Sleep was a luxury for Tony Stark, for as one savors an exotic trip to the tropics or a lavishly expensive meal, so did Tony when he managed to shut his eyes for at least one hour uninterrupted. This was not one of the luxurious moments, and when his eyes snapped open after 23 minutes of rest, he was to say, not happy. Even worse, the source of the disturbance wasn't even his one of his usual, numerous nightmares- it was an obnoxious, persistent beeping noise. He became acutely aware of a heavy metal presence choking his face. He had fallen asleep making adjustments to his Iron Man mask and now an alarm had chosen just now to tell him.

"Oh good god, why?" He muttered to absolutely no one, seeing as how the lab was completely empty. He pried the mask off his face and shifted his stiff jaw, rubbing a grease stained hand over his sore face. He groaned- he could shower later.

His still tired eyes wandered to a space on the wall, and with a yawn, asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. for the time.

"It is 7:04, Boss."

"PM? Well then I got lots of time to work…"

"No, Boss, it is 7:04 AM."

"Let it be known that my relief has henceforth turned into grief. Shit. What is my schedule looking like today? Wait. Don't answer that. I don't actually care."

"Very well then. Is there anything you would like me to do for you?"

"Nah. I'll be working in here a few more hours if anyone needs me."

Tony cracked his knuckles. Part of him wanted to ask if any of the Avengers wanted to see him, another part of him wanted to know the date- but he didn't ask.

He thought back to only a few years prior. Funny how his tolerance for horrible had grown in that small amount of time.

Days just blended so blandly together after New York, and though at first his fellow heroes would visit and stay in contact, recently it had been radio-silence. He wanted someone to talk to, to either bitch out to or make jokes with, to have anyone to talk to so at least he wouldn't have to feel so damn depressed- but he wasn't going to be the one to ask, and Pepper was away on business so he couldn't even have her ask for him. Pepper wouldn't have to be away on business if Tony had shown up for any of his meetings or outings, so that was just another thing to feel incredibly guilty about. God, he felt like such a let-down.

Not counting Thor (who was not expected to stay on Earth), Clint was really the first one to lose contact. Maybe it was the golf-outing gone wrong that drove him away, or maybe it was Tony's constant cries of 'no fair,' but he hadn't heard from Clint in over a month. Natasha followed suit- which caused Tony to wonder if they were on S.H.I.E.L.D. assigned work, but did not raise a big enough red flag for him to expand energy in hacking said organization to see for certain. He felt that if they wanted him to know, they would have told him. Which they didn't. So clearly they did not reciprocate any friendly feelings Tony had for them.

Steve was next to go. He became engrossed in the 21st century, going on a 'break' in order to get to know more about the world he was living in. Tony understood that, sorta, but still- would it kill the super soldier to call once and awhile?

That left Bruce, his fellow nerd, his partner in crime, his science brother. He was there and suddenly he wasn't. They would meet up every other week, if not sooner, discussing quantum theories, radiation testings- even recipes if they were bored- until one time, less than a week ago, Bruce just didn't show up. He called to no response. He asked others to no answer. If anyone knew, they just wouldn't tell him.

Normally, Tony would just shrug all this off and go talk to Rhodey- his true best friend- but Rhodey was on an assignment somewhere undercover, and he couldn't exactly ruin a government operation for the sake of loneliness. Though it wouldn't be the first time…

Now it was worse than all of that. He had nobody, so that hadn't changed, but after Ultron things had changed drastically. That was fine, they could recover- they had before.

Then came the Civil War. Anything but civil, and it tore apart their fraying team so that no amount of time could ever stitch them back to their former glory. Accords and rebellions highlighted his future.

The lack of people who cared to talk to Tony had really pushed him over the edge this week. He had no idea how much he needed people to distract him from his own pain until he had talked to an A.I. for 2 hours about fedoras. It wasn't even a calm, collected conversation- it was literally 2 hours of Tony Stark frantically researching this kind of hat and ordering only the ones he deemed worthy of his head. Afterwards, he drank beer and proceeded to build tiny homes for the rest of the night. He was doing everything in his power to avoid sleeping, anything to avoid the hellish dreams that plagued him when he shut his eyes. He saw terrorists using his weapons against the people and the country he cared about, he saw his friends dying while he stood on, powerless, and he saw them. The aliens. The creatures that aren't supposed to be there but suddenly they are, and they have the ability to destroy everything that anyone has ever cared about. It eats him up inside, drives him mad just thinking about it. What drives him madder than aliens is all of his lost friendships.

From the madness grew depression, from the depression thrived his biting anxiety and a desperate humor that he used to draw attention away from his problems. Better they think him an asshole than broken.

"Boss, I just thought you should know that you have been staring at the wall for an hour now. It is exactly 8:04."

"Um, okay. Why not play some tunes, buddy? Mind cranking up some Black Sabbath so I can stare at the wall in style?"

"Right away. Also, since you have not mentioned it, I think you may have forgotten that today is your-"

"I may just be going deaf, but I'm pretty sure that that is not music playing. Wanna just stick to what I asked?"

"Of course. I just thought you might like to know that-"

"Less talking, more playing."

With that, the glorious rock music flooded the room- yet it it did absolutely nothing to fill the crevice in his chest. Not the one created by a bomb, where a glowing mechanism prevented him from dying, but the one created by failure and loss. That void was growing wider and hungrier, and speaking of being hungry.

"I totally lied. I want food. What do we have in the kitchen?"

"A refrigerator, an oven, a microwave… Would you like me to go on, Boss?"

"You're horrible. You're sassy. I made you too well. Now just tell me what food we have."

"Edible food."

"You're dead to me."

