Chapter 29

It was just after midnight when Tony reemerged from the bucket Rhodey had held out to him. By now his stomach was one painful, cramped lump. Tony couldn't think straight anymore. His whole body ached. This was a nightmare. He had known it was going to be bad. In the end he had been into two bottles of high-proof liquor a day, or three on very bad days. Going from one hundred to zero was, of course, only possible under violent protest from his body.

With every further hour Tony felt his will waver. Was it really worth it? Going through hell like this, to lose the only drug that helped him keep the anxiety and panic somewhat at bay? He couldn't possibly keep this up. How long had it been since his last drink? Two days? That was still barely past the beginning. He caught himself wishing Pepper and Rhodey would go away so he could get his hands on a bottle of whiskey. A few sips of that and this would stop. He could end this agony just so easily.

"I'll rinse him out quickly," Rhodey said, taking the bucket from him.

Tony mumbled an embarrassed thank you and slumped backward into the pillows. The sheet was soaked with his sweat. However, the worst part was the anxiety. An unbearable constant anxiety - without a break. It would not leave him alone for a single moment. It clung to him, chased his pulse up, made him shudder and planted terrible thoughts in his head. I can't do this anymore, Tony thought over and over.

Again, Pepper held out something to drink to him. He would have liked to knock it out of her hand because he was just going to throw it up anyway. So, he shook his head.

"We're not discussing that again," Pepper said sternly. "Drink."

Tony turned on his side and held his stomach, while a drop of sweat dripped from his forehead. Pepper now held the bottle right in front of his eyes.

"Tony, drink this."

Tony shook his head again. Every time they gave him some of that disgustingly sweet shit, he was back hanging over the bucket ten minutes later at the latest. He needed a break.

"Don't be an idiot," Pepper said. "You know you have to drink. There's got to be more in than out."

Yes, I need to drink, Tony thought. But not water. I need a drink. I need a goddamn strong drink!

Rhodey came back and started talking at him, too. It sounded overloud to Tony's ears, like there was a whole group of people here, all yelling at him. He needed silence. He needed them to go away.

"Just a few sips," Rhodey said.

"You need liquids," Pepper insisted.

"I need liquor!" Tony shouted at them, covering his ears.

Silence fell, finally. However, it was short-lived.

"Tony..." Pepper said, startled. "You've come so far already... don't give up now."

"You're doing good, Tony," Rhodey agreed. "You're holding up really well."

"Shut up," Tony yelled, looking up. "I'm not doing good at all. None of this is good. I can't do it anymore!"

He saw Pepper and Rhodey exchange a worried look. Furious, he stared at them both. He was feeling extremely irritable.

"Tony..."

"No! Don't give me that 'Tony' again" he shouted angrily. "I give up! I'm done!"

I need a drink. I need a drink. I need drink. I need drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink.

"You won't," Rhodey said softly.

Tony hated how patiently and compassionately they were looking at him. The way they stood there in front of him with their non-alcoholic bodies. Easy for them to talk like that, anyone could do.

"You can do this," Pepper repeated. "We're with you."

"Fuck off!"

Tony could see Pepper wince. He didn't want to say those words, he didn't want to be so mean, to be that angry. But he felt just so fucked up. Tears were already welling up again in his eyes, he couldn't stop them. This was all too much. He couldn't even hold himself up by himself. This was degrading on top.

"I can't take it anymore!" Tony sobbed.

Even more degrading. Even more pathetic. Pathetic alcoholic. He felt someone join him on the bed and then Pepper's hand on his back. She was stroking him gently. No one said anything. Only his quiet sobs could be heard.

"Tony, you miserable failure," another voice suddenly said.

Tony winced and looked up. But there was no one there.

"Tony, Tony, Tony..." he heard the voice reproachfully say again, and he suddenly knew who it belonged to. "You should have died when I ripped the reactor out of your chest. It would have been best for everyone."

Tony froze, and more fear crept through his body. "Obadiah?" he whispered, barely audible.

"A shame you still punish this planet with your presence," Obadiah said.

Tony straightened up. This isn't real, he told himself. This voice isn't real. It sounds real, though...

