Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Warning: Torture

Lost and Found - 2

Lost - Tony

They had assumed it would be an easy fight. They couldn't have been more wrong. Tony grimaced as he let his eyes wander over the streets under him. They were filled with robots who, at first glance, seemed weak, but had turned out to be a pain in the ass. Several of his teammates had gotten hit, and Steve had him worried when he was punched against a wall, but of course, Steve had the powers of the serum, Steve would be fine.

At least, that was what Tony told himself to keep calm. No need to freak out over anything now, especially since Steve and he had agreed that they'd keep their relationship off the battlefield. They did, however, let off steam after the fights, and Tony would definitely do it this time. He'd vent at Steve, although he hadn't talked to him for almost two weeks – disregarding their short conversation on the way to DC – and he'd enjoy being able to rub Steve's hypocrisy in his face.

But then again, maybe he was the hypocrite, he thought, as he got ready to blow apart the robot that had appeared in front of him. His suit was damaged badly, and he was pretty sure that Steve had at least once thought about pulling him out. He hadn't said anything, though – not that Tony would have listened, anyways.

He was too slow, and a bloodcurdling screech echoed in his ears as a part of the armor broke. He could feel something metal cut into his shoulder, and barely managed to repress a pained moan. Steve surely wouldn't have reacted to well to hearing that over the comms.

A metal fist connected with his head, and despite being protected by the armor, it hurt like hell. This time, the moan managed to get out, but he ignored the inquiry that immediately came over the comm. Though, to his surprise, it wasn't even Steve, but Natasha.

Instead, he aimed his repulsor at the robot and shot. He successfully took down several of them, before he heard Clint yelling for him. Automatically, he sunk lower to the ground, and found Clint just in time to catch him before he collided with the floor.

"Getting slow, old man," the archer teased, but relief and gratitude were evident in his voice.

Tony decided to disregard the comment and dropped him on another tower nearby. Clint smirked at him, and then grabbed an arrow, ready to continue his fight. Tony decided to do the same, but he had only managed to rise a few feet when something collided with him.

He was pushed towards the ground, the speed was too high, a crash would certainly be painful and most likely break the suit, but he couldn't manage to throw the robot off. A quick glance confirmed his suspicion that neither of his teammates had seen the attack – there went his hope of Clint shooting the metal beast.

When his back collided with the ground, it felt as if his body broke into thousands of tiny little pieces. It took his breath away, and for everlasting seconds, he couldn't breathe. He was gasping for air, and he almost found himself under water again, struggling to break free. But then it sounded as if metal was about to break, and he realized he couldn't breathe because a metal arm was choking him. He tried to yank it off, but the robot was surprisingly strong,

Air flowed into his lungs when he finally succeeded, but his relief was short-lived. The robot had decided to continue by punching his head, and Tony had never been so happy about the faceplate before. But then a well-aimed hit managed to displace one of the metal place of his suit, and the edge cut into the wires, causing the system in his suit to turn off.

Surprised, Tony stopped fighting. And then watched baffled as the robot, seemingly out of nowhere, turned away and focused his attention elsewhere.

He'd been sure he was done for.

Tony rebooted the system, and quickly realized that, while most things were still working, the wire that powered his comm had been affected, and that the reason why his teammates weren't answering to his requests was because they couldn't hear him.

He sighed.

"JARVIS?"; he asked, but his AI didn't reply either.

That did make him panic. It had been a while since he had flown a suit that wasn't connected to JARVIS. Not since Afghanistan, to be exact. He wondered how the connection to his AI could have been interrupted, but he pushed the thought aside. He wondered whether he should pull out – Steve would kill him after the fight if he didn't – but then decided against it.

He'd just stay in the air, have an overview, react if necessary. He didn't JARVIS to fly the suit, JARVIS just made things easier. When he ascended, he saw Cap's worried face, and gave him a thumb up. Judging by the mouth movements, Steve was talking to him, but he couldn't hear. Steve would be furious for ignoring orders again, he knew that much.