Tony Stark would usually be mildly entertained by the salty replies of his A.I, but recently they brought him nothing except headaches. His fingers were bored with machinery, his head tired of hearing detached, programmed voices. He craved food, yes, however above all, he craved human companionship. Maybe Pepper would pick up, if she's not too busy…

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. forget about the music and the food. Call Pepper."

"Calling Pepper Potts."

Tony sat bouncing his knee exaggeratingly, as if trying to shake all the excess coffee out of his system. It was a mistake to call her, he knew that- but he was tired of avoiding her and saying they were taking a break when he needed her. If Pepper didn't pick up, he was considering stapling his fingers together as an alternative. A bored genius, a case of crippling depression and staplers really don't mix well.

Naturally, the strawberry blonde did not pick up. Though she did send a text.

What?

Tony was so done. With everything. He had nothing to do, nobody to talk to.

"Dum-E, grab me a stapler." He spoke to the air. He wondered if Dum-E even heard him.

He did.

Soon enough, a stapler was presented to one Tony Stark.

"Why, thank you." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tony stared at the stapler with loathing. There was no way in hell he was actually going to staple his fingers.

Was there?

The longer Tony stared at the little black object, the more he felt it was mocking him. He felt challenged. By a stapler. He almost broke into hysterics.

It was a stapler, why was it eating away at him so much? Shouldn't he just resume fiddling with his Iron Man mask? Actually leave the workshop and get food?

"Nope." He said aloud, startling himself. He didn't want to do those things anymore. He wanted to staple his fingers. He picked it up off the table.

"What exactly do you need with a stapler?"

"Quiet, F.R.I.D.A.Y."

He was running on espresso and a weekly 4 hours of sleep- something about stapling his fingers sounded very appealing in that moment. Maybe it would distract from the mental pain, maybe it would stop his fingers from fidgeting all the damn time. He didn't know. He just really wanted to try it.

He positioned his finger under the clamp and was about to press down and pierce his flesh when F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up.

"Sir, you have a visitor."

"Is that right?" Tony asked, his eyes still transfixed on the stapler.

"Yes. I would advise putting the stapler down and greeting them."

Tony frowned. A guest. For real? Who could it be, a lawyer, an angry ex, hell- maybe it was a herd of sweaty cosplayers. He hesitantly set the stapler down and looked at his attire. Jeans and a long sleeved AC/DC t-shirt that was caked with grease and sweat. When was the last time he showered?

"Dum-E, spray me with some AXE, won't you?"

A compartment opened in Dum-E's framework, and its small claw grabbed a bottle of AXE deodorant and hosed Tony down. His nostrils stung with the scent of fresh.

His mind was a blur, which meant he didn't really remember leaving his spinning chair and his cozy little corner, but the moment he stepped out of the room he was suddenly hit with a wall of sadness. The rushing thoughts of is this my life now, would I be missed, what am I doing, where am I going absorbed any intentions he had of going upstairs to meet a visitor, so he elected to just sit on the stairs instead. F.R.I.D.A.Y. called out from overhead.

"I would advise going upstairs. Now. Your guests are impatient."

"Oh my God. First of all, you said there was only one and now you're telling me there's more than one? Secondly, why the hell did you let them in?"

"As I have said, I would advise going upstairs. Now."

"Remind me later to add 'the vagueness of A.I.s' to the List of Things That Can Kill. Now I'm walking up the stairs now so don't get your panties in a twist."

Tony's legs felt weak as he trekked his way up each step. When was the last time he even left the lab, or even ate for that matter?

No one cares, not even you he thought bitterly. Resentment suddenly flooded him. If his ever-shrinking group of friends cared for him at all, they would have helped him. They're the reason he's this bad. They're- no. That's unfair to blame them. If I wasn't so…. Me. Then they'd have known.

For a brief moment Tony considered just sending the visitor(s) away and having something(s) to drink, but he thought better of it. Perhaps the untainted air of the upstairs would do his aching mind some good. That or it would bring on a full-on mental breakdown.

Whatever works.

He reached the top and teetered. Ugh. Stairs are the enemy if you never use them. A haunting silence filled the house, and he made his way to the front door.

"Delivery for Mr. Stank? Er, no, you're Tony Stark?"

"That would be me."

Clearly it was something from Rhodes, a big enough something that 2 men had to wheel it in together. A large, wooden box.

Oh, joy.

"What's the occasion?" He muttered, not meaning to do so aloud.

"Isn't your birthday today? Well, that's what the package says at least…"

Tony felt like he had been struck across the face. He was 46 today.

This is the first time in years he hadn't thrown some lavish, extreme party or went on an exotic trip.

This is the first birthday in years where he would be spending it alone.

He signed the papers the men handed to him, and then they were gone.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. came on from overhead.

"I did try to tell you."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Tony felt almost as awful as when he watched Captain America drop his shield and walk away. The pain was fresh again, especially now that he stared at all the blank spaces around him.

For a second time, he called the phone.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice-

And it died.

Tony threw the phone against the wall, but to his combined relief and dismay, it didn't break. Damn strong flip-phones. He fell back against the crate Rhodes had sent and was startled when a smaller box fell from the top and onto his head. It rattled slightly when he shook it, and there was no name on the package. It could be a bomb for all he knew, but he didn't care.

He opened it.

Inside was a long gray cord with an old fashioned plug. He was confused until he picked up a small piece of paper tucked underneath. In small, neat letters read:

Can't call a phone that doesn't have charge. Happy Birthday, Iron Man.

Tony choked back a sob. It was from the team, probably just Cap- it was a tiny sign that there was still hope. There was always hope.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., order me a couple pizzas and some more beers. This birthday may be lonely, but by god am I going to have fun at least."