A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! You fueled my writing.
When Tony got back to the Tower some time after eight, there was a nervous-looking woman waiting for him by his private elevator. According to her name tag, her name was "Eleanore Jenkins", but with her sturdy build and short, brown hair she reminded Tony so much of his former driver, Happy Hogan that it was obvious – at least to Tony – that there had to be a mistake on the name tag.
Miss Hogan – Tony instantly corrected her name in his mind – was dressed in the green uniform of his postal staff and she had her arms so full of letters and brown packages that they formed sort of a small tower that half hid her face behind it. As soon as she noticed Tony, her back stiffened as if the mere idea of having to communicate with her boss was akin to endodontic therapy as far as she was concerned.
Tony was still on the phone with Peter who had called him frantically about five minutes after Tony had left from the Parkers. Hearing the terrified tone of Peter's voice, Tony had instantly been on alert, ready to suit up in case Spider-Man needed back-up, but it had soon turned out that Peter was merely worrying over some girl who had just sent him a text, asking him if he would like to meet up after school to compare history notes.
For some inexplicable reason Peter – who was supposed to be a smart kid – had apparently decided that Tony was the person to call when it came to girl problems. It was flattering, sure, though also went to show that Peter didn't yet know Tony all that well. Because, seriously? What did Tony know about relationships?
"You were together with Miss Potts for ages," insisted Peter, "and women like you. So, please, Mr. Stark, I really like this girl. How can I impress her?"
Tony was fairly certain that May would kill him if he would tell Peter even the third of the things Tony had done over the years to impress the women and men he had found attractive.
"Speak some foreign language," he therefore went for the first innocent suggestion that popped into his mind. "Like Swedish, for instance. Just go, 'Vill du resa med mig till Stockholm?' and then present her with the tickets to Stockholm. I hear it's nice this time of the year. The whole romantic Scandinavian experience and all that."
"We're minors," Peter sounded downcast. "We can't just leave the country on a whim."
Miss Hogan was standing in front of Tony with her tower of packages, shifting her weight from foot to foot, looking more and more nervous by the moment.
"Mr. S-Stark," she managed, sounding out of breath. "These c-came f-for you."
She tried to thrust her burden to him, but he took a step backwards, putting up the hand that wasn't holding the phone, refusing to touch any of it.
"Excuse me for one moment, Peter," he said to the phone before putting it momentarily on his chest, turning his attention to Miss Hogan.
"I don't like to be handed things," he sniffed, giving her a haughty look over his black sunglasses. "And more importantly," he used the phone to gesture towards the various packages she was barely managing to keep in her hold at once, "there is too much post going on here. I only accept either one letter or one package per day, max. I have told this to the head of my postal staff before and she is supposed to choose the package or the letter on my behalf and then bring it personally up to the penthouse."
There was a reprimand in his words and she flushed bright red, but he wasn't being rude, he decided; she was being incompetent by ignoring the usual procedure of Tony's post delivery. She was quite likely new at her job.
"Very well, sir," Miss Hogan gasped, visibly struggling to keep the high pile of packages balanced on her arms. "Sorry, sir. Which letter or package would you like?"
She looked outright miserable and, sighing, Tony took pity on her, eyeing the packages with less than a little enthusiasm.
"Just hand one over," he eventually decided, wriggling his fingers impatiently, and she almost dropped half of her burden in her haste to hand him a white envelope.
"Gah, I hate to be handed things," he muttered by way of thanks and slipped the envelope into the pocket of his grey trousers without even bothering to look at it. "Make sure to get your name tag fixed, by the way. It looks like there's a mistake on it."
Miss Hogan blanced, looking down at her name tag the best she could with all the packages.
Tony rolled his eyes.
"You may go now, Miss Hogan," he said, making a shooing motion with his forefinger. "Chop chop."
She didn't need to be told twice.
"Sorry, Peter," Tony said to the phone, stepping into the elevator. "Where were we?"
As soon as the elevator doors closed behind him with a ping, he forgot all about Eleanore Jenkins – as well as about the envelope in his pocket.
He would later come to regret it.
There was a scorpion on his nightstand.
Tony came to an abrupt halt when he saw it. He was fairly certain that the moss-colored glass figurine hadn't been there the last time he had left bed – sometime Monday morning, that was. In fact, he could have sworn he hadn't seen it before in his life and was therefore positive that he wasn't the one to have put it on the nightstand.
