Written for the following AvengersKink prompt:

"Tony betrayed, Team Angst, Attempted suicide - A while back I read a fic for another fandom in which the main character is imprisoned for his own safety.

So what I want is: A telepathic villain makes threats against the Avengers, specifically Tony. SHIELD and the Avengers decide that Tony is safer not knowing about the threat, because he'd go off on his own and try to fight the villain. SHIELD comes up with the idea to place Tony into a room with protected walls against telepathic attacks, essentially isolation. SHIELD agents do a in-the-middle-of-the-night kidnap thing and Tony doesn't know why this is happening to him. The rest of the Avengers are reluctant but ultimately agree. It won't be anything like Afghanistan, Tony will be getting three meals a day and no one will be hurting him. He'll be fine right?

Tony needs interaction, he needs to ramble and to tinker and to create. He's not only isolated, he doesn't know why he's there and he thinks his team is going to come and get him. But they never show and he starts losing it. So, the only logical thing to do is to hurt himself, so he can get some medical attention, and if he happens to die in the attempt, well, that works too.

He's elated to see the Avengers in the hospital. Until he discovers that they knew. What happens next? Does Tony ever forgive them?

Lots of angst and guilt, happy ending is OPTIONAL!"

Time is very fluid in this story, with multiple flashbacks, time skips, half-truths and skewed perspectives.

Main title and chapter titles come from John Casteen's chilling poem "Night Hunting"


When the fireworks are over and they are left in the near darkness, a few minutes pass before Tony makes a movement to get up.

Steve doesn't know what compels him to do it, why he reaches up and takes a gentle hold of Tony's wrist.

"Need some help getting up, Cap? I'm all for assisting senior citizens but I kinda thought that the whole super-soldier serum thing would take care of all that."

"Did you ever just take a moment and looked at the stars?"

Tony is puzzled but curious and he sits back down.

"You, uh, had too many cocktails Rogers?"

Steve laughs at that, ruefully shaking his head.

"Are you really that eager to return to the party?"

Normally, Tony would come up with a witty quip, something along the lines of 'hell yeah, I'm the life of the party, what would they ever do without me?' But tonight, he just doesn't feel like it's worth the effort to play that persona.

He settles for grumbling something mean but good-natured, pretending his heart doesn't speed up just a little as he lays down next to Steve.

They must look like idiots, two grown men laying on a hill, heads craned up.

But then Steve is leaning up and in and for all the world Tony didn't think the captain had the guts, certainly not for something like this.

Nothing happens because at that moment someone is calling for them, the beam of a flashlight imperfect in the quiet beauty of the night. Steve sits up fully then, and so does Tony, whatever might have been in those last few seconds gone, like rain seeping into the ground.

Pepper and Happy say that they are relieved to find them, and Steve apologizes for worrying them, good person that he is.

And then Pepper's eyes catch his, an apology in them.

Tony just smiles at her, "The real question is, how the hell did you get over here in those heels?"


Patient Medical File

Presiding Doctor: Robins, Leander

Presiding Surgeon: McMillan, Lucas

Patient: Coulson, Philip

S.H.I.E.L.D Consultant: CLASSIFIED

Emergency Contacts: Barton, Clint; Romanov, Natasha; CLASSIFIED

Agent Coulson was transported to the Nevada SHIELD medical center at 13:25:53. Agent Coulson was unconscious upon arrival. He presented with multiple burns and lacerations. Examination revealed moderate first-degree burns across the arms, which were subsequently attributed to the fire that occurred in the warehouse where he sustained the injuries (ref 4.56c.). Second-degree burns occurred on 15% of the torso. With statements from Agent Barton and testing of the unique burning pattern, it was determined that the cause was none other than the respulsors of the Iron Man armor (ref 7.88d.). In accordance with this determination, Agent Coulson also presented with broken fourth, fifth, and sixth ribs (left side) and sixth and seventh (right side) ribs. The left collarbone fracture is consistent with a close range attack. I speculate that Agent Coulson was close enough to Iron Man that the latter was able to grab him, as Iron Man's gauntlets are certainly capable of breaking bone. However, as Agent Barton was no longer present for this portion of the attack, such a speculation cannot be confirmed nor denied until Agent Coulson awakens. The criminal, considered to be Basil Sandhurst, a.k.a. "The Collector," appears to have caused no direct injuries to either Agent Coulson or Agent Barton.

