H for Hypnosis Part 2
Previously:
"You…will be…my justice, Tony Stark." She spat his name, blood dribbling from her mouth. "You will lose…all that I have…and more…" Tony felt a strange power flow from her hand into his skin, and he cried out but found himself unable to move. He swiveled in fear, panic darting around his skull, as he felt the strange electricity crawl up his face into his eyes. His vision took on a purple hue, and he felt his mind retreat; his body was not his own.
"You…will not rest…until…everyone you love…is dead…" She sneered. "As dead as me…." And with a last wracking breath and a bloody spewing cackle, the witch's impaled torso slipped to the floor, unmoving, as the last concrete from the ceiling fell down around them.
Tony watched the slab and rebar heading for his face. His body prepared itself for impact. When it struck, the world just went black.
Clint Barton and Steve Rogers had experienced a lot of pain in their lifetimes – a lot of loss, a lot of agony, and a lot of fear.
But watching a building fall in on itself and bury their teammate - their brother - alive was the most heart wrenching by far.
Steve and Clint barely escaped with their lives, dodging falling walls and ceiling slabs the whole way up the stairs and through the hallways. Barton had fallen behind trying to shield Nat's limp body, and Steve had ended up carrying her the rest of the way up so that both men could keep up the sprinting pace. They cleared the doorway just as the rest of the floors of the compound seemed to implode, folding around and crashing to the earth.
And so now they were on the cold grass, one avenger beside them severely wounded and another one….gone. Just gone.
The witch would have been crushed to death, they knew – even her powerful magic could not have stopped a force such as that. But buried alongside her was their best friend.
Barton started to cry almost immediately. Silent tears streaking down his face, he dropped to his knees and never took his eyes off the ruins of the old compound, desperately hoping beyond hope to see a jostle of rock and an ostentatious-pain-in-the-ass flying-metal-suit pop out of the devastation.
But nothing came.
Steve settled Natasha down on the grass, his spirits lifting slightly when she gave a small moan and stirred slightly. She would come around, but she needed medical.
Steve sniffled slightly behind Clint, and crouched to one knee beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. He shut his eyes, leaning in to quiet Barton's trembling. They touched foreheads like brothers, sitting silent for a moment, both of their chins shaking and lumps in their throats.
"Clint-" Steve swallowed a sob. "Clint, we need to go. Nat needs us."
"I-I know but-" his voice was pained, coming out in wrenching, guttural exhales. High pitched, like a child about to hiccup from crying too hard. "He-He's done this before – and – and he always comes back, Steve! H-He always comes back…and…"
"I know. I know." Steve's eyes misted. "I know." And he clung to Barton in a way that a mother would cling to a child. "But I…I don't think so Clint. Not this time."
The archer fisted his hands into Steve's suit and simply cried, rocking back and forth, on the cold Russian ground surrounded by ancient trees and ineffable grief.
Steve untangled himself from Barton after several minutes, and scooped up Natasha. He was relieved to see that her head wound had slowed its bleeding substantially, but her pupils were still blown and uneven. Most likely a severe concussion, coupled with blood loss – a recipe for one hell of a headache when she came around.
He walked through the tree line to a smaller clearing near the compound where they had landed. Steve loaded her into the quinjet, strapping her down in the back to make sure she wouldn't jostle and injure herself even further. He went back down the ramp and made his way back to the ruins of the compound to collect Barton.
Luckily, the shorter man was like putty in his hands. Clint got up when Steve told him to. He put one foot in front of the other like a good little soldier. He stared straight ahead, his hands hanging dejectedly at his sides - his eyes blank of anything and everything. Steve guided him gently to his pilot seat in the quinjet, asking him if he was ok to fly.
Barton responded with a small nod, blinking a few times as if pulling himself out of it. Steve was too exhausted to fight him about it, and ran him through opening systems operations and pre-flight diagnostics just to make sure Barton really was focused and wasn't going to kill them all.
Clint was coming around, his assassin's discipline kicking in harder than Steve had ever seen it. He would shut himself down for a little while, Rogers knew, but when he came back around, he would need constant human contact and comfort food and warm blankets.
Steve cleared Barton for takeoff, shooting one sad and tearful glance back in the direction of the compound. Barton shut his eyes for a moment, mourning silently. He responded affirmatively, flipping the switchboard above his head, and he brought the quinjet up slowly and gently, mindful of Natasha on the backboard. Steve was draping her with blankets, checking her stability, and settling his hand in her red locks. He was brushing his fingers through her hair absentmindedly for comfort – but even he didn't know if he was trying to comfort Tash or himself.
