System Error: Identity Manager (part IV)

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Iron Man Crossover (Self-Made Hero)
Summary: Despite how it might look, the transition isn't easy.  There's only so long the destabilized situation can continue before something's gotta give...
From here on out things are gonna get a little weird 'cause they're in Tony|Xander's head.
MCU!Tony.
Word Count: 620
Rating: Gen

            The sand is everywhere.  It seems synonymous with heat, given how he feels.  It’s below his feet, making it hard to walk.  It keeps shifting beneath his feet, like it’s actively trying to trip him.  A faceless entity, for sure, but not a neutral one.  It’s also above—there’s some type of breeze, but instead of bringing relief from the hot sun and the sand it’s blowing grains everywhere, so not only is it getting through the rags of clothes he’s wearing, it’s in his eyes, his nose, his mouth.  Like it’s trying to choke him.  He can taste it, smell it.  It leaves him feeling gritty, unclean.  This wasn’t a victory.  It’s never a victory.
            He lost someone.  He can’t remember who, exactly.  In fact, it’s hard to remember his name, right now.  His head hurts.  It’s probably the heat.
            He’s pretty sure that at some point his world had consisted of something other than pain and burning heat and sand, but at this point he can’t remember.
            The sun is trying to kill him.  Everything is, really.  There’s an odd weight on his chest that feels at once utterly familiar and completely foreign.
            He trips and falls and pulls himself up.  He has to live.  His friend deserves that much.  He’d made a promise that his friend’s death wouldn’t be in vain.  He can’t think of the name.
            If he could cry, he would.  He doesn’t think that’s allowed, though, not in this hell of sand and pain and heat.  His tongue is starting to swell.  His throat is parched.  If a world existed outside this blistering heat, it probably included cool drinks at some point.  He can only half remember what that means, though, a distant memory.
            He trips and falls again.  This time, it hurts.  There’s something red.  It’s probably blood, a part of him thinks distantly, even though it’s also a hazy mirage with no real meaning to it.  He gets up, though.  He’s fought for this for so long.  He’s not going to let himself die now.
            After a while, he’s just walking.  He doesn’t remember how, or why, or even why it’s important.  But he knows that he can’t stop, he just can’t, because if he does…
            And then he hears something that isn’t wind or sand.  It takes him a few moments to even realize what it is, another few to convince himself that it’s real, and then he’s yelling and waving.  It doesn’t even occur to him that this might be the enemy, because at the moment, he doesn’t even realize what that would mean.  Whoever is flying overhead in those helicopters is something not a part of this world of walk-heat-pain-sand, and therefore they’re good.
            He can’t stand anymore.  He falls to his knees.  But it’s all right, because his friend is here, and it’s safe.
            Friend says something funny, and he manages a smile and it’s almost real, almost untinged by what’s happened, but he can’t bring himself to speak.  It’s not only effort he can’t spare, but he feels horribly parched now, and his tongue has swollen enough it feels like he’s going to choke himself, somehow.  And then he leans in, because he’s a man of contact, and he feels like if ever there’s a time that no one’s going to judge, it’s now, and because it’s both comfort and security that he won’t fall over in the next ten seconds.  (He does, anyway, but at least it’s where he’s just that little bit more manageable.  Friend searched for him for a long time.  He made Friend worried, so worried, put him through so much effort and pain, and yeah, okay, so that’s probably normal, but still).