A/N: Happy Saturday! Nano is going horribly if you're wondering. Too much daydreaming, not enough writing. But I will persevere! Anyway, just four more chapters to this story everyone! We are coming quickly to a close.

Warning: Depictions of torture, suicidal ideation & mentions of past sexual abuse

Disclaimer: If its got "quotation marks and it's bold" then it's a direct quote. Again, everything you recognize belongs to Disney.

Chapter 12 - Drag Me to Hell

"It feels like it's a long way down.

Like a long way down.

Oh honey, don't leave, don't leave

Please don't leave me now."

- Long Way Down by Tom Odell

Terror has been chasing him ever since he felt the cold, pitiless grip of space as the air froze in his lungs, since he saw the massive legions waiting for them on the other side of that portal and realized the people of Earth were all very much not safe on their little, defenseless planet. In that moment Tony knew just how hopelessly outgunned they were, that there were millions, billions more where the Chitauri came from, and his world was like a naked toddler facing down a war machine.

Tony tried so hard to forget that knowledge, to just deal with it on his own. But it just wouldn't go away! It crept up on him in the middle of the night, chasing him through memories and dreams. It showed up in the form of an agonizing panic that gripped him out of nowhere and left him gasping and exhausted and ready to die. He couldn't sleep or eat or think. So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He tinkered. Worked himself cruelly, relentlessly, always running to keep the demons at bay.

That's why he blew up all his suits for Pepper and took the incredibly risky surgery to have the shrapnel removed. That's why he created Ultron, a more focused and more comprehensive version of JARVIS, who could guide the Iron Legion and guard the world in ways he couldn't. Harley's idea. "You're a mechanic, right? Why don't you just build something?"

It had felt so good to have a solution, a goal to work toward, and suddenly, he was getting better. Sleeping more. Waking up screaming less. The painful and embarrassing episodes where his mind saw fit to torture him, the bad moments—as Tony liked to call them, because no way would he admit to anything more descriptive—that made him feel like his brain was melting and his heart was literally clawing its way out of his chest, they were occurring less and less.

And yeah, maybe he learned that talking to Bruce about it wasn't really an option, and maybe the initial rejection hurt a bit more than he can admit. But just the other man's presence and assistance in the lab was comforting, and at least he had his team, which he was secretly starting to hope might become more like family. Plus, he and Pepper were closer than ever. So Tony, who never, ever learns, had foolishly started to hope. That was, until he walked into the Hydra bunker and it all unraveled.

Tony has been broken many, many times before. He knows what it is to be violated. To have your cries go ignored and unheard, to be filled with so much loathing and revulsion and pain that the thought of death feels like a blessing. These aren't new or unfamiliar sensations to him. But whatever Wanda does to him in that bunker, is so far beyond what he thought he knew. She violates his mind, the one place he was always safe, the one place he could always escape to. She plays with his brain. Forces her way inside to rip out all his worst nightmares and torment him with them.

It's in those awful moments under her control that the fears that've been chasing him all his life, that he'd thought he'd evaded, catch up and devour him in one fell swoop.

For a long time afterward, he can't cry. He can't move or speak. Every time he blinks, the nightmares play themselves out on the back of his eyelids. They seep through him like poison. Everyone he loves, all he knows burned and brutalized, their empty, black eyes screaming accusations. Your fault. Your fault!

He feels a billion deaths in the horror she shows him. All their pain, all their anger, all the weight of their blame, all their endless loss, stuffed deep inside him, until he's gagging on it.

Every day, he wakes up drowning.

Once again the dreams have intensified, bending reality, until it's impossible to tell what is or isn't real. It is a terrible feeling, not being able to tell if you're awake or asleep.

The nightmares are keeping Pepper up. Tony knows this. That's why he tries very hard to be quiet. Tries hard not to scream. That's why on nights like this, he comes downstairs to his lab. At least if he falls asleep and wakes up screaming here, there's no one around to hear him.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Well, no one except for JARVIS, but he won't tell anyone.

