Work Text:
Tony kept a bottle of vodka in his lab.
It used to be scotch, tucked away into the back corner like the horrible secret it was, left there at the corner of his mind. A test of will. Of commitment. Of sobriety.
After his relapse a short time ago, though, he changed it out. An alcoholic will drink anything, but they still have preferences. And vodka…well, it didn’t call to him the same way the bottle of Yamazaki did. The vodka weighed less on his mind than the old bottle did. Less than the new sobriety chip in his pocket.
Now, he pulled it out to set it on one of the tables and stare at it out of the corner of his eye. The Avengers were upstairs, hopefully all asleep. Steve might have been having one of his nightmares right at this moment. That made Tony want to laugh, and then to cry, so he did neither, and focused on the new schematics T’Challa had sent over for consultation.
Not that he needed it. None of them needed any help to destroy the world, but they happily played this game of pretend. Still, Tony dutifully made a note where improvements could be made, watching the pen shake in his hand.
He didn’t want to sleep. He resented his body demanding it of him. He had to work, had to do this, had to succeed at this one thing that he’d given up so much for.
Steve had looked so happy when he showed him Avengers World. That was Tony’s brand of pretend. T’Challa would share plans to make himself feel like his weren’t the only hands getting dirty. Strange studied how to give up his soul to assuage his guilt in summoning a planet-killing demon. Tony hid the worst thing behind an avalanche of good to fool people into thinking that the man himself was good.. He’d been doing it for years.
He wished he wasn’t pretend. He wasn’t an absolute nightmare set adrift in the waking world. He wasn’t the worst thing.
“Incorporate,” he slurred. His entire body felt numb. He had been up for 79 hours. He didn’t think he’d ever sleep again.
“Starting,” the computer intoned, and began incorporating Tony’s improvements on T’Challa’s bombs. Because it always could be better. They was always a more efficient way to kill people.
Tony wheeled away to where he set the bottle. He wasn’t going to drink it. It wasn’t even the good kind of vodka, just some cheap off-brand type. He was just going to be this strong. Just this strong. That’s all he needed, and then he would go on.
He laid the bottle on the side, giggling a little maniacally as he thought of college years and kiss the bottle. “Shall we play a game?” he asked himself, then laughed again, contemplating. “If it lands anywhere other than me, I keep working. If it lands on me, I go to sleep. ‘Me’ shall henceforth be defined as here to here-” he indicated two spaces about six inches away from his body. “Got that?”
“Noted,” the computer said, even laying out holographic lines where Tony indicated.
Maybe he was drunk already, Tony thought, and spun the bottle anyway.
Of course he couldn’t actually sleep. He could calculate friction and torque and momentum, however. The bottle faced the wall, and Tony felt irrationally angry.
“Incorporation complete,” the computer noted. Tony grabbed the bottle again.
If me, I work on Avengers World. If otherwise, I go back to the bomb.
He spun it with some level of carelessness. His tired eyes followed the bright red lid around and around, until it stopped, pointing west, away from him.
Tony’s eyes remained on the cap when he spoke. “Run simulation.”
He righted the bottle, running his hands along the curve of it, watching the liquid inside slosh around as he put it back in a starting position. Out of the corner of his eye, the simulation played. The bomb worked perfectly, an imaginary earth gone in seconds.
Another him. Another Avengers.
Maybe it was a world where the worst bad guys were idiots with guns. Maybe a world where Rumiko Fujikawa was alive. Where Tony became Iron Man simply because he was a good person. Where Steve got to live out his life after the war. A world where the Avengers had never fought, where they lived at the mansion training the next generation. A real Avengers World.
“If it lands on me,” he said hoarsely. “I go tell Steve. If not, I stay here.”
He spun. He would go upstairs, he would wake Steve up, he would tell Steve the truth. Steve would be furious, and had every right to be, but Tony would be honest, for once, just for once he wouldn’t equivocate or evade. He’d tell Steve they needed him. He’d tell Steve they were dying. He’d tell Steve he couldn’t sleep.
The scraping sound of the bottle spinning faded away, and Tony opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed. The red cap was facing dead away from him.
There were tears on his cheeks. He touched them, felt the salty stiffness on his cheeks. Tear trails, hours old. The clock ticked over. 80 hours of no sleep.
“Send adjustments?” the computer asked. Tony reached forward, grabbing the bottle. It felt so warm. When was the last time he had been warm?
If it lands on me, I send it. If otherwise-
“I drink,” Tony whispered. It couldn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. His whole body was numb. Drink, Tony, or keep contributing your part to genocide. He laughed at himself.
He spun.