An ant crawled onto the bed. Tony barely registered that Pepper and Rhodey were talking to him. Their voices were far away. Tony winced when he felt something on his left arm. He looked down and was startled. His entire arm was black. Hundreds of ants were scurrying around, slowly moving toward his upper arm. Tony cried out and dragged his shaking body out of bed. He staggered against the wall and held on to it while not taking his eyes off the insects. Tony shook his arm, then in panic tried to wipe the ants away. But they could not be shaken off.

"He's hallucinating again," Rhodey said redundantly to Pepper.

Tony shook his arm while still leaning against the wall. Rhodey and Pepper kept their distance, unable to gauge what would happen if they touched him now.

"What are we going to do?" Pepper asked nervously.

"I don't know," Rhodey muttered.

Tony had spoken the name Obadiah. That couldn't be good. Rhodey could see how hard it was for Tony to stay on his feet. On the plus side, it kept him from running away or doing other stupid things. On the other hand, this weakness was not a good sign for his physical condition. Suddenly Tony started screaming again and started scratching his forearm like crazy.

"Get it off!" he screamed, completely out of it.

At that moment, it apparently became too much for Pepper as well and she burst into tears. It was truly hard to watch. Rhodey tried not to get carried away. Someone had to keep a reasonably cool head.

"Tony!" he called out loudly, now approaching cautiously.

Tony stood pressed against the wall with his face contorted in pain, scratching his arm bloody. Rhodey had to do something quickly before he could seriously hurt himself.

"Tony, don't do that!"

He slowly continued to approach his friend, who was also starting to babble something about a Jericho. Rhodey was now standing directly in front of him, but Tony seemed to just look right through him.

"Tony," he tried again. "I'm going to touch you, okay?"

Careful not to get near his shoulder he touched Tony very gently. Nevertheless, Tony flinched violently. Then he sank whimpering down the wall to the floor. Rhodey crouched down and quickly grabbed Tony's hands to stop him from scratching himself further. Then he forced Tony to look him in the eye. For a moment they just looked at each other.

"Rhodey..." Tony murmured weakly before his gaze returned to his arm. "The ants... make the ants go away. Please! They're everywhere!"

"There are no ants, Tony," Rhodey said gently. "That's in your head. You're hallucinating again, do you understand?"

"I'm... what? No, I can see them!"

"And I can't. There are no ants. You're just hallucinating."

"But… Fuck… God, I can't... I can't do this..." Tony now said, desperation written all over his face. "I need a drink. I swear on everything, I'll break apart if I don't get a drink right now."

"Not gonna happen."

"I mean it, Rhodey. I can't take it, I really can't. Give me any alcohol, anything, I don't care. I know we don't have any booze. But I've been thinking about this for a while now. There is still aftershave in the bathroom. It's alcohol. Just give me the aftershave, it's fine."

"Calm down, Tony. Let's think about this first." Rhodey was appalled by this idea. He made a mental note to get rid of every aftershave in this house as soon as possible.

"I've already thought about it! Give me any alcohol!"

Rhodey's heart slipped further into his pants. "Tony, you can do this," he said in exasperation.

"No, I can't. I hear Obadiah's voice, there are insects crawling on my arm! I'm losing my mind!"

"Tony..."

"No, don't 'Tony' me again! I want to drink! I want it! I don't give a shit! I just want to be drunk!" Tony's eyes filled with tears again. "Please. Give me something. Please!"

"No. I won't. You're not yourself. You can't think. Believe me, you don't want this."

Tony didn't argue, but he stared angrily at Rhodey.

"Help is on the way. Coulson will be here soon, and he will be able to help you."

"If you want to help me, give me a drink!"

"I'm not going to do that."

Tony looked at him, exhausted, while a few tears ran down his face. Rhodey could see the anguish and desperation. He could understand that Tony wanted to drink again. That his body was craving the stuff. And that he wanted his drug back to control the panic. But he would not allow Tony to give up now at this weak moment. He would stop him, even if it meant Tony hated him for it. Now Pepper let out a loud sob as well, which made Tony looking over Rhodey's shoulder.