Additional Note: Mr. Stark does not appear to remember anything leading up to, during, or directly after this event.


When Gwen Stacy opens the door, she first expects the pizza that they ordered "at least three decades ago" (by Peter's calculations, not hers). She also expects a mailman, a neighbor, a salesman, a Jehovah's Witness. Even a police officer. Maybe a Norse god, or an eye-patched man.

She certainly doesn't expect Tony Stark.

He looks weary and thin, brown hair shorter than she remembers. But the smile that stretches his face and goatee is real, as tired as it is.

Gwen doesn't think and doesn't invite him in. She simply steps out and envelops him in a hug. He's apprehensive at first, and then he relaxes, exhaling, "happy to see me, Gwen?"


"Friend Stark, this toaster is not working as you said. I fail to see why it does not respond to me as it responds to you."

Tony walks over and immediately sees what the problem is.

"Uh, yeah…So, the thing is, you can't just, like, cram a bazillion pop-tarts in there, Goldilocks. You've got to try two at a time."

"Just two?"

"Just two."

"Then this machine is most inadequate and useless. It should be thrown out at once and replaced with one better capable to handle its task."

"I'll get on that for you okay? Just, for now, try two…and Thor?"

"Yes friend Stark?"

"Can you not bash it in with Mjolnir? Coulson's asked us not to repeat The Microwave Incident, remember?"

"I shall try friend Tony, for the son of Coul's words are often wise and his requests should be honored."

"Thanks, buddy…and, not to bother you that much but it's kind of important. See, around here, people, all people, everyone really…wears pants. No offense of course. Just put on some pants."


Gwen practically pulls him inside, feels the promise of a certain tranquility settle over her. She knows bits and pieces of what's happened, and she's mostly inferred the rest. She certainly knows what it did to Peter.

"I'm not going to ask…just…just please talk to him."

Tony nods, squeezes her hand once and then he's gone, disappearing into the small hallways of the Stacy apartment, where Peter has been spending many of his mornings.


Tony sits and waits, placing his head into his hands, fighting the urge to pull at his hair and scream for them to give Clint back. He's tried that already, and, well, it didn't exactly get him anywhere fast. Unless you count some thorough kicks, which got him to a couple of cracked ribs pretty fast but that, that's a whole different story.

The cell they're kept in is damp and it smells and there's a drain in the middle and Tony wants to laugh at that because seriously? Where's the inspiration gone these days?

They bring Clint back in about 20 minutes and Tony breathes a sigh of relief. 20 minutes is too little time to seriously injure anyone he reasons. He's blindfolded and Tony is warned that if he tries to remove it, things will get ugly. Tony replies that things are as ugly as they can get, judging by their looks, and that they must break mirrors and that their mothers are fugly and pretty soon, Clint is forgotten and his ribs go from cracked to broken.

"Stark?"

"Yeah, right here. Coming over okay?"

"I can't…" Clint's voice wavers, "I can't see."

"Well, I hate to break it to you Barton, but you've got a blindfold on. Kinky, huh?"

"No, I mean…they sprayed me in the face with something when they nabbed us. They also injected me with something."

Tony keeps his voice level. "You're going to have to be more specific, Robin of the Hood. Or the blindfold. Same difference really."

"I don't know. They basically told me it would fuck me up."

"Fuck you up in what ways? Are we talking uncontrollable projectile puking and bloody diarrhea or what?"

"I'm thinking more along the lines of hallucinations and delusions."

"Well, there were certainly easier ways of sending you on a bad trip if that's what they were after."

"Stark, I'm sure –what are you doing?"

"Removing the blindfold to look at your eyes. Relax, cupcake, I'm trying to see those beautiful orbs that Natasha seems enamored with."

"Are you deaf and stupid?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure I have a genius IQ so no. Hold still."

Clint stills at the feeling of Tony's fingers around his head. He didn't expect to see once it was off, but it is disappointing just the same to be met with hazy black once the pressure around his head is gone.

"Well, the skin's puffy and crusty. We gotta wash it out."

Now that Tony is so close, Clint can hear the slight rattle in his breath.

"Are you all right?"

"Me? I'm fine and dandy really. Also, incredibly handsome, quite unlike our captors I might add."

"Stark."

"…I may or may not have some cracked ribs."