Steve radioed ahead to SHIELD medical as soon as they were at cruising altitude and let them know to set up a hospital room in Stark Tower for their arrival, and he described Tash's condition over the radio, walking the medics through her vitals and response systems.
Soon, the diagnostics were over, and the cabin settled into a somber silence, both conscious Avengers deep in their own thoughts.
Nobody but the trees were present to watch the rubble shifting on the pile in the black of night. It trembled with force, and the whiz of pneumatics and hydraulics could be heard as shots of white light punched holes in the devastation. A shell, paint scratched and dented, but still alive, rose unsteadily from the ruins. It crawled, hand over hand, knee over knee, up and out of the mess of rebar and concrete.
The suit stood on solid ground, shaking with exhaustion and confusion. It gazed around, lights in the faceplate blinking with damaged circuitry.
The helmet was removed by steady hands, and Tony's bruised and bloodied face felt the night air wash over his sweaty skin. He took deep breaths, relishing in the clear oxygen that held no trace of dust or rubble.
His eyes were alert, darting around the clearing in confusion. What was he doing? Where was he?
Suddenly, a painful bolt of purple flashed over his dark Italian eyes, changing their color to a bright gentian. The flash disappeared as quickly as it had come, but Tony's consciousness was thrown back by the bolt of power into the furthest reaches of his mind. He heard the witch's voice, echoing her last words. His body was alight with purpose – he must follow his orders.
With his goal set firmly in his thoughts, with every fiber of his being needing what his master had commanded, Tony Stark refitted his helmet, held out his hands, and thrust off the ground, setting a direct course for Stark Tower.
One thought occupied his mind and soul – and one thought alone: Tony Stark must kill the Avengers.
The quinjet landed on the retractable helipad at Stark Tower, and if either of the two conscious men aboard felt wrong walking into their home without Tony, then they didn't say anything. They didn't have to – they both knew.
Tash had come around about halfway over the Atlantic, albeit groggily. Neither Barton nor Steve had the heart to tell her what had happened to Tony, so when she didn't ask, they said nothing. Besides, it wasn't uncommon for Tony to fly home outside the jet. It was always a good way for him to blow off steam.
The docked in New York and helped an unsteady Tash to her feet. She had woken up enough to refuse to be carried into medical – a good sign that made Steve and Barton force thin smiles onto their faces for her benefit. She noticed immediately that their smiles were strained, but she said nothing. She would wait until they were ready to talk about whatever was bothering them; that much she knew.
Tash was run through a series of neural tests that took ages, and by the end of it she was exhausted. Her MRI and CT showed what they had expected, a severe concussion, but luckily nothing beyond that. She required nine stitched to her temple, a blood transfusion, and a good dose of IV fluids, but she was definitely in the clear. She was asleep as soon as she hit the pillow.
Steve and Barton stood watch more out of habit than anything. They never left their teammates alone when one of them was injured, it was an unspoken code of conduct that had begun when Tony was injured the first time – that goddamn sludge monster that choked the poor bastard to death in the middle Manhattan. Steve chuckled genuinely remembering how Tony had so regally dubbed it "The Walking Booger." The thought of that day made a bittersweet taste fill Steve's mouth. Pain and sadness and rage and grief. Tony was gone and he wasn't coming back – and worst of all? Steve had let it happen. Steve knew – he knew what the outcome of Stark's plan would be, but he knew that it was their only chance to….
Saying the word "survive" almost seemed cruel now, and Steve ran a tired hand through his still damp hair. The post-mission shower, usually a cathartic and relaxing treat, had been nothing but unwanted time to revel in unwanted thoughts and unwanted hypotheticals. A quick glance at the fitfully sleeping Archer across the room confirmed that Barton's post-mission rituals had not been peaceful either.
Tony had always seemed to make it out of harrowing situations – worse ones than even this. So many times in the past few years, they had almost lost him – but each time, his stubborn ass refused to die.
"Why…" Steve whispered aloud to only himself and his sleeping teammates. It was a plea, but he didn't know to whom. He supposed it was to anyone who was listening.
Steve was grateful that they had arrived back in the dead of night. Banner was asleep in his apartments in the building - he had been working on dark matter experiments in Sweden for the past three weeks and was likely sleeping of jet lag. Thor was in traveling the realms to maintain his father's ambassadorial duties and wouldn't be back any time soon. Fury was away with Coulson and Maria Hill and had scheduled their debriefing for the morning. Steve would have to tell all of them the news…not something he was looking forward to.