"FRIDAY," he called out sharply, eyes quickly taking in the rest of the room, though nothing else seemed out of place. Having finished the phone call with Peter already, he checked the phone to make sure the Tower security hadn't left him any messages without his notice - they hadn't and Tony lowered the device onto the bed. "Has someone been in here while I've been away?"
There were no surveillance cameras in the bedroom because that was the way Pepper had preferred it, but outside the bedroom in the penthouse there were several, and FRIDAY was instructed to scan the bedroom automatically once every hour as that was the compromise Pepper and Tony had managed to make. Even though they were no longer together, Tony still hadn't changed the surveillance protocol for the bedroom, sentimental of him though it might have been.
"No, boss," came FRIDAY's reply. "I would have informed you had such a thing occurred. My coding doesn't allow me to let even the cleaning personnel into your bedroom."
That was true. The bedroom was Tony's sanctuary and he preferred to keep it clean by himself with the help of some of his cleaning robots. Rhodey and Vision respected his privacy – Vision would have been distraught with himself had he knowingly intruded and Rhodey, for his part, had compared Tony's bedroom to an ancient Egyptian tomb in more than one occasion, jokingly saying that he "wouldn't fancy" getting a curse put on him for trying to "raid the tomb of Tonynkhamon".
And the only other person, beside Tony, who could have possibly had easy access to the room? Well, Pepper no longer had any business in his bedroom or even any interest to be in it so it was likely among the places she was currently consciously avoiding.
Frowning, Tony took a step closer to the nightstand, regarding the green scorpion warily. His gut was screaming at him, telling him that this – this – this was bad news, whatever this was. Something about the figurine was nagging the hell out of him – and obviously, it shouldn't have been in his bedroom in the first place.
Disturbed, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, half waiting for someone – Steve, Natasha, Clint, Loki – to step out of hiding. A shiver ran down his spine. It filled him with ice, the thought that one of his former team mates might have snuck into his bedroom, it left him feeling violated.
"FRIDAY," he called out again, trying to take deep breaths to steady his pounding heart. "FRIDAY, there's no-one in the penthouse beside me, is there? No-one, you know, hiding?"
"No, boss," FRIDAY's tone was soothing as if she was sensing his distress. "There is no-one in this level but you. James Rhodes and Vision are in the common level below you, singing karaoke. Would you like for me to ask them to join you?"
"No," mumbled Tony, rubbing at his chest. He could feel it again, he could feel the unyielding ground beneath him, the unyielding form of Captain America on top of him.
Hatred as cold and consuming as the wind of Siberian winter, blowing out all the warmth and light and love on its way. Unstoppable. Impossible to control. The blurred lines of revenge and justice, hard to tell one from the other. The sound of his nightmares: the scraping whine of the shield crashing into the casing of the Arc Reactor, shutting down his suit, leaving him helpless, leaving him broken, leaving him empty but for all the pain and hurt and burning anger.
Tony cleared his throat and tried to vanish the ever lingering nightmares.
"Do a scan. Perimeter code YELLOW-32Y," he said and defined, "Just in case of Ant-Man, or someone invisible."
The results came back negative. FRIDAY had detected a few spiders and some other harmless insects, but beside Tony, there were no other human life forms in the penthouse.
"Check out for any traces of recent teleportation," Tony said, grasping at straws but unwilling to give up yet. "And scan the outer walls of the tower as well. I want to know if someone has come in here through the windows, or even attempted such a thing."
He walked to the large windows and glanced down at a rainy New York City before running his hands along the seams, the glass cool against his palms, trying to find any cracks that could have pointed out to someone having gained access to the room via that way. He shivered, thinking of the Winter Soldier trying to crawl into his bedroom through a window, and hurriedly made a mental note to get some lasers installed in the windows, only to instantly disregard the idea as he didn't want to risk Peter getting hit by a laser – you never knew if there would one day be a pressing need for the spiderling to climb the outer walls of the Stark Tower, after all.
According to FRIDAY, there were no detectable signs of neither teleportation nor any break-ins. When Tony then asked her to check her logs to see if she had been partially off at all in the past month – more importantly since Monday – she huffed out loud, offended, but did as she was told. It turned out, she had been fully functional the whole month. No-one had tried to tamper with her, or if they had, they had been cautious and good enough to not have left any signs of it.
Tony let his arms fall to his sides, giving the windows one last searching look before turning his back to them. He stepped back to the bed, eyeing the scorpion with suspicion.