"Just cracked?"

"Fucking hell, I think your ears have already started to compensate your lack of sight…too soon?"

Clint smiles despite himself.

"Sit tight Bows and Arrows, I'm looking for a pipe."

Tony finds one on the opposite side of the room. It's more orange than grey from the rust but it's something. Tony takes off his shirt, shivering a little in his tank undershirt, and tears it into strips as best he can. By the time he pries the faucet open, crimson stains his hands but Tony ignores the cuts, holds his shirt under the lukewarm water.

The pipe sputters for about a minute before stopping.

"Well, now we know the utilities aren't included. Fucking cheapskates."

Standing and moving hurts, so Tony takes a seat in front of Clint, and gently takes a hold of the archer's chin. He's cleaned around delicate parts before, tiny chips and gears and levers, and he imagines that this is no different because someone has deliberately done this to his friend and left him like this and that makes his blood boil in his veins.

When he's done, Tony uses the remaining strips and ties them around Clint's head.

"You might actually give Fury a run for his money with this one," Tony says, warming at Clint's poorly hidden grin because they both use humor in that way, to alleviate worn nerves and secret panics.

"When I start, you know, tripping out bad, you have to get away from me."

"Did they hit you in the head or what?"

"I'm serious Tony. There's no telling what I might do when I lose it and you're already hurt."

"Think I can't take you Barton?"

Clint doesn't answer. He simply tips his head back and waits for the inevitable. After a few seconds, he hears Tony move away.


Tony finds Peter in the guest room of the house. The young man is tinkering with something.

He doesn't glance up when Tony walks in, doesn't say a word when Tony takes a seat on the bed.

"Heya Peter."

A pause as Peter's shoulders tense and then Peter is in motion, practically bolting out of his chair, lithe arms wrapping around Tony like it's beenyears and Tony hugs back because yeah, he's not made of stone dammit, his heart is all flesh.


"You, uh, you really don't have to do this, you know?" Tony says, casting a sidelong glance at Natasha. She looks spectacularly beautiful in the glow that the pool lights shine around her, swimsuit framing her in just the right way. Tony doesn't mean anything by his appreciation, he'd never hurt Clint like that, and he hopes that Natasha knows it too and doesn't choose to kill him in some horrible way.

When he'd first seen her step out of the changing room, he hadn't believed that she'd actually changed into a swimsuit because that implied a whole lot of trust, more than Tony believed he and Natasha had reached.

She is calm and efficient in her movements and though she says nothing, Tony can tell that she is uncomfortable in just the way that she closes herself off and becomes unreadable. When she steps closer, practically next to him, is when he sees the smooth, curled and raised planes of scars, smattered over her otherwise unblemished skin. A bullet wound here, a knifing there, other marks, closer together that might have been the result of a questioning and Tony looks away, unclenches his fists.

He himself is wearing a black neoprene diving shirt but when he sees her, marked yet strong, strong enough to show him, he takes it off, allowing her to see his own vulnerability, the arc reactor and the scars that thread outwards from it, results of the surgery and the palladium poisoning combined.

"If you don't want to do thi–"

"Stark."

"Okay now you're just copying Clint."

She raises an eyebrow and Tony smirks at her.

Natasha ignores him and moves forward, right to the edge of the pool. Tony hesitates. When he'd asked her to help him with this, he'd thought it would be easy, easier than this coiling feeling of fear-tinged dread in his stomach.

Natasha simply sits, sticking her legs into the clear, "The water's nice Tony."

It must be another ten minutes before Tony gets to the edge of the pool but Natasha never says anything, either encouraging or disparaging, just letting him move at his own pace. Tony is deeply thankful for that, more than he'd ever be willing to say.

The first two times, they just sit like that, legs in the water, kids in a lazy summer afternoon.


Peter is smiling that open, almost-goofy grin and Tony marvels at how much the kid gives away with just that, so unlike his own trademark smirks.

"How you been Petey?" Tony asks before he can think it through and recognize just how unfair that question is, considering Gwen's barely concealed pleading tone and the wildness that's calming down in Peter's eyes.

Peter's head tilts to the ground, and Tony realizes that the kid is shaking.


"Friend Stark?"

"Yeah Thor?"

"I am here to thank you for the toaster machine! My pop-tarts warm to a perfect level within seconds and I may stuff as many as I desire within its chambers. It is most wondrous."

