A/N: Hello there! Just a short author note before I begin. First of all, I apologize for all the mistakes I might make. Also, I want you to know that I might not update this story regularly. Due to all the obligations I have, such as school, real life and other, I might update this once in a month or even once in two months. Yes, sometimes I will update every week, but for now it will go slow. So bear with me please.
And now without further delay, onto the chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers.
Prologue
It's hard to be left behind...
It's hard to be the one who stays...
It's hard to keep the masks on and pretend that everything is okay...
It's hard to live, to love, to breath.
It's hard...
...
Time can't heal all the wounds. The wounds remain, but with time, the mind protects us from that pain with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it's never gone.
They thought that with time they would heal. But they couldn't do it alone. They were all broken in their own, weird way. It seemed like there was no way out of their problems and miserable lives.
But what they didn't realize is that the only one who can help them heal is a certain 'green' scientist.
Clint was sitting at the roof of his building, with his legs swung over the edge of the roof as he observed the night that was falling over the city and slowly enveloped it.
The light autumn breeze ruffled his hair, bringing various scents into his face. The moon was slowly making its way to the sky as the stars peeked out and settled in their usual places to shine over the town. Down, on the streets, the lights of traffic and billboard commercials were providing enough light as the whole city kept its usual flow.
A small frown formed on his face as he watched people running around, cars moving and everything just passing by, not even stopping for one second to just watch.
Deep in his mind and heart, he was hoping that someone would stop and see him. See his broken soul, lost in suffering and agony, and that someone will help him out of it. That someone will be his only hope, light at the end of the tunnel and force that is pulling him away from destruction.
But no one noticed. Everything just continued flowing, not paying any attention on the broken soul watching over them.
So what else could he do than to suffer alone.
Alone, in the darkness of his room with his own demons destroying every sign of hope he had deep down in his heart.
Alone, where the only company to him are the dreams that keep reminding him of all the awful things he did, lives he took and hearts he broke.
He could only close himself into his shell and try to cope with it.
Try to survive a day... a week... a month.
And just breath...
In.. and out...
In... and out...
In... and...
His eyes narrowed as he stared at the small trail of light under his T-shirt. The dimmed, blue light that was there as a reminder, as his savior, as his only hope for tomorrow.
...
Tony Stark was everything but normal.
He was cocky, yes. He was rude, egocentric, selfish, he didn't work well with people... But at least he could call himself a human.
Now, he can't even do that.
So what was he?
A robot? A mutant? A monster?
He didn't know the answer.
All he knew was that he was sick and tired of his pathetic life. He was sick of those faces that were pretending to be his friends, he was tired of keeping the smile on his face when he wanted to mourn... He was sick and tired of life he led.
Of a life that was nothing but a facade, a show they all played without emotions.
A shaky breath left his lips as he noticed his hand moving towards the arc reactor absentmindedly. It was an instinct, a habit.
He would always wonder what would happen if he would pull it out and never put it back.
He was a man of science, so he wanted to experiment.
His fingers wrapped around the reactor and he took a short breath.
Just for a little while...
Just to see what would happen...
*Click*
Another lighting shot across the sky, tearing up the clouds and lighting up the dark night.
The storm outside was just a little piece of what he felt inside, of what he kept away from others.
It never seemed to stop. That endless fight with yourself, your feelings, thoughts and 'what if's'. It played in his head over and over again, and he still couldn't find all the answers.
Were you doing the right thing?
He hoped he was. The sense of duty was strong and he hoped that he had made the right choices.
Wasn't it you duty to look after your brother?
It was, and he failed miserably. He didn't see what was wrong, he was occupied with having fun, more than he should.
Was there a way for you to prevent that, see it before it actually happened?
Yes.
And there it was. His problem, the thought that kept him awake for nights, made his whole gut spin and his guilt come to surface.
He should have seen it.
He should have noticed that Loki was going crazy, he should have been there for him, to pull him out of that, to help him see the light and that he was loved and that he can love.
That he had someone to take care of him, to love him and support him.
So why didn't you do that? What happened?
He honestly didn't know.
He had no answer for many questions, but this one was making him sick, making him suffer.
Another lightning tore the sky, but he didn't even wince.
He just stared at his hands, seeing all the blood on them. The blood of the innocent who died that day when his brother brought his rage to them.
And all that was needed was for him to pay a little more attention.
Just a little more attention.
Just a little more.
Spin, kick, dodge... Duck, kick, punch, move to your left.. Jump to your right, kick, punch, duck...
Her red curls jumped up and down with her as she spun around, sending punches into the punching bag. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes were red from lack of sleep and her knuckles were bloodied from the constant kicking. Her legs were shaking, her shirt was soaked with sweat and her hair was messy and glued to her face.