Gone was the idea that maybe, for once, he'd be able to be the one to call out his husband. Oh, well.

For a while, it worked. He was defensive, stayed away from the active fighting and only acted when one of his teammates needed help. Apparently, they had figured out that he couldn't hear them – or thought he continuously ignored them and gave up on him, although the latter one would definitely get him into trouble. He did see the glances Steve threw his way from time to time.

He was fine, though.

Until he wasn't. The robots appeared out of nowhere, he suddenly found himself surrounded. He wondered if he'd be able to save the suit once the fight was over, or of he should just build a new one. Another punch hit his shoulder, and he wondered if he'd make it out of this fight, at all. The metal piece stuck in his shoulder was driven in deeper, and Tony realized he needed to get out of this suit.

Or the robots would kill him.

He managed to kill one off and escaped from the others by shooting towards the ground. He was back in another alleyway, a bit away from the battle scene. Relieved, he initiated the disassembly of his suit as soon as his feet touched the ground, his mind racing, trying to figure out how he could tell his team that he was out without rushing back into battle.

He stopped out of the suit, deciding to keep it hidden here, and return later to bring it back to the tower. Maybe Steve would get it for him, if he asked nicely, he thought, as the world started spinning around him. He could feel blood dripping out of the wound on his shoulder, and as he took a small step forward, he realized that his feet could barely carry him.

He didn't hear the woman sneaking up behind him. He didn't feel the needle that poked his lower back, but he did notice that his surroundings got blurrier, and that breathing became harder. The darkness that was reaching for him felt like a welcome save haven.

It had been a spontaneous decision to invite them to move into the tower. At first, it seemed as if they'd decline, but after a seemingly never-ending moment of hesitation, Bruce had been the first one to agree. Thor had followed, jovially accepting the invitation. Clint and Natasha had shared a long glance, and then also accepted his proposal – although, Natasha had seemed surprise that he also included her in the offer.

He hadn't been able to predict the Captain's reaction. The man had seemed to hate his guts – why, Tony hadn't known – and Tony had been almost certain he'd decline. But he hadn't.

And so he found himself surrounded by five other superheroes. Pepper later told him it was quite amusing to watch them grow closer. At first, it had been awkward. They all had trust issues, didn't necessarily like being amongst other people. But slowly, their walls had disappeared, short conversations had turned into shared meals, lone nights in their apartments had turned into team activities – Tony loved movie nights, although he could really do without the sparring sessions.

To his surprise, the Cap had showed up in his lab shortly after moving in and had apologized. Tony hadn't shown it, but it had meant the world to him to hear nice words from his childhood idol. They spent more time together after, Cap became Steve, and Tony found he enjoyed the company.

He tried to not think about the fact that, the closer he grew to the team – Steve – the bigger the raft between Pepper and him seemed to get.

When he came to his senses, everything was dark. He blinked, his eyelashes touching fabric in the process. He was blindfolded, he concluded, and unwelcome memories from Afghanistan tried to break free from the prison he'd put them in. His hands were tied behind his back, uncomfortably rubbing against the wood of the chair he was sitting on.

He desperately tried to remember what had happened, but his head was pounding, and he groaned. Later, he'd try to figure it out later.

He felt weak, his muscles were aching. His throat was dry, and sharp pain shot through his shoulder when he tried to move his arm. A battle, he remembered. Robots. They had fucked him up pretty badly, he had lost contact with the team.

Steve would be furious, Tony thought.

It was cold, and he wished he could sink into Steve's arms and soak in the soldier's heat. Steve was always warm, no matter what. He would do that once he got out of here, he decided. He remembered being upset at Steve for some insignificant disagreement, his pride had kept him from talking to him, so Steve would probably need some coaxing, but he really wanted that hug. And more, once he was better. Not so tired.