"Kosher. How long was I out?" he asks, rubbing his eyes and trying to figure out which version of the suit he was updating from the jumble of notes in front of him.

"About an hour. Sir. That's a total of seven hours across three days. Should I contact-."

"No. I'm fine," he cuts off the suggestion. The image of such an impossible enemy still tattooed on the back of his eyelids wakes him up the rest of the way.

He needs to prepare. Earth had to be defended. I can do more. I can save it. He repeats the words not because he believes them. But because they're all he has to hold on to. It's the fear that drives him, makes him work longer and harder than is probably healthy, so that those fears never come to fruition. If while working his breath stutters and his fingers tremor, then JARVIS is the only one around to see.

The code in front of him is still incomplete and he gets back to work on it with new vigor. He'd gotten an idea for a way to protect the entire planet as the AI protects him. A suit of armor around the world.

Of course, he feels wholly inadequate for the task, his father's words coming back to haunt him at every step forward, reminding him of just how worthless he is. How all his promises to save the people he loves always fail. He never got her out, away from his father. He never proved to Howard just how valuable he could be.

"And at this rate, you never will."

Tony startles at the voice, surprised JARVIS let someone enter without alerting him.

"What do you think you're really doing here, Tony?" Obadiah's dark eyes pin him in place, as his once-mentor-turned-betrayer takes several ominous steps closer. "Still trying to live up to the name of a man long dead?"

"How did-don't-!"

"C'mon Tony!" the older man laughs, deep and barrel-like. "It's just you and me here. Just like old times."

Tony's mind spins, struggling to function against the fog of shock. But no, this isn't right. Obie shouldn't be here.

"You're dead." It comes out like an accusation. Supposedly it is.

"Am I now?" Another step and Obadiah is towering over him, far too close for comfort. Tony scrambles back, trying to put more space between him and his old mentor.

"JARVIS!"

"He won't answer you, Tony. He's dead too, remember? You let him die, just like you did your parents, your friends, and everyone else." Then the older man moves with almost unnatural speed. One moment Tony's looking around frantically for something he can use to defend himself until he can get to a working piece of the suit, the next he's yelping as his back meets the table counter, Obie's large hands fisted in his shirt. His heart hammers in his chest as malevolent eyes bore into his own. Obadiah smiles and leans in.

"You know what your problem is, Tony?" he all but whispers against his ear, in a way that's frighteningly familiar. "You always thought that if you ran or lied or tried hard enough you could escape the reality. The reality that everything you touch you destroy."

Obie leans back, dark eyes flashing to a bright blue, and for a second it's no longer Obadiah's low rumble of a voice, but Captain America's snarl of disapproval. "Big man in a suit of armor, take that off what are you?"

"I know the answer, Tony," Obie's voice flickers back to normal, "and so do you. You're nothing. Worthless. The only thing about you that matters is this."

Tony hadn't seen the tool in the older man's hand. It seems to appear from nowhere. But in one gesture Obadiah shoves it straight into the Arc Reactor in Tony's chest.

The pain is instant and only increases ten-fold as Obie rips the device out.

Tony gasps as his heart stutters, hands fluttering uselessly at the gaping hole where the Arc once sat. He pushes himself upward, trying to take back the mechanical heart that's the only thing keeping him alive.

Obadiah just laughs, evading his grasp easily. "Don't worry, I'll take care of your so-called 'team'. They don't need you anymore, Tony. They've outgrown you!"

A shove sends him spiraling, crashing through the work bench and falling out into space.

He lands hard, head bouncing off the jagged rocks, his shoulder crunching beneath his weight as he tumbles to a stop. The gaping hole in his chest feels both hot and cold at the same time, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to get his desperate breathing under control. He doesn't need to look up to know where he is. He knows this landscape well. Sees it almost every time he closes his eyes.

