A/n: Y'all are about to be very, very unhappy with me. XD

[ TONY ]

"Marty, you're just not thinking fourth dimensionally!" –Doc Brown, Back to the Future 3

Tony dropped his sword.

The crowd cried out and Black Peadair hesitated. He glanced between Tony and Lady Brae, his heavy brow creased with confusion. Lady Brae raised her eyebrow and touched a finger to her cheek, watching Tony thoughtfully.

"My Lady," Tony called out. His mouth had gone dry. "I want to—er, I plead for an alternative match."

Lady Brae's laugh started as a quiet giggle, then was drowned out by the crowd's loud laughter. Tony grimaced.

"That is not how this works, Sir Anthony," Lady Brae told him with an amused smile.

"No, I don't mean a new opponent," Tony continued. He held his hands together to keep them from shaking. "I mean, I don't want to do it with swords."

Standing there holding a sword, he'd known without a shadow of a doubt he was done. Black Peadair reminded him of Mad John—giant and fierce and damn skilled. Tony knew he'd have to try to turn things on its head if he was to have a chance at getting out of this. He counted on the fact—hoped, prayed, threw a very, very desperate Hail Mary—that Lady Brae found him funny or quaint enough to grant him this insane request.

The crowd laughed harder while big ol' Black Peadair squinted at Tony in complete puzzlement.

"Then how do you propose to battle Black Peadair, Sir Anthony?" Lady Brae inquired. She sounded like she was humoring him.

Tony's heart clattered in his ribs. Here we go. Here was his last and only chance of survival. He just hoped that Lady Brae liked him enough to go for it.

He took a deep breath. "With my…with my fists, your ladyship. Ma'am."

Tony kept his attention trained on Lady Brae, ignoring the crowd as they went wild with laughter. Yeah. I know, he thought.

"And," he added. "If I may, I wish to ask your…uh, beg your Ladyship to…" He cast a look over his shoulder and braced himself. "I want to fight for the honor of my friend, too. Sir Dommal."

There was no way Dommal would win another fight. Chances were that the kid was going to die in a few days anyways, but maybe there was a chance Tony could save him. It was vain and frail, but he had to try. He couldn't leave him behind. Thoughts of Yinsen left behind in the cave cropped up, and Tony shoved them away to focus on Lady Brae's soft face.

The crowd was beside themselves again. On the platform, Lady Brae pursed her lips and studied Tony, considering his requests. Tony squeezed his fists tighter until his nails pressed into his palms.

What Black Peadair and Lady Brae didn't know—what none of them knew—was that Tony had sporadic experience boxing with Happy and various personal trainers under his belt. That he'd taken self-defense courses (at Pepper's insistence), sparred (if rather unsuccessfully) with Natasha, and that Steve taught him some nifty fighting tricks. Not that any of that meant he could necessarily beat Black Peadair, but it gave him a far better chance than if he was wielding a dumb sword.

If she was willing to give him the chance.

Finally, Lady Brae's face melted into a warm smile. She quickly held her hand up to quiet the crowd's jeers and shouts.

"Very well, Sir Anthony," she said. "This is most unorthodox but I must admit you bewilder me in a most pleasant way. I am intrigued to see whatever you shall do next. You may proceed with the match without weapons. And should you prove victorious, the freedom of Sir Dommal is yours as well."

The crowd erupted in contradictory reactions. Tony's knees almost buckled with relief, but he held it together enough to offer Lady Brae a respectful bow. Black Peadair stared in astonishment then reluctantly set his sword aside.

Tony swallowed against his sandpaper dry throat and got ready, fists up. Lady Brae re-struck the bell.

This time when it rang, Tony moved in a slow circle, his back to the fence. Black Peadair did the same on the other side of the ring. The bluster had gone out of the big guy for a second but he was back to looking aggressive as hell. Tony meanwhile, tamped down his fear with a spoonful of triumph.

As Tony and Black Peadair carefully assessed each other, Tony's eyes slid past the brute and caught on Dommal's. The kid's features pinched with worry but he still managed an encouraging smile and a nod.

Patience, he mouthed.

Tony's mind flashed back to the hours spent training with Dommal, and he couldn't stop a little smile of his own. You got it, kid, he thought. And he waited.