Tony felt guilty when he caught sight of Pepper. Her eyes were as red and teary as Tony's, her expression just as distraught. But he also knew he couldn't worry much about that now. He wanted to abort. He was at the end. His whole body was nothing but pain, nausea, and weakness. Every movement was too much, every thought was too much, every extra second was too much.

"Tony, please don't give up," Pepper said softly, wiping her face.

"I'd pour you a big glass of single-malt whiskey right now," he heard Obadiah's voice say again. It sounded amused. "I'd give you what you want. That's what I've always done. Haven't I?"

"Yes, you have..." Tony admitted sadly.

"What?" Rhodey asked, uncomprehending.

"Then can't you do something for me at least once, you arrogant, egotistical piece of shit?" Obadiah asked.

"I... No, just leave…"

"I want you to die. You owe this to me."

"No..."

"Oh Tony, please just kill yourself," Obadiah said. "It's so exorbitantly pathetic, I can't watch it anymore."

"Go away!" Tony screamed, wrenching himself free of Rhodey's now loose grip, then slamming his hands against his head, hoping to drive Obadiah away.

"Tony! Don't!" Rhodey cried in horror, immediately grabbing him by the wrists again to stop him.

"Make it stop. Please. Make it stop."

Rhodey squeezed his hand encouragingly. But Tony sensed no courage. Only fear. More tears dripped from his chin into his lap. Nervous breakdown. At the very least.

"It will stop" Rhodey said. "But you have to hang on for a bit."

Tony shivered with cold and weakness. Sitting was so infinitely tiring. His stomach was rumbling suspiciously again, too, and he could feel the nausea increasing.

"Can I let go of your arms?" Rhodey asked gently.

"Yes," Tony said meekly, noting that the ants had disappeared.

"Good, we'll get it done, Tony. More than two days done, I'm sure it'll get better soon."

"Two days, wow…" Tony said sarcastically before suddenly turning chalky white. "Bucket!"

Rhodey immediately understood and stormed off, while Tony shakily held his stomach and groaned. Already retching, he tried with all his willpower and self-control not to vomit until Rhodey returned with the bucket.

"Here!" Rhodey shouted, holding the bucket in front of his face.

Tony held onto the edges as he violently vomited. After he had chocked up all the liquid, the painful dry retching began again. Tony thought he was about to find his organs in the bucket in front of him if it continued like this. Rhodey put his hand on his back and rubbed in small circles.

"Fuck...", Tony gasped desperately, and tears of exhaustion and agony once again made their way out of his eyes.

He toppled sideways toward the floor from weakness. Rhodey gently caught him, then lifted him up and helped him to the bed, where Tony finally collapsed. He would not be able to move another inch. Pepper sat down beside him again und then just took his hand. Tony realized she was still crying, so he squeezed her hand.

The next few hours were disastrous. It wasn't just Tony who was in an emotional state of distress. Pepper and Rhodey were also suffering with him. If they hadn't known that Coulson would be here soon, they probably would have taken Tony to the nearest hospital after all. They were afraid his condition would deteriorate to the point of being acutely life-threatening, that it might even be too late by then. But Jarvis kept assuring them that he would speak up immediately if Tony's vitals slipped into a critical range. So, Pepper and Rhodey breathed a little sigh of relief when Jarvis announced Coulson and to their surprise Romanoff as well.

"Thank God, finally," Pepper whispered.

As Coulson and Romanoff entered, she could quite make out the surprised look on both their faces. The greeting turned out to be rather taciturn. Pepper, who had been sitting on the bed with Tony, now stood up and shook both of their hands.

"Well, that's a little worse than I expected," Coulson stated matter-of-factly, although his features didn't look as composed as usual.

"I'm so glad you're finally here," Pepper remarked.

Romanoff looked toward Tony with an extremely gentle and concerned expression. Pepper registered this with some suspicion.

"I'm sorry we couldn't send a doctor. This is all you get. But I think it will be helpful enough," Phil said. "I also figured it would be smart to bring Natasha as she was involved in this case. Because I can't stay for long. But now… best we get right to work." He had a bag with him, which he now opened.