She was a complete mess.
But not only on the outside. She was pretty much in the same state from the inside.
Except that's something others couldn't see.
She collapsed on the ground, her legs finally giving up after seven hours of constant training. Her every muscle was screaming from pain, but she welcomed the burning feeling.
That way she didn't feel the emotional pain she tired to hide for so long, tried to mask it with whatever she found.
She was trained to hide those kind of things, but at night, the Black Widow was alone. Alone, scared, defenseless.
Weak.
The nightmares of her past would hunt her, the guilt would burn her heart and the feeling of being useless and weak would keep her awake for nights.
And no matter how much she tried, she couldn't shake it off.
The fear of being a failure.
The fear of losing, of becoming weak... of returning to her past self.
Her heart slowly returned to it's normal pace, and her eyelids slowly closed as darkness enveloped her vision.
She didn't want to close them, but she was too weak to protest, as usual.
She was simply too weak, and it was a fact. To her is was a fact she should accept.
Her breathing became slower and slower, and soon she passed out from exhaustion.
She passed out into the darkness and emptiness, and for a second she asked herself what would it look like if she never wakes up.
Would I be happier?
Would everything be better without me?
...
Would someone miss me?
The door of his apartment opened and he stepped inside, holding a helmet in one hand and carrying some groceries in other. His blue eyes were sparkling and a small smile graced his lips.
He was met with painful silence and his good mood immediately fell as he stepped into the small, empty and cold room, closing the door behind him swiftly and without noise.
He stared at the empty living room with dimmed lights and little things in it. It was almost empty, with only a few items that were necessary for him to survive.
Nothing more, nothing less.
A sigh escaped his lips as he observed his flat.
He was all alone. He knew no one, he had no family, friends...
Friends...
Bucky...
He shook his head, trying to stop the pictures of his dead friend to haunt his head and bring him more nightmares.
But it was too late. He was already too deep in it.
The pictured of Bucky and Peggy filled his mind, and he let a shaky breath out, collapsing on the sofa and resting his head in his hands.
Silent sobs shook his body as he took a deep breath and removed his hands, revealing the baby blue eyes with no tears.
He cried all the tears he could. He had no tears left, and the only thing he could do was stare at the distance with a lost look in his eyes.
With a look of a man who has no idea where he is, where he belongs and what he did to get there.
A look of a man who had no personal dreams, hopes and sometimes even thoughts.
The look of a man who is haunted by the past and lost friends and love.
He took another deep breath and stood up, moving to his kitchen to make a cup of tea. Passing by his night stand, he brushed an old photograph sitting there, but paid no more attention to it than those two seconds.
He just brushed it of and moved on, with his eyes giving away his emotions.
Emotions of a man who refused to let go of the past because that it the only thing he has left.
Staring at his own reflection for hour was something he would usually do at night when he had nightmares.
He would stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom, with his hands on the sink and his eyes staring at his reflection. His tired eyes would wonder around his reflection, observing every little detail, searching for something, anything.
He would stare like that for hours, wondering what would happen if he made different choices. Who would he have by his side, would he be the same? Who would love him, hate him, know him? Would he be happy or would he be miserable, like he was now?
He would remember Betty. Her eyes, smile, touches and kisses. Their time together, dates, sweet words, laughter and promises.
He would remember his mother. Her carrying voice, hugs and warmth, the way she cared for him. The way she hugs him, comforted him and gave her life for him.
But then he would remember his father, the abuse, smell of alcohol and blood pouring from his wounds. He would remember General Ross and all the guns and weapon pointed at him. He would remember fear, anger, lies, disappointment, betrayal and pain.
And then he would noticed the change in his reflection. His eyes would become green, his skin would have that faint green reflection and his muscles would tense.
He could always feel the other guy sitting just a little under the surface, waiting for his every slip.
After some time, or rather after the whole Loki thing, he noticed that the Hulk calmed down and left him with more control.
But it still wasn't enough. He was still a monster, a mistake, a failed experiment.
No matter how much he wanted to change that, he couldn't.
His eyes took one last glance at his reflection and then he moved outside, darkness of the night absorbing him as he stood at the balcony and stared into the sky.
He couldn't stand looking at his reflection anymore.
Because the only thing he would see was the green in his eyes and skin.
"Sir, the whole 'Avenger' thing isn't working as we planned"
"How so?"
"They are falling apart, Sir. They are isolated from the world and team. They are not bonding and they certainly don't look or act like a team."
"... Then we will have to do something about it, won't we, Agent Hill?"
"...Yes, Director Furry, we will have to..."
A/N: Hope you like it. Review and let me know what you think.