Perhaps, he thought, perhaps the person responsible for the figurine's unexpected appearance was he himself. He did, after all, have a relatively frequent tendency to "mind walk" so it was entirely possible that he had bought the scorpion from somewhere and had brought it here whilst his mind had been fully occupied with numbers and shapes and possibilities and ideas. He sometimes did things like that when his mind was particularly busy, his body began to sort of work on automatic.
Like that one time when Pepper had found a llama in her bathing tub. She had been startled and Tony had been equally startled when she, looking (sexy and) furious in her lilac bathing robe, had walked the wet llama into his workshop only to start yelling at him about leaving animals in the bathroom where they "ate her best skin products". He had sworn he had no idea where the llama had come from because he truthfully, honestly hadn't had any idea, but then JARVIS had gone and informed them that, "Actually, sir, you did buy the llama this afternoon while you were doing upgrades on the new Stark Tablet. You named her Saint Elephant and left her in the bathroom with hay and a tub full of drinking water with, I believe, the intention of training her to bring you breakfast."
So the point was, sometimes Tony wasn't quite aware of doing things and, truthfully, he might have well placed the scorpion on the nightstand himself without a clear memory of that happening. Because, really, it was his bedroom and it wasn't like his private bedroom was easily accessible to just anyone (in any manner – he did have standards, against the popular belief). It wasn't like someone could have just walked in and left the scorpion there on the nightstand, especially without FRIDAY's notice and interference. So it was logical to conclude that Tony had likely therefore been mind walking again and the glassy scorpion was a result of that, like so many other things in his bedroom.
Tony ran a trembling hand through his hair and let out a weak chuckle. Right. No Captain Americas hiding under the bed. No Winter Soldiers trying to climb in. Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen. Move on, folks, all was as it should be and so on.
"Where did that scorpion come from, FRIDAY?" he asked to put his mind at ease. The Armani tie felt too tight and Tony loosened it with a few practiced moves, pulling it off and throwing it onto the bed where his Brioni suit jacket soon made it company. "When did I bring it here?"
While Tony unbuttoned his white shirt, FRIDAY remained silent. When she eventually answered, she sounded hesitant,
"I have no answer to either question, boss. I do not know where the figurine in question came from and I cannot find any evidence that it would have been you who brought it here. The first scan I have of the figurine in its current place is marked as yesterday, Tuesday 8 PM. There are no signs of the figurine in the automatic scan I took yesterday at 7 PM, but based on the cameras outside the bedroom and all the other available information, no-one has entered the room since Monday 6.32 AM when you left for breakfast."
Mind already working on several possibilities while his body took over and neatly folded his white dress shirt onto the bed, Tony asked slowly, "What exactly are you saying?"
"If you don't mind me using a common idiom, boss, it looks like the figurine appeared 'out of thin air' yesterday sometime between seven PM and eight PM."
"If someone tiny like, say, Ant-Man had come in here via, I don't know, air vents or something with that thing in his pocket, would your censors have detected him?"
"Possibly not if the intruder was less than three inches tall," admitted FRIDAY, "but if he had, at any point, grown bigger than that, I would have immediately noticed his presence. I have been coded to detect and record any notable movement in your bedroom during your absences."
"Yeah, I know, I was the one to do the coding," Tony grunted. "And FRIDAY, my gal? It sounds like you better take a look at the situation in Wakanda."
Tony was Tony Stark, after all – one of the greatest minds of his time – and after Steve had sent him the package with the letter and the flip phone, it had taken Tony and FRIDAY about forty-five minutes to get the exact coordinates on the location of Steve's phone. Granted, it had taken almost two days after that to get undetectable access to the security cameras in the Wakandan compound Steve's phone's coordinates had pointed them to, but the time-consuming efforts had been worth it as they had proved that the runaway Avengers were, in fact, staying at the Wakandan compound with the courtesy of King T'Challa.
While Tony's nightmares remained just as terrifying, the continued certainty that there was at least an ocean between him and the people whom he had once proudly called his friends made it a tad easier for him to breathe during daytime – at least he wasn't about to get an arrow in the eye in his immediate future.
"Go for the surveillance cameras 333A and 542F for starters," Tony advised FRIDAY, "and find out if all our exiles are accounted for. In particular, find out if Scott Lang is still in Wakanda. If there's any chance that he might be lurking around in my tower, inform me instantly and figure out his location."
"Sure thing, boss."
Tony pulled his sweaty undershirt over his head and threw it to the general direction of the bed. Shirtless, scratching his bare belly, he went around the bed to kneel in front of the nightstand. He studied the figurine closely, taking in the smooth surface and the immaculate details – the pincers, the abdomen, the eight eyes, the sting and the two barely visible poison glands in the tail. The scorpion was about the size of a satsuma and really quite lifelike, and hadn't it been for the green transparent glass it was made of, it might have as well been a real scorpion.
