A/N: So, spring semester: finally over. About time. I thought this semester was never going to end. In other news, I've caught a chest cold. Ew.

Here's the next chapter. Things are about the same on the homefront, which I guess is relatively good news. :) Thanks for everyone's well wishes and prayers. Next chapter will be up Sunday.

Chapter Four

"What are you doing?" Mac asked Tony as Tony counted off his steps.

"Nothing," Tony ignored the question and continued counting, walking in a square.

He had been in a room with bars on the doors and windows and no way out. The room had been three steps one way, three and foot the other, and he had walked around and around…

"Well," Mac's obnoxious voice broke through his thoughts, "You up for a fight?"

Tony looked up and shrugged, "I'm not gonna lose."

Mac laughed a laugh that still made Tony's hair stand on edge no matter how many times he heard it, "Don't I know it."

Tony just frowned, before looking back down and counting his steps.

Maybe if he did this enough, the whisper of the memory would leave him alone.

Tony wondered if he ever had been happy.

He must have been, at least for a little while.

No one could go through life totally unhappy.

But then Tony wasn't one to say how normal people should go about their lives.

Tony tried to dream of before.

Before he had woken up in the forest, before he had felt the need to run and hide…

But no matter what, his dreams of before never stayed happy for long - or never even started off happy.

Happy was something that Tony wasn't allowed to have.

And no matter how hard he tried, Tony could figure out why.

Tony had been hungry.

That had been his reason the first time he had walked into Pete's bar.

The second time had been reasons Tony didn't want to admit and then the fifthteen time, Pete had gone ahead and asked the question Tony had been wanting to answer since the first time he had walked in.

"You planning on sticking around?"

But then suddenly, Tony hadn't known how to answer the question because he never remembered being asked one like it before.

So he went with what he knew.

"It's quiet here," Tony practically whispered, afraid of providing the right answer and terrified of giving the wrong one. So he deflected - it was the only thing he could do.

"I guess so," Pete said, lifting an eyebrow at Tony's response but otherwise not commenting on it.

"Alright then," Tony nodded, as if that settled it.

And really, as far as either of them was concerned, it did.

After Tony had let other fighters beat the crap out of him every time he got in the ring, he decided that feeling that kind of pain didn't amount to much at all.

So one day, a guy he didn't know and never saw again spit on him as Tony kneeled on the ground, trying to recover his breath after taking a shot to the gut.

"Piece of shit," the man had kicked him for good measure before stepping away, waiting for Mac to call it over.

Looking back, Tony didn't know what the difference was in this fight compared to the others.

But when Mac had been on count nine, Tony had jumped up and sucker punched the other guy in the ring so hard he heard and felt the man's facial bones give way underneath his fist.

It was then that Tony decided he much rather be angry, if he could be anything at all.

"Gonna fight today?" Mac smiled as he pulled up beside Tony, who was making his way down the empty street.

"No," Tony shook his head, glancing around to see if he was close to the street that lead to Pete's bar.

One more block to go, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief at the thought though he didn't know why.

"Come on Deuce, got a nice one lined up for you," Mac said, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together, "This one has some nice benefits, if you know what I'm saying."

Tony looked down the street and rolled his shoulder, loosening it up, "No."

Mac's smile didn't falter, instead he laughed and hit the side of his car once, "See you around then. I know where to find you."

Watching the car drive away, Tony knew the last sentence had been more than just a casual phrase.

Tony didn't remember important stuff from before.

But that didn't mean he didn't know what important stuff was.

Mac was not important.

The coin that he kept in his pocket was, as was the knife in the buckle of his black worn belt.

Pete could be.

But he was missing something.

And he couldn't remember what.

Couldn't figure out what went in the hole that was in him.

Because nothing he found had fit in it so far.

Pete was nice in a mean sort of way.

Tony knew that didn't make complete sense but he had figured out that most things in his life didn't.

Pete let him stay in the back room when he didn't want to go anywhere else.

Pete didn't mind that Tony took longer to clean the bar after hours because he got distracted and Pete didn't mind when Tony would stay in his room for days, not moving and just counting the holes in the wall.

But Pete got mad when he didn't eat and always yelled at him like he was mad but Tony could hear worry in his voice when he listened close enough.

But most days, Tony didn't have enough energy to listen or he didn't care to hear.

He was just waiting for the day that Pete made him leave.

Because Tony didn't care anymore.

Tony had dreamed of mazes.

Once, the maze had been dark and wet everywhere he went and the whole time Tony felt his heart beating faster and faster and Tony knew that if he stopped that someone would kill him.

But sometimes, Tony was in other kinds of mazes. Mazes that didn't smell of death or fear.

These mazes smelt like something Tony couldn't remember and when he had first dreamt of this maze,

Tony had been afraid and tried to get out, hurrying down every passage and getting more lost until he fell down and woke up.

But that had been a long time ago.

Tony dreamt of mazes once more.

Only this time he was too tired to even try and make it past the first corner.

Pete looked at him worried like even though his eyes showed anger.

Tony figured that Pete was a body filled of contradictions and that no matter how hard he tried, not that he did anymore, he would never be able to figure Pete out.

Pete liked to yell a lot.

But Tony had never found anyone more calm in his life.

Pete made Tony work in the bar, but Tony was finding it harder and harder to just get out of bed.

And now, every time Tony dreamed, things got darker and darker.

Tony knew that one day, he would disappear into the darkness and no one would be able to find him.

Tony's last fight was just as…non-climatic as his first.

Tony stepped into the ring, facing off a kid younger than him who probably would become trapped in a world of violence and money just because he liked to punch people around.

Tony didn't say anything about it though because he had been like the kid…at one point anyway.

But the fight had left him, just as quickly as it had come.

There was no anger left.

Only sorrow that was going to eat him from the inside out.

And as Tony leaned into the punch and made sure the kid had a wide open shot, Tony could only hope the end would be quick.

A/N2: Sorry it was so depressing. But I mean come on. Tony lost his identity. Cut him some slack. :) Thanks for reading and if you don't mind, reviews are greatly appreciated. :)