He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to fight the fatigue, but he found he couldn't, and sunk back into the darkness that embraced him. He didn't feel the pain, the cold. Before giving in, he wondered whether they had drugged him. They probably had.

He fell in and out of consciousness, no one was ever there when he was awake enough to take notice of his surroundings. He never remembered waking up before, the cold creeping into his body more and more, and sometimes he panicked when he felt the blindfold and his tied hands. Only darkness could pull him out of those attacks, until the next one started.

Sometimes, he imagined Steve. They'd come for him. Steve would come for him, would get him out. There was nothing he was more certain of. Those times, he was calm, could almost think clearly, until his eyelids closed again, and he was pulled back into darkness.

They definitely drugged him.

Next time he opened his eyes, the blindfold had come off. He was blinded by the light, immediately shut his eyes again. His whole body was aching, and he didn't have the energy to move, he just tiredly sunk against the back of the chair.

His arms were sore from being kept in his uncomfortable position.

When he opened his eyes again, slowly adjusting to the light, he saw a person there. Hadn't taken notice of him before, and Tony got mad at himself. He was better than that, he had to pay attention. Maybe he'd be able to catch something that would be useful once the team was here.

They'd come and get him out.

Somehow, he felt as if he'd told himself that sentence before, but he couldn't be sure. He couldn't recall anything, didn't know how long he'd already been in the hands of his enemies. But he hung to the words, they gave him strength. Hope. Steve wouldn't rest until he was back by his side.

He recognized the emblem on the shoulder. Hydra. He tried to remember whether they had fought against Hydra, but he could only think of robots. Robots that were kicking his ass, but robots nevertheless. What was he doing with Hydra then?

"You have been with us for a week now, Mr. Stark," the agent said, and it took Tony a second to comprehend – what the hell took Steve so long? Then he decided to act as if he hadn't heard.

"Your friends are alive, in case you were wondering. The bots disappeared after they got their job done. You walked into the trap with open eyes, Stark. And here I thought you are a genius!"

A quiet chuckle. Memories rushed through Tony's brain as he remembered the fight, and he tried to focus on the man in front of him to keep from panicking again.

"What job?"

"They were supposed to bring you down, and it was so much easier than expected. You were so out of it. It was fun, actually. Hearing your teammates screaming at you, they were so mad at you for ignoring their orders. Barton almost died because you weren't there to catch him. Your thunder-god barely got him."

Oh.

"And then you had to go and get yourself kidnapped. They are so disappointed in you, Tony. You should have been so much better."

It made sense. He had disappointed Steve before, hell, he hadn't talked to him for two weeks, only because Steve had wanted him to take it a bit slower. So, sure, his friends would run out of patience eventually. But Tony knew them. No matter how mad they were, they'd get him out. If only to kill him themselves.

"They'll come for me," he voiced his thoughts.

Another chuckle. Tony really started to resent that guy.

"What do you want from me?"

"We need your genius, Stark. Though I start to doubt it, really. But, yeah, we could really use your brain."

And then the lights turned off, Tony was surrounded by darkness again. He tried to make sense of the words, knew what they meant, but he felt dizziness overcome him again, but this time he tried to fight it. His efforts were fruitless, the drugs were stronger, and despair filled Tony's heart.

Steve would come for him.

At first, he had thought he'd only imagined it. It must have been coincidence that Steve got up from the table as soon as Tony sat down, especially since Natasha and Bruce carried on their conversation. But then Steve stopped coming down to the lab, which hurt Tony quite a bit, even if he would never admit it to anyone else.

Anyone except Pepper. He talked to her about it, and she gave him a knowing look. "Oh Tony," she said, and pulled him into a tight hug. Which came unexpectedly, especially since they had broken up several weeks ago. Pepper hadn't been able to handle the constant worry that came with loving a superhero, although Tony hated being called that.

It had nothing to do with Steve. Or, so he told himself. But he knew that Pepper knew, and the knowing smile around her lips confirmed this suspicion.

"Talk to him, Tony," she pushed him.