"I'm obviously not a doctor," he said, pulling out a needle and an IV bag of fluid. "But I talked to one before coming here. You get all the meds you need for this."

"What symptoms has he had so far?" Romanoff asked.

Rhodey explained the extent of the symptoms and then spoke out his concerns about the hallucinations.

"Could be symptoms of a beginning delirium, right?" Coulson said, now approaching Tony.

Pepper began sullenly chewing the inside of her cheek. She hadn't slept in 2 days and barely had anything to eat. Not to mention the stress. Slowly but surely, she reached her limits.

"Mr. Stark," Coulson said. "We're going to give you an IV consisting of an electrolyte solution and Vitamin B to help balance your mineral levels," Coulson explained. "You're supposably mostly lacking fluids from the constant vomiting."

Tony didn't answer, but slowly extended his arm, which at least showed he understood. Pepper watched as Coulson placed the needle at the crook of Tony's arm and then stuck it in. He fixated it with a Band-Aid and connected the IV bag to the tubing. Then he hung the bag on the top of Tony's bedside.

"And this is an antiemetic," Coulson said, taking out another syringe and adding the fluid to the bag. "This should reduce the vomiting."

Pepper watched nervously as the fluids slowly made its way through the tube toward Tony's body. Phil then turned to Pepper and Rhodey holding a pill bottle in his hand.

"This is Valium, a benzodiazepine. It has a strong anti-anxiety and sedative effect, and it will probably help him get some sleep, too. Under no circumstances should he take it for more than two weeks. Benzodiazepines can be highly addictive even after a short time. Both physically and psychologically. And you don't want him to slide right into the next substance addiction."

Pepper nodded. She knew this kind of medication. It wasn't a secret to her that these pills were prescribed a little too often. "I'll make sure they vanish immediately after they're no longer necessary."

"Good, I would suggest we wait a little longer. When the antiemetic is going to help, the pills will more likely stay where they're supposed to. It shouldn't take too long. Also, the fluids should cocker him up a bit."

Pepper felt herself nodding again and watched Tony who seemed to be fallen asleep.

A thick blackness surrounded him. The air was so tight he thought he was going to suffocate. Voices he didn't understand; they were far, far away. A pulsating pain gradually settled in his chest, growing stronger and stronger. It made him come to his senses a little. It felt as if he had a piece of cloth in front of his face. An extremely foul-smelling, stuffy fabric. His mind was functioning sluggishly slow. Suddenly the cloth was pulled off his head, an iron door fell shut – then silence.

A creeping, bone-chilling cold gripped his body more and more. He found himself lying on his stomach on a stony, hard ground. Very slowly, life returned to his limbs. And so did an excruciating pain in his chest that almost took his consciousness away again. He wasn't sure if he should really open his eyes. He probably wouldn't like what he would see. But his increasing fear made him open them after all; he had to know what was going on.

At first, it was just dark, and then he caught sight of a faint and dim light emanating from a lamp hanging from the ceiling. Nothing else but rocky walls and a heavy gate to his left. Tony did not dare to move. He tried to think rationally and reconstruct the situation. What could he remember? He closed his eyes again and thought.

Flickering lights. Dancing women. Rhodey next to him with a drink in his hand. On a plane. His private jet. On his way to Afghanistan. Presenting his new weapon, the Jericho. Clinking ice cubes in a glass of whiskey after the presentation. Obi on the phone, not wearing the pajamas he got him for Christmas. Soldiers in a car showing the victory sign. Gunshots. The missile labeled Stark Industries...

Oh shit. His mind was beginning to clear a little. Tony was moving slightly. He was thirsty, his mouth was so dry he had to cough a few times, each time sending a sharp pain through his whole body. He tried to sit up. His head was spinning, making him feel sick. Had terrorists captured him? The Taliban? What would they do to him? Boundless panic set in like a predator at the back of his neck, then drove paralyzingly through his limbs. Helplessly, he realized how his body was taking control. Racing pulse, accelerated breathing, and his body was shaking with panic. The room blurred before his eyes and his panic increased more and more.