"Here we are, Tony. Your legacy." Obadiah's voice seems to surround him. "Open your eyes and see what you've done. It's glorious!"

Nononono.

He doesn't look up. He doesn't want to see. All dead. All with their eyes open, staring incriminatingly at him. He can't breath. Fitting somehow as everyone else is without breath as well. Still, it doesn't stop the judgements that fill his ears.

You should have done more.

It's all your fault.

Useless as usual.

He tries to push the words away, but he can feel all of those cold bodies, all those dead, empty eyes. They're burned into his skull and no amount of hiding will free him from them.

He opens his eyes then, suddenly too exhausted to fight it. Rhodey is there, face forever contorted into a mask of disappointment and despair. Yinsen's anger, evident even in death. The others are there too. Natasha, Thor, Clint, Steve, Vision, even Hulk. Whole worlds torn and broken. Because Tony wasn't good enough. Because he didn't do more. In the end he is worthless, just like Howard had always said.

Tony chokes on a sob, but doesn't fight when Obadiah pulls him roughly into a sitting position and starts to beat him. Nothing Obadiah can do could equal what he deserves. The fists rain down on his head, face, and chest.

"You think Captain America would let something like this happen?" Obadiah's voice morphs once again, this time into this father's, and Tony looks up to see Howard's enraged disgust. It's the same look his father gave him that night he'd saved Tony from Ronan. But this time, Tony has nothing to say in response.

"As usual, you continue to be a fuckup." Howard's boot comes down on his head, knocking him back to the ground.

The image ripples again, and this time it's the Captain, with a generous snarl and the usual disappointment and contempt shining in his eyes.

"You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."

The next kick catches him in the gut, making him gag, and Tony instinctively curls in on himself. It doesn't stop the blows, which continue with even more force behind them, indicative of Steve's super strength. His bones creek under the onslaught. The pain makes the world spin as the air becomes thinner and thinner and his heart, absent of a reactor, finally starts to give out. Tony just curls tighter and waits for it to end.

The cry turns into more of a strangled whimper, as he jerks himself awake. He's breathless as usual, disorientated by the nightmare. The concern in Pepper's voice as she calls his name barely has time to register before the Mark 42 arrives, intent on attacking whatever is distressing him and nearly grabbing the only person he can't live without instead.

Pepper screams in terror. Tony acts quickly to power down the suit before it harms her, but in many ways the damage is already done. He spins frantically to ensure that she's okay, only to see the one thing he'd hoped never to see, Pepper's beautiful face marred by anger and disgust. Further confirmation that even though he was trying to be better, he was still too messed up. Too loud and broken and just off. Not worth the trouble.

"Please don't leave!" the words tumble out automatically. I'm sorry, I can fix this!

She all but growls, turning her back on him before storming out of the room.

He collapses against the bed, drawing his knees to his chest. As the sound of Pepper's feet on the stairs begin to fade, doubt filled questions he'd always been able to keep at bay come tumbling to the forefront of his mind. Would she leave him? Had she finally seen how damaged he was? If he walked down those stairs after her would he find her on the couch or would he find the house empty and himself alone?

That's when Tony's tenuous control crumbles, and he's powerless to stop the tears cascading down his face as he struggles to put the nightmarish images back in their box. He fights to control the sobs that try to wrack his frame. He can't cry like this. Not here, not now, not when she still has the possibility of overhearing him. He's already shown too much weakness. But it's dark and he's alone and everything hurts, the pain of the dream, lingering inside him like a phantom. And now added to the images threatening to replay behind his eyelids include that awful look on her face and the knowledge that he'd almost hurt her, however unintentional. The combination makes him feel dizzy and unhinged. He knows that the nightmare is over, but there is no comfort in waking. The despair follows him into the light.

He has to get down to his lab. Has to find some way to undo all of this.