He was glad he could wait until morning, though. Part of him wanted to rip it off like a band aid, shout from the rooftops that Tony Stark was dead – he wanted the rest of the world to be grieving with him so that he wouldn't feel so alone. But he knew he had a duty, and he would do it nobly and with the amount of dignity Stark's memory deserved.
But tonight, duty could kiss his ass.
Tonight, Steve was going to pity himself and curl up at the foot of Tash's hospital bed and cry quietly into his arms - because at dawn, Tony Stark would not be there to say good morning.
Steve sat quietly but sturdily in the conference room. Fury sat at the head of the table. Barton and Tash sat beside one another to his left. Banner was curled into himself on the right of the table.
Now everyone knew.
Bruce was sniffling loudly and holding his head in his hands, and Tash rose to comfort him. She was much steadier on her feet today, and only needed a little help from Barton to push herself up.
Fury was numb, and didn't say much of anything. He let the team skip the rest of the debriefing, and he had them shuttled back to Stark Tower. He told them he would contact Thor as soon as he was able. Phil Coulson quaveringly left the room to call Ms. Potts, who was out of the country on business for Stark Industries. After all, he and Pepper were good friends, Coulson had justified, his mind still not really processing what had happened. It would be best if she heard it from him.
The four Avengers all walked in through the lobby, nobody saying a word – only the muffled sounds of Bruce's sobs were audible in the elevator ride up. The team simply put their arms around the smaller man and let him bury himself in their warmth.
Nobody felt self-conscious, nobody felt uncomfortable.
They were a family, and a family grieves together.
They were all very busy mourning the loss of Tony Stark – so you can imagine the looks on their faces when the elevator doors opened and bits and pieces of the Iron Man suit were scattered all over the living room and they could hear the dripping water of the shower being shut off in the engineer's room.
They all shared a dumbfounded look before their minds caught up with what they were seeing.
"TONY?!" Barton screamed, tripping over chest plates and gauntlets strewn across the carpet. He sprinted towards the bathroom, not even bothering to worry about the fact that Tony was most likely just getting out of the tub.
Still, nobody bothered to think. They all went sprinting after their resident archer, careening down the hallway, crashing into side tables and slipping on floor mats. They closed the fifty foot distance in record time, taking corners way too fast, but dangerous levels of hope spilling over into the tearful smiles on their faces.
Sure enough, they reached Tony's rooms and burst through the door, finding the Italian engineer standing, shocked expression on his face as the sudden intrusion into his room. He stood, sopping wet, in a fresh pair of boxers and a towel scrubbing at his shaggy brown hair.
"Um, hey?" were the first words out of his mouth, but the team members remained frozen in the doorway.
It was Steve who crossed first, sprinting to the smaller man and lifting him straight off the ground, holding him with as much control as he could – he wanted to squeeze Tony and never let go.
Barton joined the group hug, ripping Tony from Steve's gasp, cradling his face gently and verifying with his own eyes that it was Tony after all. He pulled him in for a teary embrace, Barton's face absolutely radiant with a smile that wouldn't fall.
Each avenger held their friend for ages, whispering exclamations of their relief and their shock, each asking how and why and when and what.
Tony hugged back with what he hoped was a convincing amount of emotion – in truth, the sigh of their faces filled him with hatred and disgust.
These people were flawed and disloyal. They were a waste of air and chemicals. They had just abandoned him in Russia, and he couldn't help but daydream as they talked to him – he pictured wrapping his hands around Tash's pretty neck and squeezing until she had no more life in her. He itched to put three rounds in Barton's chest, and finish Steve off with a bullet between the eyes.
In some deep wells of Stark's consciousness, the real Tony was screaming and banging at his invisible cage, trying desperately to warn his friends of the danger they were in. He was clawing at his own brain, trying to snap himself out of it – but the thick purple haze in his mind silenced his efforts.
On the outside, the team stepped back enough to examine their friend, seeing the bruises and cuts riddling his body from the roof collapse. They all fussed over him like mother hens, and he tried to put on his most genuine expressions of thanks. They called everyone they knew, telling them the good news. (Pepper had started screaming at them all on the phone, as she had just hung up with Phil and had been lying on the floor sobbing. Tash apologized over and over, but the other woman was absolutely livid – relieved, of course, but livid). Fury was silent on his phone call, and then screamed at Stark to "Make up his goddamn mind" before hanging up. Barton still hadn't stopped smiling, and Tony was retelling his tale of waking up in the wreckage with as much earnestness as this shadow of himself could manage.