"Scott Lang, Steven Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff and James Barnes," spoke FRIDAY, "all remain in Wakanda, currently in various states of sleep, based on the data available to me. It is unlikely that any one of them would have left the country in the recent days."
Tony made a sound of acknowledgement, relieved.
"Keep an eye on them. Let me know, if the situation changes."
"Yes, boss."
Tony eyed the scorpion critically.
"It's not alive, is it?" he wondered out loud. "Perhaps it crawled in here on its own as it seems like no-one could've brought it here. It's not big, you wouldn't have noticed it moving around."
"Boss," FRIDAY scoffed, "according to my material analysis, the object is comprised of a non-crystalline amorphous solid."
"I.e. glass, in this case."
"Precisely, and glass objects are generally not considered to be 'alive'."
"I didn't ask if glass objects are generally considered to be alive or not," said Tony, never taking his eyes off the scorpion in case it happened to move, "but if this particular object shows currently any vital signs. I would've seen weirder things in my life than a living glass scorpion, you know – I am, after all, basically the proud father of an omnipotent being who was born as an adult, can float through solid objects and is worthy enough to yield Mjölnir but still refuses to eat celery like most children because it 'appears unpleasant' to him."
Not that Vision needed to eat, but Tony liked to feed him things and Vision was fascinated by his own digestive system, so usually it worked out just fine for both parties involved.
"Point taken," said FRIDAY. "The object doesn't generate heat. It does not have a pulse and it is not breathing. I cannot detect any internal movement that could be described as blood flow."
"Uh-huh," said Tony, raising a finger, "but – and here's the big but – it's made of glass, so not detecting a pulse or blood flow doesn't necessarily mean it's not a living thing."
"As you say, boss," FRIDAY agreed easily. "May I ask what kind of signs would be considered signs of life when it comes to a glass object?"
"If the glass object lashes out at you, for one."
"Duly noted," said FRIDAY apprehensively, while Tony was already pulling open the drawer of his nightstand, making sure to keep his movements steady and slow in case the glass figurine turned out to be alive – he didn't want to startle it and get stung, after all. He fished for a pen and having found what he was after, took a hold of it like he would of a small sword. Using it, he poked the scorpion straight in the abdomen.
The scorpion didn't move.
So Tony poked it again, harder.
It still didn't move.
Tony kept poking the scorpion in the abdomen, in the claws, in the tail, even in the tiny eyes, but it never once moved, apart from being poked around on the nightstand by Tony.
Eventually, disappointed that he hadn't encountered a living glass scorpion after all, Tony sighed and put the pen back into the drawer. He gave a bit of a push and the drawer closed smoothly.
"Aren't you a mysterious little thing," he mused softly, narrowing his eyes at the scorpion.
He wondered if the scorpion could be some kind of a machine, if it had crawled into his room on its own despite of not being a living thing - he decided to do further tests later.
"How it came to be here is one question," Tony pondered out loud, "but why it came to be here is important as well - what's the purpose of it?"
He wondered if the scorpion was supposed to be a message of some kind: "Tony Stark – you are as venomous as a scorpion," would have been the most likely message, but "Tony Stark – die from scorpion venom" might have been a possibility as well. In any case, the message would have unlikely been anything kind and supportive, though one could of course always wish that the figurine had been an attempt at a gift from a fan.
"I'll be taking a quick shower now," Tony told FRIDAY, pushing himself up to his feet. "When I come back, I will be bringing the scorpion for you to analyze so start preparing the machinery. I want all the information you can give me about it. We better consider its appearance a security breach code six until further notice."
"Roger that," said FRIDAY.
Tony took his phone from the bed and slipped it into his trouser pocket - only to feel an edge of paper with his fingertips. Absent-mindedly, he pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket and took a look at it. It was nothing more exciting than the envelope Miss Hogan had handed over to him earlier.
Unimpressed, Tony turned the envelope in his hand this way and that. It was white and unassuming and had a commercial flap. It was addressed to "Mr. A. Stark" and the whole experience of holding it in his hand was so dull and boring and he had more pressing matters to deal with that Tony had half a mind to cast it aside for one of his hoovering robots to get rid of. He didn't, however, but instead ripped it carelessly open since it was already in his hand - might as well.