With unimaginable effort, he forces himself up, breath still heaving; he nearly trips on the remains of the disassembled Mark 42 before stopping short. Going to the lab would mean passing the living room on the way down. On the off chance she was still there Pepper would see him. Would she be disgusted by what she saw? Would she hate him forever now? Once, he'd known the answers to such questions, but now he isn't sure. He isn't sure about anything. What would he do if she left for good? He needs her. He needs her strength and calm acceptance, her warm affection and ready smile whenever he makes a witty quip. Even her firm decision not to put up with his shit. He needs it all, and the sudden possibility of him having ruined it or driven her away is too much.

He feels his heartbeat kick into overdrive, as the ball of pain in his chest spikes to new heights. He feels dizzy and sick. He looks down only to realize with horror that the poisonous lines are once again etched into his skin. No. That isn't possible. He'd fixed that. The palladium core had been replaced. And yet the jagged rash remains, evidence of the poison inside. He can feel it spreading through his veins like black fire, corrupting everything it touches.

Images of the Chitauri flash in his mind, cutting, tearing at him from the inside out. He's trapped with them out in space, lost to the void, too far away to reach.

Another sob tears from his throat and this time he chokes on it. The inky lines are sapping his strength so much he doesn't even feel himself fall. The sobbing leads to hiccups, lead to retching and then to dry heaving, but he can't stop. He can't breathe. He can't reassure the increasingly worrying inquiries from JARVIS. All he can do is lay there, fading under the crush of the world's cruel hand and trying to convince himself that it's no more than he deserves.

The pain crescendos, and he can only gag as black liquid fills his throat and spills over onto the ground. It pours from him like water from a spigot, suffocating him, crowding out the air until he can feel himself dying.

He's helpless to stop it though. Alone in the dark, there is no escape.

"Tony?"

Her voice jolts him back and for a moment he's lost. Where is he? Who is talking to him? He can still taste the vile liquid in the back of his throat, and it takes all his considerable willpower not to throw up.

"Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"I.. what?" he asks as familiar red hair enters his line of sight and Pepper's beautiful face fills his vision, no longer marred with hatred and disgust for him. Instead it's defined by angled brows and worry lines.

"Yea sorry I— " he cuts himself off on a shiver. It's cold. And of course it is because they are outside. On the roof actually where Tony had coaxed her so they could look at the beautiful night sky together on their anniversary.

Except the nightmares are clearly happening while he's awake now, and the night sky and frigid air remind him too much of unearthly cold and the dark of space filled with coming death. He can't, he can't stay up here.

"Actually, you know what I've changed my mind, let's get out of here," he tells her abruptly, gently guiding her back towards the safety of the building.

"Wait. I thought you wanted to look at the stars?"

"The only stars I want to look at, are in your eyes," he quips as he ushers them through the door. He almost tries for a smile, but it's too soon and he knows he won't manage it.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He's not. He doesn't know what's real and what's not anymore. It's like he's trapped in a horror show. And the mere thought of another dream is enough to spiral him into a panic. He'd do almost anything to avoid it, maybe even something drastic. And wasn't that just the scariest thought of all.

He wants to tell her the truth so badly. He doesn't want to be alone in this anymore. He doesn't want this burden. It's too big. It's too much.

But he also loves her too much to share it.

"Tony?"

"Peachy!" he beams.

Inside he shatters.

He isn't sure what wakes him up.

"Good evening, sir. It is 9:35 pm, the weather in New York is at 52 with a high of 61."

The familiar, soothing voice startles him a bit.

He's in his lab again. How is that right? Wasn't he just with Pepper?

Something is wrong. He can feel it, slithering inside his stomach like a serpent. But then again, that's par for the course for Tony lately. Things haven't been the same since Sokovia, since Wanda. The panic attacks have returned in full force, any progress he'd made in Indiana completely snuffed out.

Since then, he feels unreal. He doesn't blame her for the violation, at least not consciously. It's all thanks to his own failure. His fault.

That's another thing he is learning. It's always been his fault; he just hadn't wanted to admit it. He'd wanted to believe he could be worth something, achieve something spectacular, if he could just get the details right.

