A/N: hello lovely people of the avengers fandom! this is my first foray into the fanfic world of you! i love the avengers and who else is super excited for Thor 2? i'm going to see it on the 30th :) anyone else? okay guys you know the drill please read and if you like it then review sil vous plait! i don't bite promise!

Warning: could be triggers for some people and vague mention of rape and torture but nothing graphic.

Disclaimer: these lovely characters belong to marvel not me, i just like playing with them :)

Please review!

Prologue

It was dark. The streets of Manhattan were shrouded in an inky veil of black, the only coming from the harsh beams of car headlamps and the soft yellow glow from the only buildings open at this stupidly late hour. Pubs and clubs. The song of late night New York rose and fell every second. The drunken, happy laughter from the pubs, raucous laughter from a teenagers forbidden house party, the growls and roars of the never ending traffic and the soft swell of dance music spilling into the street from an underground club filling the air. It was familiar, the sounds of people's lives rushing around, always drawing closer to its end but the humans in charge of the time limit letting themselves live for every second of it. It was reassuring, ever present and completely and utterly beautiful.

At least, that's how it seemed to a girl lying unnoticed in the middle of the sidewalk, watching her life flow onto the ground around her.

Life is so precious, for such a fragile, fleeting thing, the girl mused as she watched her blood, shockingly crimson in the suffocating darkness, fleeing from her body as if it couldn't wait to get the hell outta dodge. The thought was so ridiculous it made her chuckle slightly, and then she wished she hadn't, as intense, fiery pain raced through the numerous cuts lacing her body from the slight movement.

The ugly red lines covering her skin were all different: some were long and shallow, hardly even scratching the upper surface of her arms. Then there were the short deep ones, punching gaping holes into her stomach and thighs (what was left of them anyway).

They were what were going to kill her she thought derisively, too far into the shock from blood loss to feel appropriately scared at the thought of dying. She wasn't weak willed. She had done everything she could think of in those first few weeks to avoid those awful men and the… things they wanted to do… but she was only human. Too long without food and water or the constant agonizing pain she received for her disobeying and she simply gave up. Allowed them to do… what they had wanted to with her body while she floated on the edge of consciousness, in too much pain and too hungry to care anymore.

Of course, when she had woken up and been fed her first meal in almost a week, she felt disgusted, dirty, ashamed of what had happened to her… but there was nothing she could do now.

Her dirty, torn clothes (a forest green long sleeved shirt and denim jeans) barely gave her enough material to protect herself from the cold bite in the air. Then again, she thought as a particularly painful jab of pain jolted through her system, she'd be dead inside 5 minutes anyway. Then she wouldn't feel the cold. Not where she was going.

Her long blonde hair, greasy and matted with the crimson blood still pouring from her body, was stirred by the breeze, a deceptively caring caress that made her want to hysterically laugh until she sobbed. Nobody cared for her anymore. She couldn't remember her father, her mum had died of cancer last year and her boyfriend (sweet, funny, cute Aiden) had died in the battle for Manhattan last month.

There was nobody left to care for her.

The pain was getting worse now. Sharp jabs that made her want to curl in on herself, over and over and over again the blows came until she wanted to scream. But she couldn't. She had no breath left with which to breathe, let alone scream. The oppressing darkness around her was intruding into her field of vision, so slowly, like a lover's gentle touch, gently stealing her last defence to the darkness.

"Help me, please…" she whispered into the night, finally scared of her impending death, but knowing that nobody would hear her, there was nobody to help her.

She was going to die.

Before the darkness fully stole her vision though she saw a figure, clad in gold and green, the most curious of costumes, running full speed to her side. He had long (for a guy at least) black hair and worried looking, large green eyes. She felt like crying. Here was someone, trying to help her she gathered from the way he was gently pushing aside bits of her clothing looking for her serious injuries and stiltedly trying to comfort her, but he was too late. As her eyes began to finally fall closed she managed to get her dull, pain filled, green eyes to meet his panic stricken ones, trying to convey her gratitude that (although he was a perfect stranger) she wasn't going to die alone.

Then her eyes slid closed and she let the darkness steal her from the world.