While walking towards the bathing room, he unfolded the letter and gave it an uninterested glance, fully expecting either fan mail or some minor entrepreneur hoping to get his attention. What he saw made him stop on his tracks: In the center of the letter, there was a photo of the scorpion figurine, the exact one that Tony now had on his nightstand. Beneath it, someone had neatly typed,
Where is SR, your ever so loyal friend? You may tell him that hiding is
as useless as his efforts to "do good".
We are hungry and we are coming.
We are salivating for blood.
Whose shall it be?
His?
Or yours?
That depends entirely on you, Anthony Stark.
"Fuck the shower," swore Tony. "FRIDAY, I'm going to bring you stuff to analyze right now. I need to know all that you can tell me about this letter, the envelope and that scorpion, starting with fingerprints, ending with everything."
"Very well, boss," came the prompt answer. "I am preparing the machinery for the analyses as we speak."
Vague though the letter had otherwise been, the threat in it was clear. While this hardly was the first threat Tony had received in his lifetime, it was to be taken seriously as the same people who were behind it had managed to get access to Tony's bedroom to leave the scorpion figurine there without leaving any detectable trace of how they had done it or who they were – a feat not to be taken lightly.
"SR" mostly likely stood for "Steve Rogers" and whoever it was that had written the letter apparently mistakenly believed that Tony and Steve were still friends. And while Tony personally might no longer have wanted to care for neither Captain Rogers nor his group of vigilantes, he couldn't stifle his sudden worry, even though he did his best to ignore it. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care at all if something was to happen to Steve - it was the supersoldier Captain America that he had to feel professional concern for, purely in a tactical sense, as he was well aware that the world could one day need the man's protection. To protect his former friend was to protect the protection of the world. It was that simple, all personal feelings aside.
Tony marched to his nightstand, took a Kleenex out of the drawer and – with the help of the Kleenex – grasped the scorpion's claw carefully so he wouldn't taint it, preparing to carry it to his workshop for a proper analysis along with the letter and the envelope.
His fingers had barely tightened their hold on the claw, however, when suddenly the figurine moved. The scorpion's tail came down, quick as a lightning, and it happened so fast that Tony saw the tiny puncture wound on his wrist before he felt any pain. Surprised, more than anything, he stared at the wound.
"Boss?" came FRIDAY's worried voice. "Boss?"
Tony stared at the wound, blinking, and then looked at the glass scorpion, which was now wriggling in his hold angrily, trying to loosen itself from his grasp.
"I seem to have a small puncture wound on my wrist, FRIDAY," he said. "Minimal bleeding, but better call for paramedics, just in case glass scorpions are venomous. And about what you asked me earlier, I think I might have to rethink my views on 'what kind of signs would be considered signs of life when it comes to a glass object' because this blasted little thing is wriggling around like I'd just called its mother a plastic shrimp."
"Move as little as possible, boss," FRIDAY adviced, sounding concerned, "and stay calm. The paramedics are on their way and I have notified both James Rhodes and Vision on what has happened. They will be here minutely."
Tony opened his mouth to answer, but much to his surprise, no voice came out. He tried again, but while he could open his mouth just fine, he couldn't get any air out. It appeared, Tony thought, fighting off panic, that glass scorpions were indeed venomous because he was sure as hell already starting to suffer from the venom's effects. Whatever the scorpion had entered into his blood circulation seemed to be affecting him almost as fast as the scorpion had stung him.
His fingers went limp and the wriggling scorpion slipped from his grasp, falling onto the floor, shattering into thousand pieces with a terrified squeak. In a way, the sight of the broken scorpion was almost pretty, Tony thought as his suddenly weak knees hit the floor, sharp shards of glass piercing the skin of his legs and knees. He was aware of FRIDAY calling for him from somewhere distant, telling him to remain calm, but looking at the stunning way light was playing on the glass shards, none of it somehow mattered.
Tony laid down onto the shards almost willingly. Something in his mind suggested that it was not, perhaps, the smartest of ideas, but the louder part insisted that, yes, it was, and who was he to say no to such a good idea. Peaceful rest, that's what the shards seemed to offer for him and that's exactly what he wanted. Rest. No nightmares, no dreams. Rest.
Except, rest was something he didn't get.
As soon as he had laid down and relaxed all his muscles, prepared to fall asleep, the sleep didn't come. Quite the opposite - his awareness returned like someone had jerked the curtains open.
FRIDAY was calling for him, sounding equally insistent and worried. Tony wanted to answer to her, tell her that he was fine, but he couldn't talk, couldn't form the words, couldn't even move his lips. He found himself lying on the floor, his skin burning from where the shards had pierced it, his right cheek pressed against the edge of his familiar soft carpet. In what was sure to be one of the most terrifying moments of his life, Tony realized that
he couldn't move.
