Sorry for taking longer than anticipated - I was busy xD
"I believe he was referring to a particular instrument known as the pear of anguish," JARVIS announced after a slight pause. Tony frowned. He didn't think he'd heard of it before. Steve looked similarly confused, and Tony looked back at the hidden camera. JARVIS continued talking. "It's use is unclear, but the general consensus is that it was used as a medieval torture instrument. It is… May I pull up an image, sir?" Tony waved his consent, and over the table an image of a strange, pear shaped object appeared. It seemed to be made of metal leaves, almost, a screw connecting them at the top. "It was," JARVIS carried on, "In theory, inserted into one of the victim's… Openings, and the screw would then be turned, opening out the leaves. If I might ask, do you remember any point at which this may have been used on Mister Odinson?" Tony cursed, slamming down his coffee mug down on the table, the coffee spilling over and burning his hand, as he grasped what JARVIS was saying. Loki's hoarse voice and sore throat… And indeed, he did remember when it could have been used on Loki. Steve, eyes wide and horrified, looked at him in question.
Tony was almost unable to explain himself, then cursed even louder and rubbed his face. "I should have realised," he muttered into his hands. "I should have realised that… That… She-devil would have hurt him on the inside as well as the outside. What a bi-" he stopped himself before Steve could, then sighed and looked wearily at him. "Loki barely ever ate, even when I first… Arrived. He'd always make me eat his food, too." Steve nodded his encouragement, his face almost understanding. "Until… I told him I wouldn't eat unless he ate at least half of his own. He didn't believe me at first, but… I held to my word and for a few days, maybe even a week, he was eating more… Then, then…" Steve, wide-eyed, nodded yet again as Tony had to pause for a few slightly shaking breaths. "Oriax took him for nearly the entire day, I think it was… Loki used to count the seconds and minutes and hours, so he'd know how much time had passed… When she threw him back into the cell, he was… Not good, even for Oriax. His throat had swelled, and he couldn't even speak until Oriax healed him a little. I… Was more focused on his other injuries at the time, I didn't think she had hurt him internally, I thought his throat was just raw from… And he didn't eat since them, oh gods, I don't even think he has eaten since then, he keeps being sick after eating, ****, I should have… I should have…" He was shaking, vision blurring with tears he was ashamed to shed in front of the man his father had practically worshipped. He should have known Oriax wouldn't stop at hurting Loki's flesh, oh ****.
Steve ignored his swearing – for once – and patted his back gently, if slightly awkwardly. His own face was rapt with horror. Steve hadn't seen Loki's injuries, but Tony had the feeling he knew what had happened with Oriax. "Nat told me he'd had a breakdown of sorts…" he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. Tony nodded, then heaved in a breath as the tears finally spilled over and he put his head down on the table, on top of his folded arms, and tried to still his shaking shoulders. Steve, not fooled at all, rubbed his shoulder comfortingly and just stayed silent – either at a loss for words or knowing Tony would appreciate the silence, or a little of both. After a while, perhaps sensing Tony wanted to be alone with his thoughts, he got up. The chair squeaked loudly as it dragged across the floor and from the corner of his eye Tony could see Steve wince, but he didn't stir. As Steve opened the door, he turned back round, mouth slightly open. "It… None of it was your fault, Tony. None of it," he finally said, unknowingly echoing Tony's earlier words to Loki. The words didn't stop the thoughts spinning inside his head, and had Steve not left at the moment, the agonised expression on Tony's face would have been enough to make him doubt his own words. Tony had known, he'd known that Loki was still ill, and he'd dismissed it to recovery and assumed Loki just needed time. He was a fool for it – thinking back, it had been painfully clear Loki still had problems with his throat – and with his knee, too. And the stupid god hadn't said anything about it, not one word, even though it must have been agony. Not compared to what he's faced, a voice in his mind whispered. This pain must have felt so small to him, he didn't think it worth complaining about. And so, he went about his daily business, hoping it would heal, not wanting to bother you, even though sometimes he could barely speak because of it…
Tony gave a small, strangled sob, agreeing with that stupid voice in his head. Loki had been hurt so much more than he'd thought, he realised. Most likely before he'd even arrived. He got up, wiping his face, and decided to go to the workshop, where he'd have some privacy, at least. He kept his mind clear, empty, not wanting to accidentally bump into anyone on the way and let them see him crying. Mr. Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, didn't cry. But Tony, just Tony… He did cry, because Oriax had broken something inside of him but built something new. The pain had stripped away all pretences of who he was and who he might have been. But to everyone else he was still Stark, so he kept his mask even as he walked from the elevator to the stairs, and down to his private workshop, where he'd managed to keep intact (somehow) a small, shabby sofa and an even smaller table. He slumped in the sofa. "JARVIS, don't let anyone in," he commanded quietly, firmly. "Yes, sir," the AI answered, and he heard the locks click. Peace. Scowling, he tugged the small table towards it and pulled out a bottle from underneath it. He wanted his thoughts foggy, so foggy he didn't even know his own name – or Loki's. He didn't open the bottle, though. Something about drinking alcohol made his thoughts curl, almost as if he was a youngster trying his second bottle, hating the taste but loving the feeling. He stared at the bottle for a while but looking at it didn't make him feel any better, so with a snarl he shoved it back under the table. He was desperate to keep his thoughts clear of Loki and what had been done to him, what might have been done to him, and the suffering he could have stopped… Sh*t. He was thinking about it again. And booze wouldn't help.