Sure enough, big Black Peadair didn't wait and made the first move. He charged. Tony dodged out of the way. Peadair was faster than he looked and he spun around quick. He made a wild grab for Tony, who punched the hand away from his body. Tony stepped back, and once again, it was Peadair who acted first.

It was by no means a graceful match. Tony used his smaller size to his advantage, darting around Black Peadair's giant, meaty arms. He caught the big guy around the wrist and twisted with a move from that self-defense class. It didn't work as well as it had back then, against a human-sized opponent, but he still made Peadair yelp and fumble to his knees. Before Tony got another hit in, Peadair kicked Tony's leg, forcing Tony to stumble back.

As they battled, Tony lost focus twice, earning a hefty punch to the ribs, like a small wrecking ball. Tony dropped and scrambled away, gasping for air. When Peadair came close, Tony's retaliating punch caught him in the jaw hard enough to send the big guy reeling.

Tony clenched his teeth against the pain radiating in his hand, his chest, and his leg. He lashed out again, not giving Peadair time to recover. He rained punches on any part of Peadair he could reach, as hard and as fast as he could. Peadair lunged away from the onslaught and Tony followed.

He smacked Peadair in the nose and didn't see the man's defensive punch until it'd landed. Tony looked up at the sky and blinked the white from his vision. Peadair's hairy head appeared over Tony with a triumphant grin. Without thinking, Tony snapped his legs up. His feet collided with Peadair's rump, overbalancing the guy. It wasn't a great move but it worked well enough. As Peadair fell, Tony rolled.

Then they were a tangle of limbs flailing in the dirt. The crowd screamed and pounded, sure the end was near.

Tony couldn't figure out how, but after a few confused, terrified seconds, he was atop Peadair's chest and punching the bigger man in the head. Peadair yelped, and Tony hit him again and again. Peadair struggled but he was sluggish and woozy, so Tony hit him in the same spot. The big guy moaned and his eyes rolled back. He didn't move.

Tony slid off the man and collapsed into the dirt, trembling and completely spent. Another thirty seconds and he'd have been done for. He barely heard the crowd's roars anymore as he tried to catch his breath.

He'd done it. He'd won, he'd survived. He and Dommal were free.

Hands hauled him to his feet and Tony did his best to stay standing. The relief that he was not dead was so acute, he couldn't feel anything else. Well, that and basically every single spot Black Peadair had hit him.

Shit, did he have metal bones? Tony wondered, rubbing at his aching ribs. He could hardly walk.

Myhll and the boys were back, Tony realized, and walking him up to Lady Brae's platform. She smiled at him like she wanted to grin unabashedly but was trying to remain ladylike. He offered her a sloppy side-smirk in return, like he'd known he'd win all along. And totally didn't feel like he was about to puke or pass out or both.

"Bravo, Sir Anthony," she said with a polite incline of her head. "Well met. Well met, indeed."

"Thank you, my—your—lady—Highness-ness," Tony replied and cringed. He had no idea how to address her.

Her eyes twinkled and either she liked his idiocy or ignored it. "Upon this day, you have proven yourself a powerful warrior and God has chosen to spare your life and that of your travelling companion, Sir Dommal. Your freedom is therefore granted, as promised."

The crowd cheered and Tony's pulse quickened. These people were so fickle, he realized. This morning, they wanted him dead and now they were gleeful to let him go. He swallowed the comments bubbling to his lips—he was this close to freedom, and he wasn't going to screw it up now.

Instead, he nodded and held his teeth together.

Lady Brae waved her hand in a wide arcing gesture. Myhll and the boys released their hold on him. Myhll's face twisted up in an angry scowl and he shot a scathing glare at Tony. Tony smiled back, even though it hurt his split lip. He wasn't gonna let this dude rain on his parade.

They led Dommal out to stand beside Tony. The kid bowed deeply and thanked Lady Brae.

"I am glad to have met you, Sir Anthony," said Lady Brae warmly when the cheers had died down. "You are most peculiar and most entertaining."

Tony bowed. "Anytime, your Worship."

She nodded at him again. "Be well, Sir Anthony. You also, Sir Dommal. You have chosen your friendship wisely. Be on your way." She waved at them again and Tony hesitated.

"Sorry?"

Was he missing something? Was that it? They just…left? Weaponless, starving, injured, and in Scottish territory?

Where the hell are we supposed to go? Tony thought.

"Until we meet again," said Lady Brae and shook her hand at him dismissively.

