I love this one.
Tony's stomach rumbled in hunger. It had been three days since the little boy had last eaten. Three days since he had been kidnapped. It had all happened pretty quickly. He was going out of a shooting, walking toward the old driver his father had hired who was waiting for him in the limousine when two hooded men had caught him. They had thrown him at the back of a van before anyone could react. The journey had been short and chaotic. Tony had bang his head on the floor multiple times. Strangely, he wasn't afraid. Probably because he knew something like this was bond to happen. After all, he was the son of the richer business man of the country. When the van had finally stopped, one of the kidnapper had opened the doors and made him exit. No one had spoken yet.
They were in a big warehouse only occupied a sofa, a few armchairs, a TV, a small kitchen and the van that had been parked before a garage door. The same man who had made Tony exit had brought him to a chair in one of the corner. He had then taken a long solid rope. The boy was soon unable to move in any way.
"What do you want?" had asked Tony with all the courage he had successively summed up. The man had slapped him in he face. Tony's eyes had watered in pain even though he was used to this kind of treatment.
"Don't talk as long as we haven't ask you to." The man had turned away and headed back to the three others who were waiting, comfortably settled in the sofa and armchairs.
"Well," one of them — probably the leader — had said, clapping his hands, "time to call his father."
"You think he'll pay?" had asked another one.
"If he wants to see his son again, he has to." Despite the distance, Tony was still able to listen to them. Their words hadn't given him any hope. Howard Stark would never pay to save his son. One of the criminals had taken the phone put on the table before the TV. He had dialed a number, speaker on. Six ringings had followed before someone finally answered.
"Yes?" Howard's busy voice had resounded in the large room.
"Mr. Stark, we have your son. If you want to see him alive,yo-"
"I don't have time to lose with you. You have my son and you want a ransom, right? Surely one or two millions. As far as I'm concerned, you can do whatever you want with the little bastard." He had hung up on this. The four comrades were so stunned it took them several minutes to be able to speak. Although he was waiting for such a reaction from his dad, Tony couldn't help but feel hurt. It was one thing to know his father didn't like him, another to know he didn't care whether Tony died or not.
"He's gonna call back. Inevitably." The man's voice was full of uncertainty. And they had waited, waited and waited. Tony had been able to keep track of the time thanks to the only widow the warehouse had. He had started to suffer from thirst in the middle of the first one. From hunger after twenty-four hours. At the end of the second day, he had only been able to sleep two or three hours. His whole body was aching from being seated non-stop in the chair. He had only been allowed to go to the toilets once a day. His legs were stiff and numb at those moments.
Now, he was despaired. He would give everything for a meal. Hell, even a slice of bread would be nice. But despite all the pain, he had refused to plead. He had stayed strong. A man made of iron. It was a few hours later when Tony saw an occasion to escape. Three of his abductors had fallen asleep in sleeping bags. The last one was watching TV on the sofa, back to Tony. From the moment he had been attached, the young boy had tried to loosen his bonds. He couldn't have done a lot due to the constant vigilance he was under, but the kidnappers' attention had started to decrease a few hours ago.
A few contorsions later, he had freed one of his hands. It was only a matter of minutes before he was entirely released from the chair. Once that was done, he stood up slowly, noiselessly, so that the other one wouldn't be alerted. Only the TV's chatter was heard. Searching an exit, his eyes landed on the window. That was his chance. It was big enough for him to escape, but too small for an adult to follow him. However, it was at the sofa's level. He had to be careful.
He walked stealthily. At the slightest unusual noise, he would stand still and wait several minutes before resuming to his walk. His mind was weighing all the possibilities. The one that he escaped, that he would be noticed, that he would fall or die. He wasn't called a genius for nothing. He finally arrived under the opening. It was big in height but narrow in width. The only way for Tony to go through it was to cross in profile. Hoping it wouldn't make a sound, he turned the handle. Fresh air entered from the outside. He held back his breath. His heart was beating so hard in his chest he couldn't hear anything but it.
He started to stride over the edge. He had passed a leg when a gust of wind rushed inside. The window pane slammed on the wall. The drowsy man jumped on the sofa. He turned his head toward the noise's source. The moment he saw Tony, he stood up. His grip firmed up around the weapon in his hand. Tony hadn't seen it before. A knife.
"Hey!" shouted the aggressor. Tony quickly recovered from the shock. He rushed outside. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough. A hand closed around his arm. He felt someone dragging him inside. Without knowing how it happened, he was suddenly face to face with his attacker. It was the first time he was this close to one of them. The man had two small green eyes, like a rat. His hooked nose towered over a thin pale mouth. Behind him, the others were slowly waking up.
Tony knew it was his single and only chance.
The man brought the knife closer to the boy's throat but Tony was led by fear. He let a primal instinct take over him. His hand rose to grab his enemy's wrist and twisted it. This one let go of the the blade, more by surprise than pain. It resounded on the concrete. Tony bent down and picked up the weapon. Seing the criminal coming up again, features distorted by fury, he stuck the knife in the man's chest. The victim looked at his torso in awe. A coughing took him. Blood started to flow between his now red lips. The whole thing had only taken a few seconds. The three other men were still away and barely awaken. They didn't seemed to realize what had happened.
Tony fled with a turned tail, leaving a wide-eyed dead man behind. Night had fallen but he didn't even notice it. He didn't stop neither when his feet get caught in a root nor when someone called out to him. He didn't stop when the forest get replaced by meadows. He didn't stop before entering a town. His knees buckled under him then. His chest hurt, his breath was short and ragged.
Streets were completely empty. The lost boy didn't have a bunch of options. He could call his father but it wouldn't do any good. He could also call the police but it meant everybody will know what he had done. His hands were still blood-red. The last option was to take a bus or a cab to take him to New York. He still had that money Jarvis had taught him to hide in his sneakers.