He didn't listen to her advice. On missions, Cap still treated him normal, whatever problem he had didn't affect their working relationship. So he told himself there was no problem. He was just imagining it. Steve had probably just gotten bored of hanging around in the workshop and didn't even know that Tony was haunted by his absence.

But then again, maybe he didn't imagine it. When Steve go up from the couch as soon as Tony sat down, the genius got confused. He hadn't even sat down next to Steve, but on armchair, yet the soldier shot up and hastily murmured an excuse before rushing out of the room. Dumbfounded, Tony stared after him.

"Did you two have a fight?", Bruce, who occupied the second couch, asked, and it was the last straw.

He had JARVIS tell him when he could catch Steve alone, and he got his chance two days later in the kitchen. Somehow, that meeting ended with Steve losing control, and his lips suddenly plastered on Tony's.

Not that the billionaire would complain.

It must have been months by now, Tony thought. They had established a routine. A painful, bone-breaking cycle.

They would come and get him from the room. He was never strong enough to break free, although he figured that, if he wanted to escape, those moments would be his best chance. If they'd only stop drugging him. They had lowered the dose, but it still weakened his body.

They'd push him into another room, where he'd be tied up tightly, to ensure he couldn't escape. At this point, they'd wait until the drugs had worn off, they wanted Tony to be there when they started torturing him. And torture him, they did.

He couldn't even say what he hated more. Water, electricity, coldness, heat – no matter what they decided to use this time, it always ended in pain for him. The pain was accompanied by memories, he'd experienced water-boarding before. They knew, it was the method they used the most often. Again and again, until Tony was nothing more than a blabbering mess, and they continued, until he passed out.

Then, he always found himself back in his cell, where they'd let him heal – physically and, to some extent at least, mentally – before they'd come for him again. He had gotten used to this routine, it was predictable.

A couple weeks ago, they had broken his legs. Not his arms. "You're lucky you'll need your hands to build the weapon," the agent had jeered, while Tony had been fighting for air. His body had consisted of pain only, and the sound of his bones giving in had rung in his ears for several days after.

His legs still weren't completely healed. They'd had left him alone for longer this time.

His team hadn't come. He clung to the hope that they'd show up eventually, that they wouldn't give up in him, but deep inside, he knew it was in vain. If they cared, they'd have gotten him out by now, and that knowledge burnt bitter in his heart. The ring on his finger became heavier with each day that passed. It served as an anchor, pulled him back to the world when he got too lost in the drugs, but it also served as a reminder of what he lost.

He'd lost his team, his friends.

But even more, he'd lost the man he loved.

Sometimes, he got angry at them. He knew that, had their positions been reversed, he wouldn't rest until he'd find them, no matter how much they let him down. In these moments, the betrayal poisoned his thoughts, and resentment towards them started to grow. He had considered them his friends, but had they ever considered him their friend, as well? He never let his thoughts wander towards Steve. He wouldn't be able to bear that. It was the worst betrayal of all of them.

But then he managed to get out of this train of thought, and kept telling himself that they'd come. They just hadn't found him yet.

When the door opened again, Tony knew what he had to expect. It was water again, of course. He tried to fight it, but by now the thought of water alone managed to induce a panic attack, and no matter how hard he tried to slow down his racing heart, he couldn't. He struggled to get air before his face had even gotten in contact with the liquid, and two of their agents had to come running up and detain his flailing limps – he'd managed to tear the rope they'd used to render him immobile.

He couldn't even feel relief when they finally stopped, when they finally dragged him back to his cell. He was out of it, he was tired of it. His eyes barely open, he still heaved heavily He just couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and his muscles didn't relax until the drugs pulled him back into the comforting darkness.

It was an ongoing cycle, and Tony didn't know how much longer he'd be able to stand it.

The next time they dragged him out of the room, he was visited by their leader, who carried several papers in his hands. They stood in silence, Tony waiting for him to start speaking, and not having to say anything himself. In the beginning, he'd been snappy, he'd mouthed back. He'd been confident, thinking he'd get out soon.

