Irondad Oneshots

Dying in a Hot Tub - Rhodey & Tony

(guesswhosfuckingdepressedashellandwantstodieandhasntleftthehouseinlikeaweekandkeepsforgettingtoshowerandeatandkindawantstorelapsewhichhasnthappenedinliterallytwoyearsandhasntevengottenoutofbedtodayanditsalmostnoonwhoopsimsad

This is literally just me projecting whoops- )

*

Rhodey knew Tony wasn't doing okay, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do about it. It reminded him too much of their University days.

He knew it wasn't Tony's fault. Losing people isn't easy. But Tony's tearing himself apart by doing this. Nobody would be able to handle losing Tony on top of everything else.

Rhodey knocks softly on the closed bedroom door, not surprised when there's no response. He's had some issues dealing with Cap and the others, wanting to know where Earth's Best Defender has disappeared off to, so he's been forced to leave Tony alone for a few days. Not a good choice on his part, but better than letting Cap into the tower.

"Tony? You in there?" Rhodey calls, trying to sound as impassive as he can. He's worried, to say the least. There's really only two options for this situation. Either Tony's been awake for the 3 days and hasn't stopped working, caffeine dousing any exhaustion. Or Tony hasn't left his bed for the 3 days, forgetting to shower, forgetting to eat, forgetting to move.

He pushes open the door with a deep breath. He's prepared for either situation. He's had to deal with both many times before. All he's desperate for is that Tony's kept his sobriety in check.

Turns out, it's option two.

Tony's lying flat on his back, messy blankets over his legs and stomach, eyes blank as they stare at the ceiling. There are creases in his skin beneath his eyes and across his forehead. His hair is greasy and pushed away from his forehead. Chapped lips moving as though speaking, though no sound escapes his mouth. Soft music plays from the record player on the dresser.

It takes Rhodey a moment to recognize the music. It's the Bambi soundtrack.

Tony's hand twitches as though he's realized his best friend's presence in the dull room.

"Tones?" Rhodey says, trying to blink the moisture from his eyes. It doesn't matter how many times he's seen this before, it'll hurt every time he has to see it again.

Tony tips his head to the side, blank expression focused on the door behind Rhodey. Tony's cheeks are sunken in a little more than normal. Body too frail. It's hard to believe he was once Earth's Best Defender, a hero to the world, an Avenger.

You're looking skinny, you sleepy head

Rhodey sighs quietly, wanting to turn off the instrumental music playing through the room. He knows it's doing more harm than good at this point, but he almost prefers this blank canvas of a man over the hysterical one from last week.

He remembers after Tony's parents died, Tony spiralled really fast into drugs and alcohol and turning himself into this projection of his father. He remembers the nights where he'd get a call near three am and he'd have to drive out to the hospital to make sure Tony survived yet another incidental overdose. Or have to bail his friend out of jail after another drunken mistake.

This time is different.

Tony lies in his bed. Skin turning a sickly grey colour from lack of proper nutrition. Eyes far off in some other place. Probably sometime last year, when everything was better.

Rhodey hates it. Hates it more than anything else in the world. This doesn't require AA meetings or dumping alcohol down the drain. This isn't going to be a screaming match to try to tell Tony that what he's doing is going to kill him. He's not even sure if a therapist will make it better.