Chapter 3
If he had anything in his stomach he would’ve puked it. Thankfully, and he’s being only half-sarcastic, they haven’t fed him in… well, he doesn’t really know how much time has passed since his awakening, but it must’ve been close to two days from the hunger he feels. He’s become quite good at telling how much time passes by the hunger he feels since he doesn’t really eat when he’s working. He can almost be precise to the minute
It’s a gift
He remembers the first time the guards brought food to the everyone but him. Sam had been confused at first, probably wondering if they had already fed him or if there was something wrong. The ant-guy cocked his head like a lost puppy, wondering the same as Sam. When Sam had voiced their concerns, Lang nodding along, Clint had been his asshole-self and stated that they had probably given him special treatment, giving him more food than they gave them before bringing him in. Tony wasn’t angry at him though, he didn’t have the strength to be. And after all, he knew Clint. He lashed out when he was hurt and angry- and boy was he angry right now. Clint also conveniently forgot that he had literally been dragged in, half conscious and in pain. So his theory sucked, but still Sam and Lang let it slide.
The second time it happened, a whole lot later than the first since meals are given at random times, few and far between (one of the ways they use to make them disoriented about what time it is), Sam was more vocal about it, yelling at the guards and demanding answers, Lang following suit like the lost puppy he is, both of them raging about the unfairness of it. Clint still hadn’t reacted, but from the small frown he wore as he ate his food Tony could tell he was troubled by the development.
The third time all three of them were banging on the glass of their cells, yelling and bringing the ringing in Tony’s ears to the next level.
The fourth and last time they had given up on yelling and had resorted to pleading
During the whole time he just sat there, trying to ignore their voices and failing miserably, resulting in The Headache of his life. Totally deserving of the capital h, Tony had thought as the pain in his head pulsed, thrumming a beat against the walls of his skull. The headache in turn made him unable to sleep, which only helped in making his headache stronger.
Then came Ross, the guards opening Tony’s cell, grabbing him by his arms, bringing him out and shoving him in front of Ross with enough force that he almost fell to his knees. “Where is Rogers?” He had asked
Tony, head still spinning from getting up too fast, had frowned “what?”
The blow to his stomach had come suddenly, and if he had eaten anything in the past two(?) days he would’ve puked it. But he didn’t so he can’t. So he stays there, heaving on nothing, in the centre of the room, the only thing keeping him upright the two guards holding him, surrounded by people who seemed to have forgotten to hate him in favour of acting outraged at the show before them. He wonders why they even care. If they care. Maybe they are just protesting because they think themselves as ‘heroes’, and Ross is their Big Bad of the month. Maybe they have like a ranking of Big Bads, in which Ross results as a Bigger Big Bad than Tony, and so it makes it okay to defend Tony against the Bigger Bad. Once Ross is gone, if Ross will ever be gone, Tony’ll go back to be the Bigger Bad, and they’ll hate him once more. Not that he doubts they hate him now, but the hate they feel for Ross must be greater if they’re coming to his aid. Well- not really, they’re not coming literally to his aid, they’re just shouting and banging on the glass of their cells’. Not that they can do much else. Still, they probably just hate him less than they hate Ross- which, in retrospect, is a relief. If they thought him worse than Ross he doesn’t really know if it says more about what kind of men they are or about what kind of man he is.
His thoughts are interrupted by Ross’ newest monologue on how of course Tony must know where Rogers is and if he didn’t tell him he would torture him and make him wish he was never born and yada yada yada.
Tony looks at Ross through bored eyes and does nothing but sigh
Honestly, his life
Tony yawns -not even on purpose- half through the speech, making Ross stop and look at him, his face quickly becoming enraged at the obvious boredom and lack of fear on Tony’s face.
Ross’ face is slowly but surely doing its best to imitate a red version of the hulk, Tony thinks.
At Clint’s startled snort and Ross’ angry growl, Tony realises he might have said that out loud.