"It was dark and the air was thick, and I woke up from a humming in my suit. The motors were working overtime, trying to clear rubble from the systems and self-repair. I shifted some slabs around me; I was lucky enough to have been encapsulated in a small hollow of wreckage. I basically blasted my way out from there." Tony put on his best humble face, and he felt malice and pleasure swell within his chest when the team sat with him, comforting him and apologizing and thanking him for saving them.
"Oh Tony" this and "oh, Tony" that. He blinked and nodded and smiled and comforted where he needed to. They had no idea that all of it was fake, and that just the sounds of their voices made him want to run them through with a jagged piece of steel.
Soon, the teammates left him to rest and recover, offering to keep watch with him or to get him food or provide other motherly ministrations. Tony assure them he was fine – just tired. But the moment they left, his faux smile dropped from his face like a brick, and his scowl contorted his face miserably. It had been painful, being so near them all and not being able to fulfil his purpose.
Just then, a purple flash shot across his features, and the scowl deepened even further. There would be no more waiting, the voice in his head commanded.
Tonight, the Avengers would die, one by one.
"JARVIS," Tony called nonchalantly into the dark.
"Hello, Sir; and may I say, welcome back. It is very pleasing to see you alive and well."
"JARVIS, take a break tonight, buddy. Shut down all systems, all protocols, all cameras, and all microphones in the private apartments and labs of Stark Tower. Reboot power at 8 am. Understood?"
The AI sounded confused. "Sir, I must advise against such a breech in security –"
Tony frowned and his voice dropped to a level of hate that nobody had ever heard before. "JARVIS, you are a computer. You are a replaceable hunk of metal and wiring with a fancy voice. You do not advise me. Now do as you're told."
There was a pause in the air as Tony waited for the AI to respond affirmatively. When the computer's voice did sound, it was cold and calculated. "Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir. I shall resume duties in the morning. Goodnight, Sir."
And with that, the house was officially asleep, and all eyes were closed.
Tony knew the ins and outs of all his teammates – that's what made him such a dangerous enemy.
The house was dark, with no gadgets spurring to life. None of the lights coming on as people walked into rooms – no English voice asking questions, no little robots running around.
Tony assessed the practicality of killing all of his friends.
Banner was practically indestructible, and theoretically immortal at this point, even though he didn't like to talk about it. However, he was staying in his apartments near his gamma labs in the basement, he was almost thirty floors away. Tony would have to leave him be, and kill the others silently as to not disturb the good doctor and unleash the hulk.
Tash was the weakest, tonight being the first night back in her own bed. She was at the end of the hallway, and closest to the exit.
She would be sleeping the deepest, and therefore should be killed last.
Barton's soft snores made it obvious he was completely vulnerable and fast asleep as well, but any absence of his snoring would alert Steve.
Steve had super hearing, and he slept lightly. If anyone needed to die first, it was him.
With his plan of action set, Tony grabbed the handgun he kept in his bed side table, cleaning and loading it the way Tash had taught him so many times.
He screwed a Stark industries silencer to the barrel of his weapon, and he strapped a palm-repulsor to his hand. It was one of the smaller ones he had used during flight testing. It was easily concealed and didn't require him to wear the suit.
Clicking the safety off his weapon, Tony silently swung the door to Steve's bedroom open. No light flooded the room, and he paused to listen for any disturbances – nothing. Not a peep.
Tony walked, heel to toe, making not even a rustle as he snuck to Steve's bedside.
He distinguished the outline of Steve's form in his bed, the lump beneath the covers. With a sick grin, Tony raised his weapon, pointing the barrel right at the blonde hairs resting on the pillows.
Inside his head, Tony screamed. He cried and begged, trying desperately to get control over his arms, his legs, and his mouth - anything to warn Steve and save his life. He couldn't believe the nightmare playing out before him.
Purple tendrils and a dark evil laughter echoed inside his mind, wrapping around Tony's cries and silencing him, restricting his limbs. It taunted him, the voice of the witch reminding him how useless and pathetic he was. Tony fought, kicking, biting, and tearing at his captor, tears in his eyes and his voice raw from screaming.
He lashed out with all his strength, finding any weakness or opening he could. Tony felt himself surfacing, clawing to the top, all the while, evil forces were clawing at his legs, dragging him back down – but Tony would not let them win. With his last bit of courage and his final ounce of strength, Tony felt himself snap back into consciousness just long enough to work his own mouth for the first time in 24 hours.