Tony ignored the pain and got up although his body protested. Tony slumped forward against the heavy iron door, unable to stay on his feet. It went dark around him for a second. The next moment he was on the floor again, this time on his back. So that's it, he thought, this is the end.

But the end did not come.

There was sharp pain when he regained consciousness. How much time had passed? Seconds? Minutes? The iron door creaked open, and Tony scrambled to his feet. Several men entered, all carrying machine guns. Their faces were covered with scarves, and they were shouting in Arabic or Farsi or whatever. Tony crawled away from them. The men screamed even louder. Then a kick to his back, and Tony collapsed. One of the men was talking at him, but he couldn't understand a word. So the terrorist pointed at Tony's chest. Tony looked down at himself. Wrapped around his chest was a bandage, soaked through with red. The injury from the missile. Tony looked up again. The man pointed at his chest again.

"Wound!" he then shouted in English, at least it sounded strongly like it. "Doctor! Wound!"

Tony's mind was not working, the words made no sense. Apparently impatient, the terrorist now shouted again and then grabbed Tony roughly by the shoulder. Severe pain. Blackness.

When Tony woke up again, he almost threw up immediately. The pain in his chest was overwhelming. Tony wrenched his eyes open. Light blinded him. Men were bent over him. They were holding him down, by the arms, by the legs. And someone was obviously fiddling with his chest.

Pain. Unbearable, penetrating pain.

Tony began to scream, trying to break free from the tight grips. No chance. The grips were as tight as vices. Tony was screaming while someone apparently pulled one of the shrapnel out of his chest with tweezers and then held it briefly against the light. The blood gleamed reddish on it. Then a cloth was held over his nose and mouth. An acrid smell immediately rose to his nostrils, making him dizzy. Blackness again.

Noise. Screams in Arabic. Tony wrenched his eyes open again. The first thing he saw was hands holding him still down. His eyes fell on his chest, where the reactor was glowing. Then on his arm, where an IV was stuck. Tony managed to tear himself away. Panicked, he straightened up and rolled onto his side. He fell off a bed onto the floor and got up again. Then he ripped the IV from his arm and stumbled against a cold and rocky wall.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them circling him. He had to escape. He had to get out. In front of him, someone spread his arms. The men were coming closer. Tony was suffering mortal fears. What now? Fight or flight? Escape seemed impossible, he didn't know where he was or where to go. So fight! Desperately, Tony rushed forward, toward one of the men. Tony was sure he had landed a hit or two. Then two more men came at him. The next moment Tony was lying on his back while being held down by three of them.

"NO!" he yelled. "LET GO OF ME! LET ME GO!"

"Stark!"

"Tony!"

Tony?

The rocky walls disappeared. The screams in Arabic disappeared. Tony looked in the faces of Natasha, Rhodey and Coulson, the three of them pinning him firmly to the ground. His arm suddenly ached. A trickle of blood ran down his arm and dripped onto the floor where the IV had been. None of this made any sense. Or did it? A flashback. Or a dream? Maybe both. In any case, he had apparently lost himself in Afghanistan again. Pepper's face now appeared as well. She looked so worried, so scared.

"Tony?" she asked, "are you back with us?"

"Yes," Tony mumbled, though he was not sure about it.

Immediately the others let go of him. They looked very worried, too. No wonder. He'd probably just had caused a total drama. But it had been so real again...

"What did you see?" Natasha whispered.

She, Rhodey and Coulson were still kneeling by him.

"The first hours of the kidnapping," Tony answered mechanically. "I was injured. By my own missile. I had a cloth over my head, and after they made some ransom video, they left me in this cave in a room. I kept losing consciousness. The next moment there were men bent over me while Yinsen removed as many shrapnel as he could from my chest. At first without anesthesia, I was awake and witnessed everything. They pain was…"

Tony paused, feeling unable to continue. Nevertheless, he had just told someone for the very first time. It felt almost forbidden.

Rhodey and Coulson helped him back to the bed. He dropped onto it and took a deep breath. Fear was driving him half mad.