He had learned his lesson.

"You still refuse to build the weapon for us," the agent started, Tony didn't dignify it with an answer.

"You still believe that they'll come and save you," there was definitely pity in his voice. But it didn't deserve an answer. Not that the Hydra man expected one, he immediately shoved one of the papers in Tony's face.

It showed the Avengers during a battle. Tony blinked at the unexpected sight, he hadn't seen them in so long, and he eagerly scanned the picture. Steve, in his uniform. Natasha, Clint, Thor. Bruce was missing. And – his eyes widened in confusion. There was War Machine, giving them aerial support.

"They replaced you, Tony. Your best friend has taken your spot on the team. They won't come for you, they don't need you anymore. He's so much better than you, anyway. Reliable, if you get what I mean."

Another picture. At first, he didn't understand. It was just a picture of his tower, standing out from all the other skyscrapers in New York. It took him a second to figure out that his name was missing. His name was gone.

"They renamed it, you know. It only reminded them of you, and no one could stand it. It's the Avengers' Tower now, it belongs to them. They only ever wanted your money, Tony. Your funds. Not you."

He choked for air, his shoulders sunk in defeat and he averted his eyes. But a strong hand grabbed his chin, forced him to look at the last picture. It was the one that broke Tony. He would have been able to take anything, but not this.

It showed Steve, for once not in his Captain America uniform. It was a close up, showing only his upper body and his face. He was talking to some people, had his hands lifted, apparently gesturing animatedly. Tony took in the picture, searched for every detail. The hair that seemed to be a tad longer than it had been. The shirt, accentuating the muscles that were hidden underneath. His hands, his – "No!"

Tony's heart started beating frantically, he wasn't aware of the pained yelp that left his throat. The imagine of Steve's empty fingers burnt into his eyes, he'd never forget. Steve had taken off the ring, his wedding ring.

Steve had given up on him, as well.

Tony's body fell numb, and he barely took notice of the agent leaving, of the door falling back into its lock. They hadn't cared about him, wouldn't come for him. Steve hadn't cared enough, Steve wouldn't try to rescue him.

What had he ever done to deserve this?

Knowing that his friends had abandoned him broke Tony. He stoically endured the torture, his insides were numb, dead. He didn't fight them anymore – what for? – but he also didn't give them what they wanted. His choice to stop making weapons hadn't had anything to do with the Avengers. And while they had betrayed him, he wouldn't give their enemies weapons to take them down.

He still cared, even if he shouldn't.

He told his captors that he wouldn't build weapons. He got punished for it, but he didn't feel the pain anymore. Until they took him to the room again, and strapped him into an odd-looking machine. Had he been in his right mind, he would have realized what was going on. But he wasn't, and so he took it quietly.

"I don't think – The machine isn't ready!", someone tried to protest, but the agent waved aside these concerns and pressed the handle.

And suddenly, Tony's whole world was pain.

It felt like a dream. Tony had never been happier before, but also never been more scared. On the one hand, he had a team. He had friends who actually cared. Friends who dragged him out of his workshop when he had been gone too long, who made sure he ate, who were actually interested in his life.

On the other hand, he had Steve. And that part felt so unreal, Tony actually had to pinch himself several times. Because, really, Captain America? Secretly, he was waiting for Steve to grow tired of their relationship, to realize that he could do so much better.

Tony was selfish, he wouldn't tell Steve that.

Somehow, Steve didn't realize it. The first year seemed to fly by, and the end never came. After each of their fights, Tony feared that that would be it, but they always managed to resolve their problems. He was waiting for his teammates to get up and leave, but they stayed, as well.

Tony liked it. He liked the feeling of being loved, of being cared for. Plus, he cared as well. He missed Thor while the god was gone, and when Natasha went missing, he couldn't stop until he had found her, got her back.