He screamed.
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" And Tony fell to the ground, clutching and clawing at his skull, raking fingers into his hair and pulling and twisting, eyes clenched shut and teeth grinding together.
He distantly heard the startled yelp from Steve, covers being thrown back, and the sound of running feet outside in the hall. The lights and doors flew open as the room filled with his teammates.
"NO DAMMIT – RUN!" He yelled at them, desperately trying to get them to flee. But too soon, the wisps of the witch's power wrapped themselves around his head once more. The pull came with so much force, Tony barely had time to yelp before he was stripped of his body and locked away inside his mind once more. His brain was on fire, his blood was boiling from the inside out, and only he could feel it.
On the outside, his teammates gathered around him on the floor, Steve's face still groggy from sleep. They all stared at his huddling form, breathing deep and slowly unclenching.
"Tony?" Tash shuffled forward. "Tony…what's wrong?" she eyes his weapons, immediately assuming a subtle defensive stance. "What are you doing with the handgun? "
"I'm ok, guys, I'm…I'm ok…Just a nightmare…" The fake Tony sputtered. "Just help me up would you?"
Barton approached cautiously, eyeing Steve for the OK. Steve nodded hesitantly, but even he looked unsure. Barton made a step towards Stark, extending his arm. Tony looked up, and their eyes met.
And Tony's flashed purple.
"WHAT THE FUCK-" Barton cried out, staggering backwards, holding his arms up in defense as Tony launched to his feet and let out a bloodcurdling laugh, his whole face alight in a violet glow.
Steve grabbed his shield from the side of his bed just in time to raise it against the bullets that began firing from Tony's handgun.
He opened fire on all of them, swinging his hand up, and the door to the room shut closed and locked all by itself, a purple glow on its door handle.
"CLINT," Steve yelled over the commotion. "IT'S THE WITCH – SHE'S DONE SOMETHING TO TONY!"
Tony fire repulsors from one hand, blasting scorch marks all over Steve's room, destroying desks and papers and clothes and walls. When the team was distracted, he reloaded and quickly opened fire again. It was relentless.
Clint was shielding Natasha, both of them unarmed. "I THINK HE'S IN SOME SORT OF TRANCE, STEVE!" Barton ducked his head to avoid a bullet, rolling behind an overturned wardrobe.
"STARK?" Steve shouted at the man. "STARK! SNAP OUT OF IT!"
But Tony just laughed, and everyone in the room flinched. This wasn't Tony's laugh – this was not the carefree or lighthearted chuckle that always sounded from deep within his chest and made his shoulders shake with content. This was a cruel, twisted laugh that ran shivers down their spines and made their hearts rise into their throats.
"Tony is gone now," the shade of their friend said. "And he won't be coming back."
"WHAT YOU DO TO HIM!?" Barton rose from his position and charged, rage filling his features. Tony simply turned and went to fire at him, but Steve took the opportunity to slam into Stark from the side, sending him reeling off balance. The bullet that undoubtedly would have lodged itself in Barton's chest instead found a home in the wall. Tony was dazed, on the ground, and Steve pinned his limbs to the floor.
"WHERE IS TONY? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" He demanded.
The man on the floor cackled again, only this time, the voice was not Tony's – it was the voice of the old woman, full of spite and malice. "Oh, he's in here. And he's been screaming this whole time." She spit into Steve's face, a mix of mucus and blood. "And its music to my ears."
Barton let out a cry of rage and picked up the handgun Stark had dropped, pointing it at the monster on the floor. Steve stopped him urgently. "BARTON, NO! If you hurt her, you hurt Tony."
"DAMMIT!" Barton cried, frustration and rage and hurt all over his face. "Get. Out. Of. My. Friend. Right. Now. You. Bitch." Barton annunciated through his teeth.
"Clint," Natasha came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Calm."
Barton took a few heavy breaths. Finally, he was settled enough to speak without seeing red. "Why are you doing this?"
His plea was met with cruel, purple eyes that sent waves of fear down Barton's body. It was Tony, but it wasn't all at the same time.
"All we ever did was help you," Natasha spoke curtly, her anger barely contained. "We caused you no harm."
The witch cackled again, but this time it was full of bitterness and cynicism. "All you people ever think you do is help. But you cause more harm than good." And she let out a slew of Russian curses that raised Natasha's eyebrows into her hairline, but she translated nothing, nor did she make any more to reply.