"That's great buddy. I aim to please. Well, most of the time, anyway."

"Good. I am gladdened that you enjoy your work, for I also bear bad news with my words of gratitude."

"What did you do, Conan the Barbarian?"

"I may have utilized the might of Mjolnir against the coffee machine. It was offending me."


"I, uh, I know I was gone for a month after I got out and I should have talked to you sooner but I…I needed some time to…I just needed some time."

"I looked for you," Is Peter's response, and his eyes catch Tony's and Tony wants to look away because something twists in his gut, "I might have broken into some databases and reports I wasn't supposed to and I searched for any, any clue but in the end…in the end I understood that you would need time. Can't say that I wasn't worried though, I didn't know if you'd…"

It's Peter's turn to look away, mouth working like he wants to say something else but simply can't find the words to explain himself.

Tony knows this because he's in the same rut, letting his eyes wander around the room as his thoughts race and words fail him. He'd briefly entertained the fantasy that maybe Peter hadn't looked that far, that maybe he didn't know or know enough. He wants to say as much, is stopped by Peter moving, pacing, talking again.

"I don't know everything about what happened and I know that I can't…can't pretend to understand why, why you thought that you had to… um… I just– I just want to know that when you leave, I don't have to worry that you'll…um, did you mean it?"

Peter stills at that, the frantic movements of the last few seconds stop, entire demeanor deflating. There's terror in his eyes and Tony feels something twist in his chest this time.

"I know it's not a fair thing to ask of you. You don't need to explain yourself, especially to me. But I need to know…when you tried to…did you meant it?"


"They will try to use us against you, Stark."

"Yeah, kinda figured that one out on my own Agent. If they want something built, leverage is always a good go-to idea."

"No matter what happens, you have to refuse."

"What I really want to know is, how did they get a jump on Stars and Stripes?"

"You don't remember?"

"I took a good one to the head, Agent."

"He was trying to reason with them, get them to take him instead of us."

"Ah, yeah. Then they gassed us all with some shit and here we are, right?"

"More or less."

"Well, now that we've got that established, what say you we go and wake Cap up? It's very unlike him to doze on the job."


He'd thought a little of what to say to the others, to Peter, how to best explain that what he'd done was an act of desperation and not…not really

But Tony will try, he'll try because he owes this to Peter, owes it to him at least, to free him of the worry that after all the villains and the incidents and attacks, Tony might be the one to take his own life.


It's about 15 minutes before it starts. Tony had scooted out of the way a little, just to let Clint know that he'd listened because he knows that Clint has some control issues after his experience with Loki.

When Clint starts to groan, infrequently at first, Tony moves back, settling his hands on the archer's shoulders.

"I'm thinking that after this whole thing has blown over and the good guys triumph and ride off into the sunset again, we should get some Mexican. You definitely love your tacos and I love my burritos, so you know, genius plan right here. Nat may not like it too much but we have injury-slash-kidnapping points on our side. Plus, Cap loves him some of that carne asada they make really well. Bruce will come along of course and Thor will eat anything, let's be serious. It's foolproof."

Clint mumbles at first. Just little things that Tony goes with and replies to. And Tony talks, a lot, about things they've done and things they should do, always keeping hold on Clint, providing him with a mental and physical tether, encouraging him to fight it.

Clint starts shaking violently right before he begins to cast his head from side to side, like a spooked horse. He startles fiercely at the slightest touch so Tony keeps his contact infrequent, always announcing each instance loudly. It must be doubly terrifying going through this practically blind, but Tony tries not to dwell on that thought. Things must be taken one step at a time, and there'll be time for dealing with that later, in the comfort and safety of the Tower and the rest of the Avengers.

Clint's an hour and a half in when things go to hell. His words are more coherent and fervent, convinced of the truth of the false reality the drugs must be causing his brain to spin. Tony tries his best to calm him down, getting closer. Clint lands a good one on his cheek but it's the blow to the midsection that leaves Tony gasping for breath.

"Bet you wanted to that for a while huh? It's okay, it's all good, just get it out of your system. Better that you do it now than when we're home. JARVIS would lock you out of your room for a week and keep your shower water cold. Not saying that I would encourage it, just a fun fact for the day."