After all, he had to show them that he cared as well, somehow.

Another year passed, and Steve still stayed. Tony didn't understand, but he was delighted.

New York was a prime target for villains, and Tony suddenly had to fear for his tower. It was his home, it was the place where he loved, together with his friends and Steve. If he lost the tower, they'd have to leave.

They defended their home successfully. And Tony, who couldn't bear the thought of losing Steve, decided to go for it – he knew that Steve would turn him down, but he wanted to have tried, he'd never know otherwise.

But Steve said yes, and Tony still didn't understand why.

He caught a glimpse of an image. Bright blue eyes, blonde hair. A funny looking suit. He knew that this image was important, it awoke something within him, and for a split second, it felt as if the solution was within his reach. But then the maze twisted, and the image was pushed out of his mind, soon to be forgotten again.

Reset.

He had a hole in his chest. He couldn't remember why. A glowing device was nestled in the hole, and he had an inkling that it was important. If only he could remember why taking it out would be a bad idea. It was a fascinating piece of tech, and the part of him that subconsciously remembered his affinity for everything regarding technology pushed him to do it. Mesmerized, he turned the device in his hands, the metal casing in his chest left empty.

"What are you doing?"", someone asked and a man rushed to him, pushing the device back where it belonged. He couldn't understand what the agent muttered, but he got the gist – don't take it out.

He'd been right, it was important. If only he could recall why. In one of the corners of the maze that was his mind, something loosened, the hint of a whisper. Shrapnel. The word echoed through his mind, but before it could surface, it got lost in the long corridors. They twisted, and turned, and the echo was long gone when he put his hand on the device again.

Reset.

They had given him orders and expected him to follow them. He had everything they deemed necessary – the materials, the tools, he even had access to a computer. He knew what they wanted, and yet he wasn't sure why they thought he was the right person to build it.

He stared at the screen helplessly, turning the blueprint. No matter from what angle he looked, it just appeared to be wrong. Something was missing, something didn't feel right. But it just wouldn't come to him.

He was building a weapon.

That thought didn't feel right, either. Had he designed weapons before? He couldn't remember, but judging by their faith in his skills, he had. So he should know this, he should figure out what he needed to improve the missile.

He didn't want to build weapons. Weapons killed innocent people.

Somewhere, deep inside the maze, an idea developed, and he found the solution. But the train of thought got lost, lost in the endless twists of his mind, and he continued to look at the screen helplessly. He'd fail, once again, and they'd punish him, once again. It wasn't his fault, though, he had tried.

It was their fault. They had done something to his brain.

Reset.

They were talking in the hallway. If he concentrated enough, he could overhear what they were saying. Concentrating was a hard task for him these days, but something told him, that this was important.

"- would take the Avengers out. But they are still going strong, they are closing in on us. We need to act quickly!"

Avengers. His eyes widened at that name, he had heard it before. If only he could think clearly, if only he could connect a memory with the word.

"We have to take Captain America out, it's our only chance. Decimate their numbers until they break. Stark should have been enough, but they are stronger than we thought"

Stark. Tony. A name, a familiar voice, full of love and affection.

Captain America. Blue eyes, haunting him. A familiar face, frowning disapprovingly.

Red and Gold. Whatever that was.

All gone, before he could catch the meaning, before he could register the memories, the images the words had unleashed.

"We can send the bots again, it was easy enough with Stark. This time, no captives. They have to kill Rogers."

"Let's not rush it, we need a plan if we want this to work. They won't fall for the same thing twice, we have enough time."

He tried to store the information, somewhere, deep in his mind. It was important, he knew that much. They were planning on killing someone. He needed to warn him. He needed to get out of here and warn them, needed -

Reset.

They were doing tests. He endured them, didn't really have a choice. While his body was slowly getting stronger, he was still not in top shape. Plus – why should he fight it? What was he fighting for? He was fighting for something, he had to be. But he just couldn't remember, and it killed him inside.