"JARVIS?" No, that's wrong. JARVIS is dead.

"Boss?" Tony suppresses the sudden wave of grief that hits him, as he tries to shake the nightmare away. FRIDAY's existence, while needed and precious, is still a harsh reminder of something important that he has lost. Something that he can never get back.

"Hey Fri, give me an update. What are the others doing?"

"It appears that the Avengers, Rogers, Romanov, Barton, and Maximoff are all gathering in the common room for what has been termed a 'movie night'. Dr. Banner refused the invitation and is similarly locked in his lab, though he has an alarm set to remind him to sleep within the next three hours."

Tony ignores the jab about healthy sleeping patterns and focuses on the part that interests him most.

"Invitation?" he asks. "Did I get one?"

"I'm afraid not boss." She says it slowly, as if cushioning a blow, and Tony can't help the odd twinge of rejection that rings through him. A flash of Rogers' words the day they met resounds in his mind: "And yet you're confused about why they don't want you around."

It doesn't matter. He's too busy to be distracted by something so frivolous, anyway. And although he's far too proud to ever admit it aloud, Wanda makes him nervous. One glance from her makes his skin crawl and his pulse race in a way it hasn't since Howard's death. Perhaps there's a piece of him that dreads she'll send him back to that place she'd thrown him upon their first meeting. A place he's been trapped in ever since.

Still, Steve insists she's on the team, so Tony just has to deal with it. He doesn't tell anyone, not even Bruce who he knows shares his discomfort with the young witch, who'd found himself equally violated by her. Tony always listens if Bruce wants to speak, of course. Offers a sympathetic ear or uses his typical antics to distract his somber friend if need be, but he rarely admits the depth of his own unease around her.

Instead he tries to avoid her, along with the rest of the team. His retirement lets him lock himself in his lab for weeks at a time. Pitiful, he knows. A man reduced to hiding in his own home? His father would mock him, and rightly so. But it's become harder and harder to act like everything is fine. The team trusts her more than him now anyway. They all blame him. Maybe hate him. And now that the dreams and flashbacks are returning in full force, well…it's only a matter of time before they throw him away.

That reality is nearly enough to keep him locked in here, where it's safe. But as he takes in his shaking hands, he's reminded of the fact that it's been five days since he's eaten anything substantial. If he doesn't get something soon, he'll only fall back asleep.

That thought settles it. Steeling himself, Tony makes his way up the elevator and treads quietly through the common area on his way to the kitchen.

He almost makes it.

"Hey, Tony, what're you up to?"

He looks up to see Barton swaggering slowly forward, Natasha, Steve, Thor, Wanda, and even Bruce are sprawled out on the sofas behind him, and suddenly his nerves are buzzing the way they always are when she's in the room. And, wasn't Bruce supposed to be locked in his lab? Did FRIDAY lie to him?

His chest tightens, but still, he pushes the feeling aside and answers with a nonchalant tone. "Not much, Legolas. Just grabbing some food, then finishing up a few tweaks in the suit. What's up with you guys?"

"Oh nothing," Barton's smile is almost believable. Would be, if not for something dark and malevolent flickering behind his eyes. "Just noticed you hiding in the basement an awful lot lately. Thought maybe you were scared to face us."

Tony's smile almost falters, but a lifetime of practice has him recovering quickly.

"Me?" He makes his tone incredulous. "I'm not avoiding, why would I be avoiding? Unlike you, I have a ton of work to do." He forces his gaze not to slide to Wanda, but he can see her grin from the corner of his eye anyway.

"Well then, why don't you take a break and come play a little game with us?"

"Yeah, Tony."

"Join us, friend Stark!"

Tony looks to the other scientist, about the only one he still fully trusts, but Bruce says nothing. Just gives an awkward smile and turns his attention back towards the blank television.

"You know, I don't really think-"

"C'mon, Stark. You aren't afraid are you?" Wanda's smile is nearly carnivorous. His stomach is doing that thing again, and something in him wants to run.

