It started with his breath, and that's what it always seemed to come back to.
When Tony Stark had first awakened in the cave in Afghanistan he could barely fill his lungs. A tube snaked through the inside of his body, emerging from his nose had been the first thing he had pulled out, fighting feelings of disgust as he felt it slide through the back of his throat. He dropped it to the ground beside him, still gasping, trying to take in enough air. There was something wrong with him. Something was pressing against the organs in his chest, causing an impossibly heavy sensation, like a tool kit resting inside of him. He felt bound, and from beneath the thin blanket covering him, he could see the edges of a darkly stained banged, wrapped tightly around him. His heart pounded, and he could hear blood rushing to his head.
With trembling hands, clumsy from sleep and pain, he tore at everything he came in contact with, until his fingers grasped at what felt like a tiny engine lodged in the upper region of his torso. It vibrated, gently, under his touch, and had the warm feel and slightly burnt smell of a machine that had been running for too long. His breath started to come faster then, as a sort of shock took over. His hands traced a twin pair of wires that led from the instrument in his chest to a small car battery that was sitting table, next to his cot. He tried to inhale, felt his breath catch, and started coughing instead, his chest struggling accommodate the apparatus as it began to sharply to rise and fall. Becoming silent, and trying to get a grip on his situation, Tony closed his eyes and tried to calm down.
He inhaled slowly, first through his nose, and then after a long, shaky exhale, through his mouth. The room was cold, and through hooded lids he could see the ghost of his breath rise from his lips.
In and out…
In and out.
And still, there wasn't enough air.