Sometimes, he saw those hauntingly blue eyes. He wondered whom they could belong to, that person meant something to him, he was almost certain. But – why had no one come for him yet? Why was he working for the bad guys?

Whoever the agents surrounding him were, they weren't good, he had figured out that much.

"The tests are all negative", someone said. "There isn't much we can do to get him back."

He had so many questions and no answers. He'd never get answers. He couldn't even register their words, he just wanted answers. He didn't know anything, couldn't break through the walls that hid his thoughts, kept his memories from surfacing.

"We damaged his brain too much. He's useless now."

He did catch that. So they had done something to him. They were the reason why he was a mess, why he had forgotten everything.

"We need to get rid of him!"

Reset.

Thunder reminded him of something. Lighting. He wasn't scared of thunderstorms, they had something eerily familiar. He felt almost comforted when the sound of thunder reached his ears.

Reset.

Hands, dragging him along the floor. He could have walked himself, but they wouldn't even give him that much dignity.

He hadn't managed to build their weapon. He had failed them, and now he would have to pay the price.

A familiar face, staring at him disapprovingly.

"And don't come back until your job is done!"

Their fights only kept getting more frequent. They were under constant stress, and Tony hated Hydra for putting that strain on his relationship.

Although, he was the one to blame. If only he and Cap didn't have completely opposing views on everything, of only he could actually listen to the orders Steve gave. But no, he always had to screw up.

The ride home after those missions was usually quiet, but once they were back in their quarters at the tower, there was yelling. Until one them rushed out the door – Steve, typically. Tony always stared after him, panicking, because, this was it, this had to be it, Steve wouldn't come back this time. But then, when Tony woke the next morning, Steve was there in the morning, anyways.

Until that one fight two weeks ago. It had been bad, they had yelled, and Steve hadn't left when things were going down a dangerous road, their argument had escalated, and they had started ignoring each other for days.

Tony hated it. He hated knowing that this was most likely the one fight that broke them. That he had finally succeeded in driving Steve away. And where Steve went, the Avengers would follow.

Ho let his gaze wander over them, as they were getting ready to fight. He'd miss them. He hadn't been a team player before, but he had enjoyed being part of this team. He wouldn't hold them back, though, he wouldn't be selfish.

The closer they got to DC, the uneasier he grew. At first, he thought it was because Steve was constantly watching him, but then he realized that, no, he was nervous about the mission.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he told Steve, and it were the first words he said to his husband since their fight. There were so many more he wanted to say.

I'm sorry.

Don't leave me.

I love you.

But then they arrived in DC; and Tony turned away without uttering another word. Later, fading in and out of consciousness, between torture sessions, when numbness had taken over his body, he wondered whether the right words could have changed anything.

They dropped him off in a city. It looked oddly familiar, and he felt as if he was supposed to be here. Had been here before. Yet, he didn't know where to go, was lost, the streets around him appeared to be as much of a maze as his mind was.

Something pushed him towards one of the towers. It was huge, and ugly. Grey, and the only decoration was an enormous A attached to its façade. It drew a smile on his face.

"Home," he whispered, absent-mindedly, without realizing what was leaving his mouth. His eyes eagerly took in the sight. He was waiting for something, stood there several hours, but whatever he was waiting for, it didn't happen.

He spent the night in a park nearby and returned to the tower the next day. And the day after. Oddly enough, it comforted him, and he overheard people talking about the Avengers' Tower, and something in his mind stirred.

He had heard that name before, but he couldn't pinpoint where.

Time passed slowly. He didn't really have anything to do. In captivity, he at least had some tools to play around with, but now he had nothing. He was alone. Something within him protested, but it was only a quiet voice he was able to ignore very well.

He'd adjusted to living with that maze. He had lost his mind, had gone crazy, and people wouldn't be able to accept him, so he avoided talking to anyone. He understood that he needed to hide the device in his chest, it was probably dangerous to openly display such a nice piece of technology. As long as he kept it hidden, no one bothered him.