He realizes that this is a nightmare a moment too late.

In the blink of an eye all of them are surrounding him. His team, his friends. But there isn't a friendly face to be seen. Contempt, anger, hatred, accusation, and disgust reflect back at him from their darkened faces.

Steve's arms are crossed, eyes hard with condemnation. Clint is all but snarling, and Thor looks ready to call down lighting on his head. Natasha is her usual reserved self, but even she is excluding a coldness so profound it makes him shiver.

Bruce is the only one who hasn't moved. Still turned away, unaware he's even there.

"I told them, you know." Wanda's eyes and hands are already glowing with an ominous, red light. "I told them the future you didn't stop, what your failure causes."

His throat is dry. He cannot answer.

"The death of every person in the world. Millions of innocents, slaughtered like cattle, all because you didn't do enough. Because you weren't willing to make the necessary sacrifices."

"No, I-"

"You're too late, Stark." Natasha's declaration is solemn, final.

An image flashes through his mind, and he sees them all, speared open and emptied. The Chitauri monsters roaming around them. Steve grips his arm as he whispers the accusation. "You could've saved us."

"Just give me more time!" Tony fights the debilitating panic rising inside of him. "I almost have it figured out. I'm going to stop it from ever happening. If you would just help me, if you would just listen-"

"You think you're going to save us?" Clint's laugh is mirthless. "You couldn't save your precious mother. You let her die still shackled to the side of a monster. You couldn't save Thomas, either, or Jarvis. And what about Yinsen, huh? After all he did for you. After he risked his life to save you. You let him die in the dirt."

"I used to think I had red in my ledger," Natasha's voice is cool and sharp, "but there's so much blood on your hands, you're downing it in."

Tony's not sure how he finds his voice in the onslaught, but somehow he does, even though he knows everything they're saying is right. Even though it's even worse than they think.

"Wait. I can fix this!"

"If you were half the man your father was, you would've found a solution already. You wouldn't be here sniveling and making excuses." Steve's tone drips with its usual disdain.

"Priss little rich boy, always complaining," Clint chimes in. "Too bad his dad never really taught him any manners. Oh well, I guess we'll have to fill in for him, huh?"

No, no this isn't right. He tries to will himself to wake up! WAKE UP!

All at once Thor rushes him, face red and full of fury. Tony doesn't try to stop him, He's too preoccupied with the hatred and disgust on their faces, all eyes violent and accusing.

"Damn you Stark! This is your fault! You did this!" The Asguardian's voice resounds like the thunder he's known for.

Tony tries desperately to answer: No, he never meant for this. He was just trying to help, to save them. But the iron fingers clamp around his throat like a vice, suffocating any answer.

His back slams against the wall with a sickening thud, knocking what little oxygen he has out of him. Their glares turn to sneers, then to twisted laughter while he struggles, feet swinging uselessly in the air. He's going to die. They aren't going to help him.

The truth of this hits him like a freight train, and he can't quite understand why it hurts so much, why he feels so broken. It's not like he didn't know it. Hasn't always known it. But the disappointment is breathtaking. Or it would be if he had any more breath to take.

Tony is so caught in this peculiar misery he doesn't feel Thor release him, but he does feel the ground as he falls hard against it. He coughs desperately, trying to pull in some precious air while he still can. He looks up just in time to see Nat smile her most serpentine smile.
"I'll hold him if you boys want to play."

That's all the warning he gets. Steve grabs one arm and Nat the other just as he starts to struggle, wrenching them back with cruel force. Red tendrils flow around him, slinking up his torso, binding him further, reaching into his mind to pump him full of more images of a ravaged earth.

He can't tell who throws the first blow. The voices mix as the world spins.

"Worthless."

"Selfish."

"Piece of shit!"

At some point Wanda appears in front of him. "You're just like Ultron. Corrupted from the inside out. Good thing, I know how to fix that."