The first step was to know where he was. He stood up and walked around for any indication. A sign on the pavement was reading Wanaque and locating the city on a map. It was approximately at an hour from the big apple. The best thing to do was calling a cab. There was a risk someone would recognize him in public transports. He headed toward a phone box. The old blue booth contained a black ancient phone. Tony dialed the number he had memorized a long time ago.
"What?" said a muffled voice after a few ringings.
"Sir? Could you sent a taxi at Wanaque, 5 Ringwood Avenue, please?" asked the young boy.
"Now?" exclaimed the voice.
"Yes, please." Tony's little voice must have convinced him because ta sight and he noise of turned pages were heard through the phone.
"It'll be a supplement of ten percent," the worker went on. "Your cab will arrive soon."
"Thanks," said Tony but his interlocutor had already hang up. The boy returned outside to wait in the cold night. He was only wearing a t-shirt and the icy wind made him shiver. By the time the car arrived, his teeth were chattering and he was rubbing his arms to keep the little heat he still had. Before the amount of money Tony handed him, the driver didn't asked a single question. Instead, he made sure the child was comfortably installed on the back seat and started up as softly as possible. The journey passed in a blur for the exhausted boy. Tiredness had finally take over him. He woke up when the taxi stopped in a street of the big city. He thanked the driver before exiting in the dark avenue. The sun was appearing in the horizon when he arrived on the gravel path that led to the mansion. Worn out, he climbed heavily the marble steps. He pushed the impressive wood door and, famished, used the last force he had to walk to the diner room. His parents were there, sat before their hearty breakfast.
"Hi honey," said his mother with a big smile when she saw him. She was wearing a long pink housecoat. Blond curls were flowing on her shoulders, framing a white face with big blue eyes and red lips. His father slowly rose his head from the newspaper he was reading.
"Is this an adequate outfit to sit down here?" he asked his son after looking at him from head to toe. Tony stumbled under the shock. After all he had gone through, those three days in hell, this single sentence was the last straw. His parents hadn't even noticed his absence. They really didn't care. He fled to his room, tears clouding his vision. He jumped on his bed and cried until sleep coiled up his arms around him. Dreams came, full of knifes, blood and Howard's cruel laugh.
All eyes were fixed on Tony Stark, still dead to the world. Some were full of admiration, some of incomprehension, some of sadness.
"It surely wasn't his last kidnapping," said Fury, impassive. At those words, Pepper softly dropped Tony — who she has kept in her arms since the beginning — on the ground. She stood up and headed quietly toward the SHIELD's director, red eyes set on her target. Her hight heels echoed in the room. Every single person looked at her in awe. Steve couldn't help but think of a tigress. Determined, strong, deadly. Once before her prey, she rose a hand and crashed it on the man's cheek. No one reacted. Pepper had dared to do what no one had ever done. Slap the head of the most dangerous organization in the world. Tony would be proud. Still calm, she returned to her initial position.
"Well, that's one thing done," murmured Cling before bursting out laughing. "Un-be-lie-va-ble!" Natasha looked at him with pity.
"Excuse him," she said to the others, "it's his way to relieve stress."
"There's nothing to laugh about," whispered Steve. He was desperate. Not only did the image he had of his lost friend was fading in pieces, all he knew about the Starks - father and son - was called into question. He couldn't believe Tony had had to… to kill someone, especially this young. It must have left marks and yet, no one had seen it. Neither this nor the other traumas. What was left for them to discover?
Natasha was thinking about her own childhood. About the first time she had killed. She remembered the weight of the knife she had slowly glide on her victim's neck, the blood's smell that had filled the gloomy room, the first brand on her ledger. Even her — who had been trained to murder — was making nightmares about her first time.
On the other side of their jail, Bruce was meditating. He couldn't allow himself to think about his friend. Not when hulking out meant killing someone. He had to stay focus on keeping control over the Other.
Thor was watching him. Or rather, his eyes were set on the doctor but he wasn't seeing the man. His mind had come back to little Tony's fear and the courage he had needed to escape. He had rarely seen so much bravery in such a young person. The similarities between his comrade and his brother were becoming more and more obvious to him.
Clint was far from dark thoughts. Stress, sadness and lack of understanding had taken over him. He couldn't stop laughing despite Steve's horrified gaze. He didn't know when, but at one point, he had felt devoid of any energy. Sat on his chair, eyes closed, he tried not to think about what was happening. He didn't think about Tony, Loki, SHIELD, the Avengers. He though about his farm. About his wife and children, there, in safety. He let this picture invade his mind.
Meanwhile, Rhodey had come closer to Pepper and Tony. He had laid a hand on his best friend's arm. Tony was here. He was alive. Rhodey will talk to him. No matter what Tony will say to push him back — because he will try to — Rhodey will not abandon him. He hadn't left him in Afghanistan or during the 'Extremis Crisis' so he won't do it now. He won't do the same mistake he had done at the time of the 'Palladium Poisoning'.
Fury was staring at the billionaire. He had always known Stark was dangerous. He was a genius, a true one, not that he would ever admit it before the man. He also had money and influence. The more he was discovering about the man, the more he was becoming suspicious. Stark had succeeded in hiding traumas that would have left anyone utterly broken. Who really knew Tony Stark? His eyes instantly turned to Potts. She had been one of the first person who really mattered for the lone wolf. She knew more about Stark then what he could dream of. Maybe even more than the Colonel.
"What do you think Loki's doing?" asked Clint when the silence became unbearable.
"Nothing good," answered Rhodey.
Fiuuu, that was a long one.
As always, R&R please.