Tony glanced around the chattering people, tendrils of panic sliding through his veins. His mind jumped to Alric, probably still cooped up in the dungeon, and possibly other English knights who hadn't fought in the tournament.

"But my other friends—"

"They shall be given the same opportunity before God and my people to earn their freedom as you have," Lady Brae promised. A touch of annoyance crossed her expression.

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his and Dommal's hard-won freedom, but it was wrong to leave the others behind. He looked back over his shoulder at the crowd, wishing he could see Alric's steadying presence somewhere.

Beside him, Dommal shook his head. "There is nothing to be done, Sir Tony," he whispered. "We must depart at once."

"Sir Anthony," said Lady Brae. Her voice took on a sharp edge. Tony snapped his attention back to her. "Do you no longer wish to be free?"

"Of course I do, it's just…"

"Then be on your way." She emphasized the words in a way that suggested there would be trouble if he didn't.

Tony swallowed. "But just like that? Like this?" He glanced up at the sky, where the sun was dipping towards the horizon. He looked down at his empty, filthy hands. His horrible, tattered clothes. "I have no food, no weapon, no…."

Home. Place to go. And night was only a few hours away.

"Sir Anthony, while I find your oddness charming, it is beginning to wear thin, as is my patience," Lady Brae warned. "This tourney shall not be delayed any longer. If you still wish to be a free man, then leave now or we shall return you and your companion to the dungeons."

Another glance at Dommal. The kid's expression pleaded, begged Tony to go. His gut clenched. Tony hated the idea of leaving Alric. He hated the prospect of trying to protect Dommal once they were out this camp, when the kid looked like he was struggling to stay upright. He had no idea how either of them were going to survive in the Scottish wilderness, but they couldn't stay here.

So Tony and Dommal bowed again to Lady Brae and walked out of the ring. The crowd parted for them and the people cheered and patted them on the back as they passed. Then they were out, and the crowd's fleeting attention was back on the ring as Lady Bare announced the next match.

Tony stumbled a few steps but forced himself to keep going. Keep walking even though his leg was still stinging and his head throbbed and his ribs ached. Even though he still wanted to puke or collapse or both, even though Dommal hobbled and limped at his side, and they were leaving Alric behind. All that aside, they were just two battered Englishmen in hostile territory, with no food, no supplies, and no direction.

Honestly, Tony was so used to the feeling of being utterly screwed at this point, he barely noticed. Just kept walking.

Tony and Dommal followed a dirt path away from the castle, far away from the noise of the tourney crowd. Tony was dizzy and sore—probably dehydrated, definitely freaking hungry—but he forced his feet onward. Dommal didn't look much better than Tony felt. The kid's skin was still unnaturally pale, glazed with sweat, and every movement was a chore, but Dommal pushed, matching Tony step for unsteady step. They had no energy to use on words, so they stayed quiet.

They shambled past men in carts coming back to the castle and homesteads for the night. Past farmers putting away the day's haul. Over grass and past trees and more dirt and fields and more grass…

They were deep in a thick forest by the time the moon was high over their heads. Tony had spotted the sea of trees in the distance when they'd left the castle. He'd figured it'd be good shelter and a decent place to find water or food, and Dommal agreed. Tony had a sinking feeling the kid wasn't going to make it out here more than a few days, but did his best not to dwell on that.

Finally, the pair decided it was safe to stop. Dommal found them a thick tree with low branches and forced himself to climb.

"Really?" said Tony, watching the kid struggle. "What's wrong with this very cushy looking moss and grass here?"

"Would you prefer…waking…to…" Dommal panted. He stopped climbing for a second to make a clawing gesture and he gnashed his teeth.

"Fine, I get it," Tony grumbled. He reached for the bottom branch and followed his friend up.

It was agonizing, pulling himself up each branch, slow and brutal, his exhausted limbs screaming, his battered body protesting every movement. There was a lot of awful grunting, moaning, hissing, and gasping between the two of them as they labored up the tree. But Dommal was right: Tony wasn't going to come all this way just to get eaten by wild animals while he slept, so he climbed.

Tony copied Dommal and settled onto a wide, hefty branch, then hugged the tree. He pressed his face to the scratchy bark and groaned again. Tried to breathe, tried to sleep. Hoped he wouldn't fall.