His mind is hazy. He doesn't understand what she means, until he realizes she's holding something round and sharp in her hands. The sound of the buzz saw breaks him and he fights against their hold with renewed vigor.

"No! Please. Please! I'm sorry! I'll fix it!" He knows begging is pathetic, but it doesn't matter now. Anything but this.

"Aw c'mon, Tony." The sound comes from Steve, but it's clearly Howard's voice. "Stark men aren't little bitches."

Blood and bone fly as Wanda pushes the saw into his failing form. His screams mix with their howls of laughter. Wanda is sadistically gleeful as she cuts through the makeshift sternum and several of his ribs. Time is marked only by agony and the terror soaking his brain, until all at once, Tony stops struggling. Stops fighting. Just let it happen, he tells himself. It's the least you deserve.

He closes his eyes and prays for the dark. He begs for it. He's just so tired. But the relief of death simply won't come. Nothing's ever as easy as that.

When Wanda finishes her gruesome work, the young witch reaches her hands deep inside of him. The feeling of her hands slithering against his insides makes him want to vomit. She continues slowly, savoring his pain, until her fist closes around his heart.

Then she rips it out, in one swift move.

"Here's your problem." Wanda smiles, showing him the deformed, bloody lump. "Cursed since the day you were born."

Thanks to the blood that's filled his throat, all he can do is gurgle.

Wanda leans in, until her face is very close to his. Her voice is barely above a whisper. "And now I'm going to send you, exactly where you belong, Stark. Forever and ever."

Cold.

Everything is cold. His entire being frozen.

Except for his lungs. They are burning, because there is no oxygen in space. His team is gone now. He is alone.

The pain and terror from his ordeal leaves his mind scrubbed blank. Somewhere nearby, a nuke explodes. Unfathomable heat, twisted orange light blinds him, but he can't move, can't scream, can't do more than let himself be devoured, torn apart by ice and fire.

Suddenly Pepper's there. Or what's left of her is, hovering in the space in front of him, a bloodstained, broken doll with empty eyes. He tries desperately to reach for her, but gravity rips her away from him. Then suddenly there's Happy, then Rhodey, and then his mother, and they're burning alive, skin peeling away from their faces to reveal the bleached bone beneath, flames licking through the empty holes of their skeletons as they reach for him.

He can't contain the cry as their boney fingers pierce his skin. The flames lick up his arms to his face and chest where he is drowning. He can't breath through the water and the flames. His chest aches with the wet burn and his limbs shake with the bite of a thousand snakes. Their heads are those of his business partners and the soulless media as they all vie for a piece of his flesh, ripping him apart. He screams, but they don't stop.

His body convulses, rebelling against the lack of air.

A weak gasp and suddenly water rushes into his ruined lungs, and the heat from the bomb is gone. The ice has won. It seeps into his bones as he jerks against the ruthless hand fisted in his hair, holding him down into the dirty bin. Distantly, he can hear their taunting laughter as he drowns. For a moment he's yanked up like a ragdoll only to see his captor isn't the Ten Rings, but Obadiah, the wink Tony had once looked for as a kid now mocking him as he's pushed back under the water.

He just wants it to be over. Please!

But it's never over. The pain goes on, as does the humiliation. Cold, slimy bodies are writhing around his neck and face. Pulling him deeper into the icy tomb. Pretty little thing. Stop fighting me. I can't believe you let him touch you like that. Big man, huh? He doesn't want them touching him, but he has no leverage to pull away. The grip on his arms is punishing. He sees a flash of Ronan as his captors twist them back unnaturally. They don't let up, even as the left one whines and snaps.

He sobs, inhaling even more water. It's sharp, slicing him up from the inside.

"This is what you deserve, Tony." Cap's solemn voice holds an edge of mocking. "Howard always said you were a worthless piece of shit. Now, I can see it for myself."

A boot makes contact with this back. And then he falls.

Down, down into hell.