Oh well, sleep and food deprivation’ll do that to you.
Ross reaches for his pocket and gets the red ball out
Well… shit
The ball slaps against the ground, and Tony seizes up in pain, his muscles clenching and his jaw snapping shut, biting his tongue in the process. He remains completely still, not even breathing. He hears distantly, as if muddled through water, the confused shouts of the others, outraged and confused. The pain goes away as suddenly as it came. Tony collapses, falling to his knees and breathing heavily.
“Where is Rogers?”
He doesn’t know, but, he doesn’t really want to deign Ross with an answer. And… he doesn’t really feel like caring about himself right now. He feels… like maybe, just maybe, if he suffers enough, he’ll be forgiven. By who? He doesn’t really know.
Maybe by the thousands of people who had died because of his carelessness with his weapons
Maybe by Vision, who was now scarred for life for having taken Rhodey’s legs. It wasn’t his fault (it was Tony’s) and Tony had tried telling him, but nothing could make the android change his mind.
Maybe by Barnes. After all, the man was innocent. Yes, he had killed his mother. Yes, he had killed his father. Yes, he had killed hundreds of people. But he didn’t want to. He was brainwashed. And Tony had attacked him. Almost killed him. Taken away his arm. He was too tired to feel guilty, but he knew the man deserved an apology.
Maybe by Rhodey, who had followed him, and trusted him. And had lost his legs for it. Rhodey has always been the older brother Tony never had, and Tony has always felt undeserving of his friendship. He has never felt more undeserving than when Rhodey had told him that ‘it’s okay, Tones, really- hey look at me, I’m okay’ just after the doctor had told them the possibility of Rhodey losing his ability to walk and Tony, well, Tony had lost it. The man had just lost his legs, for Christ’s sake! Because of Tony’s idiocy, and he had- he hadn’t yelled- he- he wasn’t even mad! He had been his usual caring self and consoled Tony. And if that wasn’t a punch in the gut then he didn’t know what was.
Maybe by Tony himself
So he just looks straight into Ross’ eyes and, raising his chin up in defiance, he spits right in Ross’ face. “Fuck. You”
The ball slams to the ground.
He falls to the side, muscles trembling from the strain of having to clench all at once and for so long, seizing up in pain. The wave of pain is bigger than last time, crashing on him and overwhelming him enough that he almost screams, barely catching himself by biting his lips and letting out a grunt.
It feels like being stabbed by hundred of knives, it feels like being shot over and over, it feels like being thrown in boiling water.
It feels like burning
It’s sudden, and it takes you less a second to catch fire. It’s fast in stealing all other thoughts and you can’t think about anything but pain
Once it finally stops Tony gulps a mouthful of air, coughing and spluttering, having forgotten to breathe. He takes a moment to justbreathe Tony, breathe. He can almost hear Rhodey. He rolls on his stomach, shakily raising himself to his knees, breathing heavily. Ross looks down at him. Tony barely registers the golden ball he has in his free hand. He can’t really hear with how his ears are ringing, but he sees Ross’ mouth moving in a question.
Tony raises his chin “f- fuck yo-”
And suddenly he’s on the ground, back hurting by how fast he threw himself down, unease seeping deep in his bones, making him writhe and whine on the ground. He can’t help but scratch at his neck, his face, his chest, his arms, trying to rid himself of the feeling, whining in helplessness. He desperately wants to yell, scream, cry out, but he can barely even breathe
It feels like being slowly skinned alive, it feels like thousands of ants crawling under his skin, it feels like drowning
It feels like freezing
It’s slow, and it takes you limb by limb. It gives you time to wonder, to think. It traps you in your own head, slowly but surely driving you mad.
And suddenly it stops, the scream he was unable to let out before is ripped out of his throat, leaving him breathless and gasping. He’s trembling and his vision is blurry. He raises himself on his right elbow, his left trembling too much to be of use. Ross is smirking at him
Tony raises his chin