Irondad Oneshots

Pills - Irondad

Peter's POV

I know it's stupid. I know I shouldn't have just ignored it. Shouldn't have excused it or forgotten. I had gotten a little bit stressed so the first day, it just slipped my mind, no big deal. A little bit jittery, but otherwise alright.

The second day, I was just too tired to. I know it's not hard, just swallow a couple pills and it's done, but the task seemed to big, so I just skipped it and went to school. It was a little bit worse, shaky and feeling a little bit sick, but I figured it was just because I hadn't slept well the night before.

Then Flash had said some things. He overheard Ned asking me if I had remembered to take my pills and Flash started pushing and shoving saying that I was so broken that I needed pills to fix me. I wanted to prove him, and everyone around me that they were wrong, so I tossed my bottles of pills in the garbage when I got him. I'm not broken, I don't need them to fix me. I don't need to be fixed. Screw May. Screw the doctors. Screw Flash.

Then I went over to Mister Stark's for the long weekend.

I stumble into the kitchen on Saturday morning, dazed and confused. I can't seem to get my head to function right and my hands are shaking pretty badly, thoughts jumping from one thing to the next. I had read online that drinking coffee's supposed to help, so I decide to chug some of the coffee straight from the pot to try to get myself in order before Mister Stark wakes up. It's only been a couple days, and I know there's withdrawal symptoms and stuff, but should it really be this bad?

I find myself lying on a couch, not even remembering how I got the water bottle and the blueberries, or how I got here, but I bask in the slight relief the cold water brings to my heat. I don't need the pills. I'm fine. I just need to give myself some time to readjust and I'll be fine. It's all fine.

I roll my eyes at nothing, not feeling hungry enough to eat the blueberries I had gotten for breakfast, even the water is making my stomach start to hurt.

Maybe I'm getting sick. It has nothing to do with the pills. It's not like I needed them. I'm fine. I'm totally fine.

When I wake up for the second time, there's a blanket draped awkwardly over my legs. I still feel tired and I realize it's only been an hour since I fell asleep. I barely got an hour last night anyways. The blueberries are half-eaten, the tv remote is on the arm of the couch by my head, and my water's been refilled.

"Jarvis?" I call out, voice hoarse. "Where's Mister Stark?"

"He's down in his lab. He told me to let you sleep for as long as you needed. Would you like me to inform-"

The voice is drowned out by my heart, too fast, too loud, beating in my already aching skull. My stomach twists and pulls itself into a knot, heavy inside me. Something's definitely wrong. Everything's wrong. Maybe I am broken. Maybe I do need help. Maybe I am so impossibly broken, that I can't even live by myself. I need help to just be alive. I'm so pathetic.

My throat is aching and my body twisting to rid itself of the heavy blanket over my burning legs. Am I on fire? It feels like I'm on fire. Too hot. Much, much too hot. Salt is filling my mouth and it feels like I'm choking, can't breathe. Why can't I breathe? Am I suffocating? Am I going to die?

My eyes are burning too. Something's wrong. I want Mister Stark. I need Mister Stark. The throbbing in my head intensifies as the burning in my lungs gets hotter and I can't suck in a breath. There's no air going in, and none coming out. I can't breathe. I need to breathe. I can't. There's a pain in my knees and I don't know what's happening until I feel my hands hit the floor in front of me. A stinging pain shoots through my wrists from landing most of my weight on them, but it doesn't help. Doesn't clear any of the weighted pain or the curling fire.