"How do we get Tony back?" Steve demanded, giving Tony's body a rough shake.
"You'' have to beat it out of me," she grinned evilly. "Or rather, beat it out of him. Have fun torturing your friend."
Steve breathed in through his nose, anger just beneath the surface. He rolled back on the balls of his feet, still effectively pinning the witch to the ground.
"Tony is in there, and we need to help him. There's no telling what he's going through."
Clint nodded, understanding, but his eyes got big and watery. Tash blinked affirmatively.
It was Barton who stepped up, however.
"Alright, Tony," he began, looking into his friend's eyes, searching desperately for some hint that he was in there, listening – but he found none. "I'm real sorry for this, but it's time for some cognitive recalibration."
The witch squirmed and cried bloody murder, but Clint brought his fist up, punching Tony's face with all his strength. The purple shot from their friend's eyes and Tony flopped back, knocked out cold.
Tony Stark blinked hard, the throbbing in his head was impressive to say the least, and he felt like his throat was sandpaper.
He scrunched his face, testing his neck and his shoulders. He went to rub his hand through his face, but found his motion stopped.
Alertness flooded him with adrenaline. He tugged desperately at his hands and feet, but found himself bound tightly.
"What the hell?!" Tony's eyes searched desperately in the dark but found not a single familiar face.
"Hello?" He called out, noticing the pitchy strain in his voice. "Hello? Please, Somebody. Steve? Tash? Clint? Brucey? Fuck, I'll even take Phil at a time like this. Hello? ANYBODY?"
Nothing, just silence - silence and his own voice for company.
Tony was scared. It was so dark here – so alone. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was pointing the gun at Steve and then…nothing. It was a blur. A blur of screams, and fighting to regain his body…He couldn't remember if he had succeeded or not. There was no telling what the witch did to his friends. The thought made him shake with fear.
Maybe he had killed his friends – maybe this was his prison. Maybe the witch was done with him and left him here to rot once her revenge had been enacted.
It was during this dark thought that Tony heard it – faint at first, but growing louder and louder. A buzzing of sorts, growing and shrinking like a tide of waves, or…voices.
"Tony….here…now…know…are?"
It sounded like Tash, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't trust himself anymore. Chances were that all his friends were dead and he was crazy.
But then it came again.
"Tony…need…you…back …this…Bruce…trying…device…understand…me?"
Bruce? That was definitely Bruce.
"Yes Bruce! Bruce, dammit, I can hear you, but where is everybody?!" Tony shouted into the void. He pulled against his bonds, tearing at them, screaming with the force at which he was pulling, but they hardly budged. But Tony would not give up – his friends might still need him. His body might be out there right now, trying to hurt his family and he would sooner die than let that happen.
"Tony," It was Steve now - his Captain. "It's…time…take….back…Tony."
Take back your mind, Tony.
Tony let out a frustrated cry and focused all his attention on his thoughts. He pictured his mind coming to life, the way that a machine reboots – the way that a robot wakes up in the morning, motors spinning and sensors calibrating – the way that he had jumpstarted his suit almost every day for years. He pictured his thoughts, his memories, and his team – anything to ground him to reality. He conjured images of neurons and synapses, firing back to life, carrying commands down to his muscles. He pictured every ounce of purple in his haze being blown away, dissipating like wind.
His bindings loosened around his wrists, and he pulled harder still, slipping loose and free. Lights started to flicker in the dark, and the voices of his teammates grew louder and closer.
"That's it…Coming…around…activity…monitor…he….can hear…keep…Steve!"
"Anthony…get…your ass…right now!"
Tony focused on those voices, sprinting towards the sound of them, his heart pounding and his mouth dry. He was so scared he wouldn't reach them – so scared something would hold him back and drag him again into that nightmare.
But he kept running, and with every step he took, it got easier – easier to move, to breathe.
Until finally he felt like he was on a roller coaster, in a car speeding wildly on a track, with the wind in his face and his neck snapping back with the force of how fast he was going and everything was getting louder and brighter and Tony was scared and then –
BAM.
"AHHH!" Tony's eyes shot open and he sat up like he'd been struck by lightning. He was completely disoriented, panting and eyes alight with a feverish panic. He saw the faces of his friends, huddled around him, and trying to calm him down.
That's when Tash touched him.