"I was desperate, Peter. I was…I wanted…I wanted to get out. That's it. I'm not going to lie to you, there were times when I was younger, that what I wanted was an end," Tony looks away then, unable to bear seeing Peter's eyes alight with pain anew, "But now, this time, this time…I just wanted out and I was sick and I wasn't myself so I just…I got myself out. I didn't want…an end. I just wanted an out and I got it."

He stops then, swallowing heavily, unable to keep going.

"I wanted to live Peter. I want to live."


The third time Tony slips and goes in, the water coming up to only the middle of his chest but still the panic rises, dirty warmth in his mouth and eyes and ears, sparks and pain from the leads of the car battery touching water.

Natasha's hands are on either side of his neck.

"You're okay."

Tony breathes in, exhales, deep and long and loud.

"You're okay."

"Yeah, I'm…I'm okay," Tony responds, maybe believes in one second of spontaneous courage and it's in that one second that he bends his knees and lets himself plunge fully into the water.

He comes up sputtering and slightly panicked but the coil has released and he splashes at Natasha.

"I'll need to start doing this on my own soon," He mentions one night, before Natasha can voice what they both know must happen.

"I know," is all she says, and that night they don't swim laps, side by side. They simply sit there, legs in the water, just like in the beginning.


Peter doesn't say anything, just sits next to him on the bed. He feels incredibly tired and worn out, like he did after he fought Dr. Connor, after he watched Gwen's father die and made him a promise he'd known he always intended to break.

He looks at Tony in a sidelong glance, feeling his jaw clench with helpless anger and an inner ache as he sees the way that Tony's hands shake, and badly.

But things must be taken one step at a time, he's learned that. So, he smiles and places a hand on the older man's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"I missed you Tony. And I'm just…I'm glad that you'll be okay."


They bring them to a large room, sit them down in three chairs in the dim lights, gagging Steve and Coulson but leaving him alone. Steve's is pure steel or something like it judging by its gleam. They inject him with something again, the needle impossibly long and Steve actually winces around the gag so Tony winces right along with him.

"This place is a dump. Offence fully intended."

Their captor smiles, white teeth gleaming in the dark brown of his skin.

"It seems that you need to be taught some manners, Mr. Stark."

"It's been done and tried before, and guess what? It didn't really stick. I'm not sure you'll fare better, considering you've restrained me and my friends and I want to rip your guts out through your throat so…you know, fair warning."

"I will start off with a gesture of good faith by letting you choose which one we start with. Will it be the good soldier or the good agent?"

"How about, fuck you."


"How can you know that Peter?" Tony asks, cursing his mouth and the way it doesn't listen to his brain at all.


They start with Coulson because they feel like it. Also, the fact that Steve is a super soldier might be a little off-putting at first.

Either way, they remove the gag and Tony kind of wishes that they kept it on, even if Coulson's witty remarks are a novel revelation.

Steve bucks in his seat, no doubt trying to get free.

Tony settles for slouching in his chair, twisting his hands around and around in the zip tie, looking to break skin because blood is always a good lubricant.

Besides, the pain around his wrists is distracting, pulling him away from this room, away from the sound of the bastards moving on from a beating to prying fingers from their sockets, Coulson screaming.

When they get to Steve, they've graduated to a blowtorch and a thick screwdriver. They heat it orange and then press it wherever they want, maybe Steve's neck, maybe his arm, maybe the webbing of skin between his index finger and thumb.

Steve stays quiet for this part and Tony silently encourages him when he catches the man's eyes.


"You aren't going to make me talk, you're not. Plenty have tried and failed and you're not getting anything out of me motherfucker, so go ahead and take your best shot."

Clint's been on his feet for the last 25 minutes, pacing furiously. He scratches at the strips tied around his head and Tony quickly smacks his hands away, dodging swiftly. By the time the second hour rolls around, Clint has taken residence in a corner, head in his heads, mumbling again, fighting his demons through fevered and broken words. Tony is leaning heavily on the wall, one hand on the brick and the other clutched tightly to his side, futile but comforting.


They finally rip hoarse yells from Steve when they bring in some sort of cattle prod, poking at him leisurely and randomly. A jab to his inner thigh actually draws a howl, and they laugh. Tony laughs with them, loud, reveling in the looks of open bewilderment they send his way.


"'Cause you're Tony. You built an arc reactor and the world's most advanced tech in a cave. With a box of scraps. You're Iron Man and you're a hero and you're going to be okay. Promise."