He moved to a medicine cabinet Pepper always kept fully stocked and looked through it, pushing aside bottles and plasters and bandages until he found a vaguely familiar box of pills at the very back of the cabinet. They'd been there for a while, now. He scanned the packet – Benzodia… Something or the other. He just remembered how they had made him feel after taking them – the reason he'd stopped, really. Drowsy, confused… The dosage was just one tablet. And it was strong. Scowling, he shook two into his palm and snatched a glass of water. "Sir, I don't think," JARVIS began, but Tony snarled at him, "Shut up, JARVIS!" before gulping the tablets down and flinging himself onto the sofa, closing his eyes and rubbing them. He should have talked to Loki, should have made sure he knew what was wrong with him. It wasn't even the knowledge of the torture that shook him, it was the fact that there was no telling what Oriax had done to him, and Tony hadn't even taken the time to let Loki talk about it, and he had no flipping idea what had gone on before he'd even stumbled on Loki. Hell, he barely knew what had happened after he found Loki. He forced his thoughts away from that subject. Talk to him, a strangely clear voice whispered as his own thoughts started to fragment. You can still talk to him… But a strange smile quirked across his face as he found the voice quite amusing, not quite understanding what was going on anymore. He laughed to himself quietly, strangely giddy, but he was finding it hard to move. He could barely feel his limbs. In fact, it felt as though he were floating in a little bubble made of his own mind, no flesh attached… Hah. And as he wandered off into a confused haze of disjointed thoughts and strange, flashing images he could never remember afterwards, thoughts of Loki entirely slipped through his grip and he relaxed into the sofa.
Fury found him like that, barely a few hours later, after he'd received Romanoff and Rogers' reports - and spent the next damn hour pacing and cursing, and the better part of another trying to find Stark, who had completely disappeared. JARVIS was of no help, which was apparently Stark's doing, but the AI had eventually relented and too-casually mentioned the workshop. So, he'd strode down and looked, and found the doors very much locked. The doors had been glass before – damn Stark for replacing them. "JARVIS. Is Stark all right?" he asked, brow a little furrowed. The silence of the AI was enough for it and he banged on the door, then waited. And waited. "Damn you, JARVIS, open the door!" he finally burst out. The doors remained closed and he glared at the ceiling. "Director, I'm under strict orders to not let anyone in," the AI confessed, though he sounded… Worried. Fury thought for a moment. "Well, I'm not anyone. I'm bloody Director Fury, and you can tell that to Stark." The AI was silent, but then he heard the door click. Bingo. He walked in and it took him a few seconds to take in the scene. Stark, lying slumped on the sofa, pale and breathing erratically. His eyes were moving under their lids. He took a step towards him then noticed the open medicine cabinet and the glass of water some way away. Sh*t. He left Stark for the moment and walked briskly to the medicine cabinet. One box was open. He checked the name and cursed. Anti-anxiety tablets – no surprise there. Checking the date, Fury guessed they'd been shoved there long ago, hence the lack of records. Judging by the state of the various items in the cabinet, they'd been shoved right to the back. He pocketed the tablets, resolving to shove them in the bin as soon as possible.
Closing the cabinet, he noticed a key in the lock. He locked it firmly and pocketed the key, too. He'd give it back to Stark once they'd had a talk, or he was… Better. He walked over to him and sat down next to him on the sofa, reclining into it for a few moments. The stupid idiot… Fury couldn't imagine what he must be feeling, but on a certain level he understood it must be hard. Seeing the man who protected you from untold horrors crumbling in front of you… Yeah, that must be hard. And Fury had the feeling there was so much either of them hadn't told them, things that went beyond the obvious. It was clear they'd been tortured – but how, neither had mentioned, and nobody wanted to press, nor had any intention of doing so. Sighing, Fury stood and moved over to the top of the sofa, crouching to look at Stark's face. "Stark," he said sharply, clearly, and gently shook him. No response. "Stark!" he said again, shaking a little harder. His eyes opened into small slits and Fury made out dilated brown eyes, before they slid closed again. He did seem more… Relaxed, this time, his breathing somewhat more even as he slipped back into wherever his mind was. For a moment, Fury considered asking Rogers for a hand in getting Stark to his rooms, then decided against it. He would keep this between them. So instead, he simply shifted Stark so he was lying more comfortably along the shabby sofa, and hunted around until he found an equally shabby blanket under the table – alongside a few bottles he would have to get rid of – and he gently drew it over Stark, muttering swear words under his breath as he did so. The poor fool, he thought to himself, as he left.
My search history probably looks really strange, I have looked up the side-effects of the thingy-forgotten-the-name-majigy and stuff so hopefully it's as accurate as possible, please don't kill me if not ;)