A little lower down and on the opposite of the tree, Dommal chuckled. "Be well, Sir Tony," he said and exhaled heavily. "I imagine the worst is behind us."

Tony grunted. Even after all this crap, he's still managing to be cheerful about it. When Bruce finally came for him, Tony would really miss the kid.

Either the tree or the branch were thick enough or Tony slept without moving, because he woke around dawn, still perched in the tree. He was stiff and hurt even worse than he had before. It made climbing down even more unpleasant than going up. Dommal was already down there, leaning against the trunk's base.

Tony sank into the grass beside him to catch his breath. Grime and sweat covered him, and everything hurt. He thought long and hard about sitting under that tree for a day or twelve without moving. It was incredibly tempting. Except he was so hungry and his mouth was sticky—if nothing else, he knew he had to find himself and Dommal some water as soon as possible.

"You thirsty?" Tony asked. He held still, trying to banish the throbbing aches and pains all over.

The kid moaned. In the light of day, Dommal was even worse. He looked barely conscious, barely even alive. Tony's gut jumped with worry.

"Kid?" Tony prodded.

"Can't…move…" Dommal breathed and kept his eyes shut, like it was too much effort to open them.

Tony's gaze darted to Dommal's bandaged arm. The cloth was black and red and Tony knew if he unwrapped it, he'd find the wound underneath riddled with infection. He blinked away the sudden prickle in his eyes.

"No worries, buddy," he said. "I'm just gonna get us some water. You stay here."

"Thank…you…" Dommal whispered. "Bud-dee…"

Tony got his feet under himself and lugged his body up. He could hear the faint rustle of water nearby and trudged towards it through the morning dew, shivering and miserable. He had no idea how he was going to get some water into Dommal or if it even would matter if he did.

Damn it, kid, Tony thought. He shoved his hand across his eyes to clear the tears trying to gather. He absolutely did not think of Yinsen, bleeding out in the cave.

Finding the running stream he'd heard, Tony fell to his knees in front of it and splashed handfuls of the icy cold water into his mouth and onto his face. He leaned back on his hands, panting and already clearer-headed.

Tony helped himself to more water when his breathing had steadied. He cast around for something to carry some back for Dommal, but came up empty. The best he could do was cup his hands, which was only to give the kid a few sips at best, but Tony didn't know what else to do.

Dommal choked on the little bit of water but thanked Tony anyways.

Tony plopped down beside his friend. A long stretch of quiet passed. Tony listened to the birds chirping and Dommal's unsteady breathing.

"All right," Tony muttered to himself. "What's the plan?"

He sighed. He didn't have one. Didn't know how he could even form one. At least when he'd been with the group of English knights, they'd had a destination and a purpose—and food and weapons—and he could tag along, pretending he had a purpose, too. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? Sit here and wait for Dommal to die? Aimlessly wander the Scottish countryside? Try not to die himself, again? Stay rooted to this spot until Bruce showed up with the rescue party?

Tony scrubbed his hands over his face. Simply sitting here for a few days sounded pretty dandy. He had water and shade, he had Dommal for however long the kid lasted. And while he was still crazy hungry, he probably could survive for a while longer without food. He could probably try to catch a squirrel or something at some point, but right now he was so banged up that every movement was herculean.

Plus, maybe if they stayed put, Alric or another Englishmen would find them. It was an extremely slim hope, Tony knew—there was a lot of country out there and Alric would have no idea which way Tony and Dommal went. And that was assuming Alric fought in the tourney today and survived all three of his battles and was released.

Tony closed his eyes and shoved all his thoughts away. He'd rest. He would rest for a little bit and then try to get up and scavenge for food. He'd make Dommal eat something and hope the kid could hang in there a bit longer. Just until tomorrow when Tony would be strong enough to carry him or build a stretcher or something. Yeah. Yeah, that was a plan.

Tony had almost dozed off when he heard twigs breaking. He jerked awake and hissed through his teeth as his body protested the sudden movement. Dommal didn't react. Tony stayed still, listening, reminded of the day he'd first woken in medieval Scotland. Maybe he'd be incredibly lucky and get found by somebody he could run with.

The rustling noise grew closer and Tony was pretty sure it was man-made, not animals stirring in the underbrush. He stood with difficulty, clutching his ribs and looked around for a weapon, just in case it was a threat after all. He scooped up a thick fallen tree branch and grimaced.

