Day 92
Tony climbed into bed. He hadn't slept since the cave… how many days had it been? Days? No. Hours? No. He didn't know, but he was finally home, and safe. He curled up in his soft warm bed, and prepared himself to let sleep take him.
To soft. Tony rolled over in bed. This was wrong. Why was this wrong? This was supposed to be normal, not the cots on the cold stone floor of cave, yet somehow a hard cot on the cold stone floor was where he needed to be. At least for tonight.
Tony sat up in the far to soft bed and looked around his dark room. This wasn't going to work. He pulled himself out of bed and made his way out his room, down the stairs, through the dark house, and down to the basement.
“Sir? Surely not a project so soon?” Jarvis spoke up with as much care as an AI could possibly muster.
“No Jarvis. No project tonight. Just coming down here to sleep,” Tony yawned and made his way carefully through the dark workshop over to the darkest corner. Tony curled himself into protective ball in the corner. He rested his head on his arm, and closed his eyes. The cold hard ground felt firm and reassuring beneath him. Normal. Yes this was the way it should be. Cold. Hard. Painful almost. Peacefully painful. Tony’s mind wandered as he drifted off to sleep. Why had he survived? What had he done? He had seen the destruction he had reaped on the world. He had broken it. He wanted to fix it, fix it 100 times over. He wasn't sure if he could. He would try.
Blood. Screams. Pain. Searing pain tearing his chest wide open. Hands reaching in and taking his heart, replacing it with a cold metal contraption.
Blood. Screams. Pain. His head was driven underwater by firm evil hands. Freezing stale water clawed at his insides as he accidentally screamed into the drowning black.
Blood. Screams. Pain. Not his blood, screams, and pain. No everyone else's. He had done this to everyone.
Blood. Screams. Pain. A broken body in his arms. The body of a man who cared for him. Loved him. Saved him. Tony could have saved him. He could have stopped him. Like everything this was his fault.
Blood. Screams. Pain. Blazing hot sun, burning him, killing him.
Death.
Tony sat up and screamed, and for the first time in two months there was no one there to hold him and comfort him. He blamed himself.