"Here," Coulson said, handing him two pills. "Valium."

Tony accepted the pills and swallowed them dry. Natasha sat down by him and began to wipe the blood from his arm with a tissue. Then she pressed against the torn open wound in the crook of his arm. Coulson, meanwhile, took his other arm and started a fresh IV.

"It was only halfway through," he explained.

Tony nodded remotely, not even understanding what was meant. Natasha looked intently into his eyes. He tried to find his footing in her gaze. He almost felt that she understood best of all what was going on inside him. The pressure she was applying to the crook of his arm was also having the effect of making him feel his body better.

Pepper and Rhodey joined him as well. It was almost a bit embarrassing how they were all standing around him, looking concerned and sad. Natasha lowered the tissue, rummaged in Coulson's bag for a Band-Aid, and applied it to the wound. Tony lay there silently for quite a while, pondering his thoughts.

"It was horrible," he said at one point on an impulse. "Those three months were beyond what I could bear. I only refused to build the Jericho for the first few days. Then they had already broken me. But even when I had already agreed to build the Jericho, they didn't stop. They still tortured me."

Tony paused. Yet somehow, he felt he would suffocate if he didn't finally "talk" this burden out of himself.

"Yinsen helped me so much," he then continued in a brittle voice. "I couldn't have gotten through this without him. He was right there every time they threw me back into this cave, we were trapped in. It wasn't until I was allowed to start building that the horror lessened. They left me alone most of the time and I got better and better. I was also busy building the armor I was going to use to save us…. But I… couldn't save Yinsen… I also got better after I came back from Afghanistan. At first. But at some point... suddenly I didn't anymore. It was as if a dam burst open and all the horrible feelings that had been hiding for so long were able to come through and flood me." Tony swallowed hard and stared at his hands. "And I am an idiot. I drank so much... I made it worse. And now it may already be too late..."

"First things first, Mr. Stark," Coulson also said. "First the detox, then the next step. Take it slow. Nothing is lost."

"You haven't done anything wrong, Tony," Pepper said with an attempt to smile. "You were trying to hang in there somehow. You had found something that gave you relief in between. Also, you're not the first person to become addicted because something became unbearable."

"I very much have done something wrong," Tony said, looking at Pepper out of watery eyes. "You warned me, Pepper, and not just once. It's not even like I didn't pause at some point, thinking: Oh, I'm hungover again. Or: Oh, I have been drunk six nights out of seven this week. But I just couldn't stop. It was the last hope that kept me from drowning."

"And now you have a chance to do it differently. To find a different way of dealing with it," Pepper said.

"But I haven't found that one…" Tony replied wanly. "Why should change anything?"

"Because you've already changed something. You've spoken out for the first time about how you feel. You're not alone in this anymore, Tony."

"But..." Tony said, feeling himself desperate to find a counterargument. "I'm failing… I can't do it."

"Yes, you can," Natasha said. "But you've got to hang in there a little longer. You're strong, Tony. Stronger than you think you are. You're going to make it. And when you're not in such a desolate physical state, you'll get better mentally, too. I'm sure."

Tony didn't disagree. But he wasn't convinced. Then suddenly his heart felt a little lighter. A comforting warm feeling spread through his body. His vision blurred a little. He felt a bit reminiscent of alcohol, of the sedation that drinking brought. But it was also different. He felt less intoxicated, somehow clearer-headed.

"I think the benzos are starting to kick in," he muttered.

Coulson glanced at his wristwatch. "Quite possible, half an hour has passed."

Maybe it was the pills, maybe it was the fact that he had spoken out about what had happened to him. However, Tony felt a little lighter. The anxiety lessened. Tony leaned back and closed his eyes. He could breathe.

I know this one is tough, but I have seen people going through really bad withdrawals when I worked in psychiatry and I always wanted to write this. And of course, I like the drama :D

With alcohol in particular, it actually takes years for such a severe addiction with such withdrawal symptoms to set in. But I didn't want to let so much time pass, because it was actually meant as an alternative for the second Iron Man movie (and I also know my story turned out to be darker than originally intended, but now it is what it is).