a hospital by some doctors and therapists and face the feelings he was suppressing by drinking. And yet Rhodey was struck and hurt. Tony had not only insulted him and pushed him away, he had physically lashed out at him.

"That's enough, Tony. You're not getting rid of me like that. I'm taking you there. Today."

"Yeah, it really is enough," Tony confirmed, reaching into the mess beside him and pulling out one of the Iron Man gloves, which he clumsily put on. "If you don't get out of here right now, I'm going to seriously hurt you."

Rhodey felt fear rising inside him. Would Tony actually go that far? He was beyond insane. What was he supposed to do now?

"I mean it," Tony said, reaching out to him.

"Tony..." Rhodey tried one last time. "You may not realize this right now. But I'm your last hope. Trust me on this. If I go, that's it. Pepper won't come for you again. I've reached out to you several times now, why don't you just take my hand?"

In response, the repulsor charged menacingly. Rhodey didn't want to risk getting hit by it. "Okay, okay," he said placatingly, holding up his hands. "I'm going... But... Tony..."

"Dumm-E, pass me a bottle of whiskey down here," Tony interrupted him.

Sure enough, just seconds later, Dumm-E held a bottle out to him, and Tony reached over and drank nearly a quart of it down.

Rhodey knew when a battle was lost. As bitter as it was. As terrible as it was. He felt the loss with all his might. Tony was lost. He had come too late. Rhodey turned and made his way to the exit.

Tony was left lying on the floor with the bottle. Rhodey did not turn around again. He felt his eyes burning and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. At least until he was out of here. Maybe he shouldn't go... but he couldn't take it.

And that was the moment Tony Stark cut the very last connection.

Later Tony could hardly remember how he had spent the next few months. Pepper barely came to his house anymore. She only dropped in on him now and then, holding papers under his nose for him to merely sign and briefly informing him of what was going on at the company. Not that he cared. Pepper stayed away from him, and he couldn't blame her. It hurt Tony just a little from the thick fog of alcohol he drank to numb himself. During the day he tried to keep moderation to some extent, only to get drunk to the point of unconsciousness at night.

Sometimes Tony actually still worked in the workshop, sometimes he read mails or watched the news. But mostly he just sat there quietly, sipping some whiskey and staring into nothingness. Happy was constantly prowling around him like an animal, as if he expected Tony to drop dead at any moment. But he, too, kept his distance and didn't talk to him much anymore. The days passed without Tony having any sense of how many more there were. He didn't care. Time blurred more and more, and Tony lost more and more the feeling for himself. As if he was dissolving or melting into his surroundings.

Constant intoxication. Constant numbing. The only goal was to keep those two components going.

Four months later.

Tony heard a voice and grunted with an unintelligible sound.

"Mr. Stark," Jarvis repeated, waking him up for good. "Agent Romanoff is waiting for you in the living room."

Tony blinked. The sun was shining directly in his face.

"Wah-?" he croaked.

"Agent Romanoff would like to see you, Sir."

Tony lay in bed with a pounding headache. He felt as if he had been beaten up several times during the night. He closed his eyes again.

"Send her away."

There was a brief pause.

"She says she won't go away. Sir, if I may say something, I think a visitor is a good thing."

"For god's sake..." Tony muttered, blinking again.

It took him a few minutes before he could persuade himself to stand up. He scrambled up in slow motion, grabbed some pants that were lying around in front of the bed, and slipped a shirt on as he went downstairs. Natasha looked out the window as Tony entered the living room. She didn't move, so Tony mumbled a quick hello.

"I wanted to check on you, it's been a while since I've been here," Natasha said, finally turning and pausing for a moment. "But the sight of you isn't that nice, to be honest."

"I thought you were transferred to New Mexico?" Tony asked, not really interested in an answer.

Natasha gave him an angry look. "Yes, thanks to you, in case you forgot," she said bitterly. "I'm not here because I'm supposed to work here again - not that I wanted to... I'm only here because I was asked by Fury to check on you."

"And that would be why?" Tony asked. He wasn't in the mood for conversation. "Get to the point, Natasha. I've got work to do."

"Is that so?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows. She eyed him up and down. Quickly, Tony let his shaking hands slide into his pants pockets. He hadn't had a drink in hours. Romanoff, however, did not seem to have missed this.

"What happened to you?" she asked, looking at him piercingly.

Tony didn't answer.

"Stark."

"Nothing happened." God, he really needed a drink. "What do you want?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has a mission for you. A consulting assignment. This could be your chance to get back on track. Director Fury needs your assistance with -"

She interrupted herself and seemed momentarily tongue-tied. Then she narrowed her eyes.

"Are those... are those withdrawal symptoms, Stark?"

Tony buried his hands even deeper in his pockets. Pain throbbed incessantly against his temples. Romanoff just stared at him. There was actually a hint of... was it horror in her gaze?

Tony cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not available at the moment."

"I can see that," she said.

There was another brief pause.

"Okay... Then I guess the agents' reports about you weren't wrong... I, um, I need to make a quick call. But we're not done here yet."

"Oh yes, we are," Tony waved it off.

The agent ignored his remark, pulled her smartphone out of her pocket, and then walked quickly outside.

"Director, this is agent Romanoff. We have a problem..."

The door slammed shut behind her. Tony sighed in annoyance. He felt strangely indifferent. Let her think what she wanted. Let the Cyclops boss know what was going on. He didn't want to be part of that super-secret boy band Fury and Coulson had told him about after Obadiah had been taken out, anyway. He didn't want a consulting job, either. Slowly, he walked to his bar; he couldn't put it off any longer. He needed a drink right away. Tony poured himself a glass of whiskey with trembling hands and then took the first sip. A wave of relief immediately spread through him. Soon that headache was history.

"Put the glass down, Stark."

Natasha had apparently returned.

"I don't think so," Tony returned, unimpressed.

"I just heard a longer version of the agents' report on the last four months... Are you trying to drink yourself to death here, or what kind of performance is this going to be?"

No response.

"Where's Potts?" Natasha asked.

Tony bit his lip as he realized he was stung by the question. He shrugged, barely noticeable.

"Ah. I see." Natasha stood indecisively in the room. "Stark... you can't do… this. You can't hole yourself up in here and keep drinking. You've got to stop."

Tony laughed hollowly. "Yeah? Do I have to?"

"You certainly do."

"Then I'll have to disappoint you." Tony took another sip.

"Where is this going?"

"Who says it's supposed to go anywhere?"

"You're Iron Man. You made yourself known to the world. For what?"

"That was a mistake."

"I don't believe it."

"Then don't believe it."

Tony was increasingly annoyed. He wanted her gone, and he wanted her gone now.

"Stark, what's going on?"

"Get out of my house!"

"First I want to know what's going on."

"I want you out of my house!"

"Tony..."

"Romanoff. Get out."

Romanoff left. As he had wanted to. Even though he didn't want to. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted someone to care about him. He wanted someone to be nice to him. He wanted someone to stop him. Snatching the alcohol out of his hand.

But at the same time, he felt such anger inside of him. At everything and everyone. And he felt that anger making him a corrosive person. Like poison that he exuded as soon as he entered a room. He didn't want to poison anyone anymore. It was too late anyway. He had already given up on himself. Maybe it was the last chapter of his life. Maybe it wasn't. It didn't matter to him. Tony drained his glass and listened into the silence. The drink suddenly tasted strangely bitter.