Tony cringed back from her with a cry, guilt and pain and feelings of violation making him sick as they flooded his brain. He remembered wanting to snap her neck – to squeeze the life out of her – Tony went completely alabaster white and scrambled over the side of the bed to be sick. He coughed and spewed and heaved until nothing was in his stomach, and then he heaved some more. The whole team backed off to give him space – only Bruce held the bucket beneath him, not wanted him to feel alone, but careful not to touch him.
Tony was finished, and he wiped his mouth on the towel Bruce carefully passed him, rinsing his mouth with the water beside his bed. He looked at each of teammates in sparing glances, careful not to make eye contact or stare for too long; Tony curled himself into a ball and brought his knees up to his chest, sitting against his pillows as far on the edge of the bed as he could.
It broke all their hearts.
"Uh-hum," Bruce coughed uncomfortably, regretting it immediately as Tony flinched like a dog who had been hit too many times. Bruce took a slow step back and began to speak in hushed tones.
"Tony, um, we-well, I-uh, the witch's powers were very similar to that of Wanda's, actually - I guess there must be something in the water over there..." The joke was halfhearted and fell flat. "Um, anyways – it…it is a simple manipulation of matter that has electromagnetic properties, affecting light prisms, ultraviolet rays, electrical currents, the –"
"I know the physics." Tony's voice was hoarse and brusque; he sounded absolutely broken. He wasn't saying it to be mean, he wasn't saying it to be curt - he was saying it because he wanted them all to leave as soon as possible…because he hated himself and couldn't believe that they didn't hate him too.
Bruce's heart sank.
"Yes, well, I suppose you do." Banner was quiet. "I attached a small device to the back of your temple – it resembles a cochlear implant. It's reestablishing your nerves and synapses systems to normal levels. The witch sent you into a hypnotic state by intercepting your brainwaves and sending commands to the rest of your body. She was superhuman indeed." He paused. "Think about it like a pacemaker for your brain – but its, well, only temporary. You should be able to take it off by tonight, judging by your charts." The good doctor gave his best smile that he could muster, but everyone saw it for what it was – flat and sad. Not a touch of it reached his eyes.
Tony sat completely still. "Thank you, Bruce." He took a deep breath. "Please leave me alone now - all of you."
Barton started to protest, but Natasha silenced him immediately.
"Ok, Stark. It's ok." Steve rose from his chair. The movement made Tony cringe again, which shattered the blonde man's resolve. A lump formed in his throat, and the room was emptied. They closed the door quietly behind themselves, turning the lights down in the process.
But right before they closed the door, there came a very distinct sound; none of them missed it.
Tony Stark was quietly sobbing.
The elevator ride upstairs was disturbingly quiet.
That didn't last long of course with an enraged archer in the midst.
"I wish that bitch was still alive," he spat. "So I could pull her limb from limb."
"Clint, just-"
"No, Steve. No, I will not calm down. I am not a good little soldier. And No, Tash-" he held up his hand at her protests. "I don't have the same steely resolve as you every day of my life. I'm fuckin' pissed, and I'm hurt, and I'm devastated, and one of our brothers is in a room so ashamed and so broken that he can't look at us or touch us and we're just sitting around with our heads in our asses and I CAN'T STAND IT SO JUST LET ME GODDAMN YELL IF I GODDAMN WANT TO."
The elevator dinged.
"Feel better?" Bruce piped up softly.
Clint sniffed a little. "Yah, I needed that."
"No problem." Banner paused. "Tissue?" He unfolded a pack from his pocket.
Clint took the one with snowflakes on it as the group got out on their floor.
Three terrible, slow, grueling days passed before Tony asked to see his teammates. They tried to hide their excitement – they didn't want to charge into the room, emotions flying and voices high – they didn't want to frighten Tony away for good.
They all walked in, quietly and humbly, voices low and sweet smiles on their faces – even Tash let her face go soft. They were trying to be gentle.
Tony looked terrible – better than he had when he first woke up, but he still looked terrible. The implant Bruce had designed left only a small scar, and it was healing beautifully, no bigger than a staple. Tony's eyes were bloodshot and the bags under his eyes told of little to no sleep – but his face looked braver and his body language was much improved from the broken man they had heard crying at the beginning of the week.
The team came in and sat down, anxious to hear what Tony had to say.
"Hi guys." Stark's voice was brittle, but he was obviously trying to sound friendly. "I'm sorry…about what happened when I woke up." He swallowed, lowering his eyes.
"Completely forgiven." Steve said quickly but softly. "We're sorry for overwhelming you."
Everyone nodded. Tony gave a sad smile.
He took a breath.