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Peter," said because he can't think of what else to say to all that, how to respond to such words of support and care that make his throat close up all over again and his eyes water and damn the kid for all his optimism.


Steve's mostly out of it by the time Tony has long-since broken the skin around his wrists and lathered warm, thick blood around the zip ties.

"I'll, uh, I'll do it. I've got a few conditions, but I'll do it."

The leader smiles, motions for his thug to stop as Coulson and Steve's heads snap up in unison, disbelief warring on their faces with a vague understanding that he might just have a plan in mind.

"I want to talk with just you though. Those idiots are pissing me off frankly. That's one of my conditions by the way."

The leader doesn't even hesitate, sending his men out. "They'll be just outside, Mr. Stark. And," he opens his coat slightly to reveal a Glock tucked neatly into his belt.

Perfect, Tony thinks.

"Second, some food and water might be nice."

"It can be arranged."

"And lastly, I'd like for that food to be some cheeseburgers and sodas. Scratch the water. No water. Got it?"

"Yes, yes, it will be brought to you. Now, what do you require in terms of equipment?"

Tony tips his head back and curls his lips, pretending to be deep in thought. The man, as expected and hoped, grows restless in his impatience and moves closer.

"I'm thinking of all the things I'll need but in the meantime, I've just thought of something else I want. It's kind of a private thing though so," Tony gestures with his head for the man to come closer and he does.

Tony lets the zip tie fall at the same time that he springs upwards, bloodied hands going to the man's neck before he can shout or go for his gun.

Tony grips him tight, just like Clint and Natasha have taught him, and twists, placing everything, every ounce of fury, into the movement.

He lets the man's body fall to the ground, unblinking as he searches him and takes the gun and a pocketknife.

He grins at Coulson and Steve.

"You guys might want to close your mouths. Don't want to let in the flies and all that nonsense."


But Peter, damn the kid again and again, just grins, wide and toothy and bright,

"I know all about promises and how to break them. And this one? This one's staying, Tony. Now, Gwen is probably, actually dying of curiosity right about now so we should get out of here and put her out of her misery. Also, just a warning, we're having branzino for dinner."

"Yeesh! What's that? I've had a lot of dishes in my time –and that's not leeway to poke fun at my age, by the way, so don't get any ideas– but I've never heard of that. You know what we should do? We should get a cheeseburger. Or shawarma. Shawarma is always good. We should definitely go for shawarma. I don't know. Whatever you people want. I already submitted my ideas so it's up to you. But, honestly, branzino? Who eats that?"

Peter laughs and follows Tony's lead.


"You're not real, you're not. They told me that they would kill you. They told me that they would make me kill you. I'm so sorry Tony, God, I'm so sorry, you're not real, you're not, you're not, you're not," Tony feels the anger pulse inside, feels its scorching fire in his blood and he has to bite his knuckles, because Clint is fucking whimpering.

"I'm right here Clint, I haven't gone anywhere."

"You're not real, you're not, you aren't real!"

"I'm not leaving. I'm right here."

"I'm so sorry Tony, I didn't want –you're not real, you're not."

It hurts but Tony does the only thing he can think of to prove that he's there, that he's there and it's him damn it and he's not leaving, no matter what.

He takes Clint's hand and splays his fingers open, settling it on his arc reactor.

"Do you feel that Clint? That's my arc reactor. That's the glowing blue night-light in my chest remember? It's warm because of the energy it gives off and its round. It's right over my heart. You can't feel the beat because of it, but it's there. It's there and I'm alive and I'm right here and I'm not leaving. I'm here and I'm not leaving you okay?"

Clint continues to mumble but he stops twisting, allowing his hand to be kept where it is. And Tony's hand gets tired and keeping it up sustains the licks of fire up and down his side and it's another two hours before they're rescued but he stays and Clint stays, silence befalling the cell.


When Steve wakes up, it is to the sound of JARVIS. He has to blink a couple of times in order to convince himself that yes, this is real, and yes JARVIS is back.

"The weather outside is a warm 72 degrees. There is a 45% chance of precipitaion for this afternoon, beginning at 3:00 P.M. There was a robbery at the Wells Fargo bank on 45th, but it was a minor incident handled aptly by local law enforcement. Also, Sir Stark has returned and is currently downstairs with Dr. Banner."

Steve freezes.


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