Better than nothing, he thought grimly.

A large man emerged from the dense trees and spotted Tony and Dommal at once. The guy didn't charge in an attack or look surprised. He walked straight for the Englishmen. Tony tightened his grip on his stick, worry coiling in his gut.

Friend or foe, friend or foe?

"Found ye at last, aye, English?" the man called as he neared.

Tony's heart sunk. The guy talked like Myhll, with a heavy accent, and Tony suspected that meant this was not about to be a friendly encounter.

"Ye see, we serve our Lady," said the Scotsman. His tone was conversational, like he was chatting about the weather, but there was a glint in his eye that put Tony on edge. "We serve her best we can. An' we's would die for her, ye believe it. But some's of us…some's of us think she can be a mite…generous. Too generous, ye see."

Tony swallowed. He had a very uncomfortable feeling he knew where this was going. "Oh yeah?"

"Sometimes we head out after the tourney," the man said as he came to a stop about fifteen feet away from Tony. "An' we clean up the lingerin' mess. So's the better to serve our Lady, see. Wouldn't want some's no good spyin' English pigs comin' back on her."

"I'm not a spy," Tony replied quickly. His mouth was bone-dry and his heart bashed around his chest. Dommal must've passed out, because the kid didn't stir, and Tony knew he was on his own.

"Och, we won't take no chances." The Scot unsheathed his sword. "Ye understand?" His grin was as chilly as the water in the stream.

A string of curses ran through Tony's head and he held the stick with both hands. He sucked a frightened breath into his lungs and pretended, probably poorly, that he wasn't scared at all.

"We'll be goin' to finish this now." He aimed his sword towards Tony and cast an amused look at Dommal's unmoving form. "An' look 'ere! One's already dead." His toothy smile sent cold fear sliding down Tony's spine.

"Leave him alone," Tony growled.

The Scot laughed and attacked.

Tony dove out of the way. The Scot bellowed and chased him, viciously swinging his sword. The tip of the blade zinged past Tony's ear. Tony dropped and rolled far away from Dommal. He popped up on his feet as the Scot lunged. The sword hit against Tony's branch with a solid thunk, splintering the branch. Tony blanched—now he had two sticks to work with, but that was only going to last so long.

The Scot roared and rushed at Tony again. Tony stumbled, narrowly missing a slice to the gut. He spun away from his attacker, moving in the direction of the stream, hoping maybe he could somehow use the water or mud or a rock or something, anything, just get him away from the kid—

Tony tripped, landing on his back, and the air burst out of his lungs. The other man raised his sword and took a step, but stuttered to a stop, the blood draining out of his face.

"God above!" The Scot reeled, eyes wide with panic.

There's something behind me, isn't there? Tony thought, gasping to get his breath back. He could picture a massive bear hovering mere feet away and knew he was dead no matter what. What else could make the guy suddenly look so scared?

"What is this witchcraft?" the man shouted, staring at Tony in horror and holding up a hand as if to shield himself.

Tony only had a half second to wonder what the hell was really wrong—a glance down at himself revealed nothing weird—before the guy charged again, this time terrified instead of angry. Tony flung his paltry branch up in defense. The Scot bellowed and his blade crashed into Tony's stick, cutting through. It plunged straight down at Tony's chest.

Tony screamed and everything went white.

Cold air. His feet slamming into something solid.

Tony cut off his terrified scream as the world righted itself inside a familiar, old abandoned house in New York.

He clawed at his chest. No gaping wound, no sword stuck between his ribs. No medieval clothes, either—instead, his Iron Man suit. What the hell? He sucked in a breath and looked up.

Opposite from him, Natasha stood frozen in shock, her hand outstretched in front of her. Lazarus' monologue hit its dramatic peak as the machine in the center of the room whirred and glowed eerily pink.

Holy shit, Tony thought. Bruce brought us back.

Back to before the time bomb went off.

-END OF PART 1-

A/n: I know, I'm sorry! I'm sure you have many questions, and they will be answered! The rest of the gang will be appearing in Parts 2 and 3, coming soon, so please subscribe to the series (or me, via author alert) to be alerted when I post them. :) The plan is for Part 2 to be going up in March 2017 - I will be posting a note on this story then to tell you it's up. Thank you for reading and if you have a sec, I'd love to hear what you thought! Feedback is love!