"When…when I shot out the basement ceiling, the concrete collapsed completely, pinning me to the floor but not killing me. The witch, however, was half dead in an instant. She…she grabbed my face…she transferred something to me – a shred of her consciousness – her energy…" from there Tony told as much of the story as he could remember, and not one member of his team interrupted him. He told of the flight back, the pain of being a captive in his own mind. He told of the purple tendrils, yanking him from consciousness to subconscious. He described in agonizing detail the mental torture – what the witch would show him of her plans, what she wanted, what she had done to others in the past. Their minds had melded sometimes, until he didn't know who he was and who she was.
"She would make me watch-" He choked up, tears filling his eyes. "She would make me watch as she imagined what it would be like to kill each and every one of you. She was very…creative." He shuddered, his stomach threatening to roil. Tony swallowed the bile.
"Natasha," he made eye contact for the first time with her since coming round. "Natasha, she made me want to strangle you with my bare hands. She made every fiber of my being crave the sensation of choking the life out of you, watching the blood vessels in your eyes burst and your face turn scarlet until your fingernails stopped tearing at my arms and your body bucked in death throes. She made me watch that every time I looked at you." Tears were flowing freely down Tony's face now, but his voice remained fairly steady.
"When you touched me – when I woke up-" He choked a little bit. "I was so scared that I would hurt you – so scared that It was my fault, that it wasn't her, that it was me – that I was the one who really wanted to kill you…I didn't know which one of me was real anymore."
Tash closed her eyes, gathering composure, but made no move to go to her friend despite how badly she wanted to hold him and tell him it would be ok.
"Tony…" She stammered out. Her voice cracked, to everyone's surprise. "Tony, can I come and hug you now? I know you won't hurt me. I know it's the real you."
Tony lost it, and he started shaking and holding his weak arms out to her and she practically ran into them. Tony sobbed, and clung to Natasha like a lost babe. She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, whispering sweet words and nothings into his ear. There wasn't a force on this earth that could get her to let go of him at that moment.
"I-I'm sorry." Tony finally choked out. "I'm sorry for not being stronger – I…I tried so hard." Tony glanced up at Steve. "Steve, when I-I was in your room, and I was pointing a gun at your head, I had to rip my way back to the surface, I needed to warn you, I tried so hard, I just I couldn't stop all of it I'm just so sorry I-"
And then it was Steve who flew to the bed, gripping Tony's shoulders tight and staring into his watery brown eyes. "Tony," Steve spoke past the lump in his throat. "Tony, you are the strongest and bravest man I have ever met. And never, never, think that you failed. You tried your hardest and then some – and you succeeded. You warned me, you managed to find your voice. You saved us all. You didn't fail."
Tony nodded along with Steve, reassuring both of them that their words were true, and Tony took in deep shuddering breaths, but they were evening out, bringing him back from the edge of panic.
It was Barton who lightened the mood, of course.
"Well, I certainly hope that my planned death was as intricate as theirs – Jesus, Stark, I'm starting to feel left out." It was dark humor, but Tony actually let out a small, but genuine, laugh.
"Sorry, Featherface – it was just a few bullets to your chest. And Bruce, she didn't even want to mess with you, she knew you'd hulk out and ruin the plan."
Bruce nodded in agreement while Barton voiced his indignation at being "killed in such a boring manner."
After that, Tony laughed with them, hearing them retell their side of the mission, Steve teasing Barton at not being able to carry Tash a "few feet".
"Sorry, Miss America, I'm not a super soldier - I can't run for half a mile with a Nissan on my back."
"Oh, so now I weigh as much as a Nissan?!" Came Nat's furious voice.
"Oh no, Barton. You'd better run." Bruce tisked-tisked from the corner. "Tony isn't trying to kill you anymore, but Tash certainly will."
None of them had ever seen color drain from Clint's face as fast as it did when he met the Russian's gaze. He blubbered apologies, excuses, explanations of metaphors, but nothing could save him now.
Tony went to bed that night on the couch in the common area, too afraid to be alone. Clint had picked out a DVD, and they had all fallen asleep halfway through. Tony was surrounded by his family, sprawled in various positions on the couch and floor. The credits song to "Frozen" could barely be heard over Barton's snores.
The Avengers had never slept more soundly than they did that night.
THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH I had a good time with this one, I thought it was pretty creative use of "hypnosis" as a prompt. You're all fantastic and I promise I will write another chapter tonight so I have something to upload next week. I'm trying my best, PLEASE REVIEW!