One night, a big thunderstorm kept him awake. He had found a place close to the tower, and could now watch in awe as lighting struck it. No, that wasn't right. Lightning didn't strike it, lightning was omitted from the tower. Amazed, he took in the show, a hidden part of him satisfied with the sign of life – was it this he had been waiting for?

Life was surprisingly peaceful. Yes, he lived on the street, but he found he didn't mind – it was definitely an improvement compared to the cell he had occupied during his captivity. Although, he could barely remember anything from that time, and after a while, it was nothing but another nightmare that haunted him in his dreams, when the maze loosened up, but was forgotten once he opened his eyes.

The peacefulness didn't last too long. With horror he watched as robots descended into the city and started to demolish buildings, started to go after innocent people. He quickly scrambled to his feet and his in an alleyway. Every cell within him screamed at him, he wanted to go out there help the heroes, but he couldn't.

It was almost like an instinct, and it felt terrible to oppress, but he just crouched further and further into the secluded corner. When he closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears, he could almost pretend that nothing was happening.

When he closed his eyes, he saw a flash of something red and gold. "Tony!", a voice yelled, but both the image and the sound were gone as soon as he had remembered them. The traces of tears on his cheeks stayed.

He had thought it would be a good hiding spot, but apparently, he had been wrong. He peeked curiously when he could hear the sound of metal crashing against metal, and terrified he watched as a group of robots attacked one of the superheroes.

It was the one with the colorful suit.

Steve, something inside him whispered, but went unheard.

He watched as the hero got overpowered, fell to the ground. A metal fist collided with the motionless body, again and again, until blood was splattering everywhere, and he had to close his eyes again. All he could see was blood.

He rushed towards the fallen man when the robots disappeared, pleased with the fact that they had done their job. His stomach churned when he took in the blood. He was still breathing. He was still alive.

"Steve, are you alright?", a distant voice sounded, and it took him a second to realize that the voice was coming out of the earpiece.

Steve. Blue eyes staring at him disapprovingly – a memory long forgotten.

"Hold on, I'll get help. Oh, please don't die," he begged, searching for life in the fallen man's face.

His past was there, his answers were finally within reach, but then the maze shifted, blocked the path to the memories that were buried deep within his head.

Reset.

He was covered in blood. It wasn't his blood, he knew as much. It was the blood of the person lying on the floor next to him. The fighter was severely wounded, gasping for air. He wondered whether that was his fault. It must have been his doing, he was a monster.

He could still do right.

He tried to lift the body, but it was too heavy. Instead, he grabbed him under his armpits and started pulling. He just needed to get out of the alley, to the main road. There were people, someone there would be able to help.

He'd get arrested.

The body felt familiar, his fingertips were itching, He pulled, and made progress, but he wouldn't be fast enough. A desperate sigh escaped his lips, and he sunk to his knees. He had failed. It probably wasn't the first failure, either, but this time, someone would die, and it'd be his fault.

He was a monster.

He didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind. But suddenly, there were two people, both dressed in black.

"Steve," the redhaired woman exclaimed, horror evident in her voice. She ignored his presence, leaning over the body instead.

The man – an archer – was talking quietly, and seconds later, lightning lit up the sky and a third man appeared. The unconscious body was tenderly lifted up from the ground, and with a "I'll get him to the tower!" the blonde disappeared.

The redhead stayed on her knees. She was starring at the puddle of blood in front of her, and the archer stepped behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

He tore his glance away from the two.

"I'm sorry!", his voice was barely more than a whisper, but loud enough to alert the two fighters to his presence. "I'm so sorry!"

He looked up, and found them looking at him. He was prepared for hate, fully expected them to attack him, to kill him and get even for what he'd done to their friend. But instead, he found disbelief in their eyes.

The archer took a step back.

"This is impossible," he said, his eyes wide, his voice almost failing.

"Tony?"