He could not move. Not a muscle. Not even his pinkie, even though he tried to do just that several times. He couldn't blink or close his eyes, and when he expected for his heart to start pounding and for his breathing to become shallow due to panic, he suddenly realized that nothing of the kind was happening – his heart didn't start pounding nor did his breathing change. Because his heart wasn't beating and he wasn't breathing.
Had he died? Was this death?
The part of him that wasn't terrified was - simply put it - fascinated.
There was suddenly a cool hand on his bare shoulder and someone shook him.
"Mr. Stark!" Vision called his name. "Mr. Stark!"
"I detect no signs of life," Tony heard FRIDAY saying and hadn't he been absolutely freaking out over the situation, he might have noticed the heartbroken tone of her voice. As it happened, though, Tony was screaming in his head, screaming that he was not dead, that he was there, that it was all a mistake because he was aware and that was a sign of life, was it not, and that he would improve FRIDAY's coding the moment he could move again because she was now wrong wrong wrong.
"Oh, no. No no," Tony heard Vision's voice and a knee came into Tony's line of vision, but as he couldn't even move his pupils, that was all he could see of his friend, of his kid. Tony felt Vision pressing his ear against his back as if to listen for the nonexistent sound of his heart and Tony could have cried when the being slowly pulled back letting out a sound that could only be described as something between a resigned sigh and a broken whimper.
Just then the sound of the door being wrenched open echoed in the room and in the next instant Rhodey was yelling, "I've got the defibrillator – Vision, MAKE ROOM!"
"It is too late," Vision said softly. "He is already gone."
"The hell he is," swore Rhodey and Tony could have kissed him right then and there, so relieved he was that Rhodey wasn't giving up on him. "Now let's help him, Vision."
They took a firm hold of him, Rhodey and Vision, and – after a blurry of images as he was being turned onto his back – Tony's gaze was stuck on the ceiling, whether he wanted that or not.
The next few minutes were terrible. His friends tried to defibrillate him, to restart his heart, to give him CPR. Rhodey pinched Tony's nose closed with his fingers and pressed his lips against Tony's, blowing warm air into Tony's mouth, into his lungs, and Tony? Tony took back whatever it was that he had thought about kissing Rhodey - he would never again want Rhodey's lips anywhere near his. Vision was pushing down in the center of his chest rhythmically and every so often there was a mechanical voice telling them to "clear" before Tony was given a powerful shock that felt like someone was hitting him in the chest with a burning hammer.
He begged for his friends to stop, it hurt, they were hurting him, they were torturing him, but they didn't hear him, couldn't hear him, and when his body refused to react or to show any vital signs, Vision and Rhodey's attempts grew more and more desperate. The few times Rhodey's face came to Tony's narrow line of sight, tears were flowing down his best friend's cheeks as he pleaded Tony angrily to "come back, you fucking son of a bitch, don't do this to me, please Tony" and Tony was helpless to do anything, helpless to "go back" or to console his friend. He hated, hated it.
Soon his sanctuary, the bedroom was filled with more people and he wanted to yell at them to get out, to respect his privacy. He didn't want anyone, let alone faceless strangers, to see him like this, but no-one cared about his wishes. Vision and Rhodey's familiar hands disappeared and, instead, a whole crowd of paramedics began to touch him, to shed light into his pupils, to listen to his heartbeat. He heard them whisper that he was dead, but they kept on going for Rhodey and Vision's sake. A hand reached out to close his eyes and then he was loaded onto a stretcher and into the helicopter that was waiting on his very own landing pad.
"I'm sorry, sirs," he heard a deep voice saying, "but you can't come with us. There's no room for other passengers in the chopper."
"We'll fly by you," Vision's steady voice put in. "We are not leaving Mr. Stark when he needs us the most."
"His AI was talking about a scorpion and some kind of venom," the deep voice continued. "If you want to help your friend, stay here and find out what the AI was talking about. If there was a scorpion, we need to find out what kind it was and the sooner, the better."
"Very well," Vision agreed after a heartbeat, sounding reluctant. "We will find the scorpion, if that will help Mr. Stark."
The medic didn't answer, and suddenly there was a calloused hand grasping Tony by the hair.
"Don't you fucking dare die, Tony," Rhodey was hissing at him and the grasp in his hair tightened - Tony felt like throwing up, listening helplessly to his friend's pleading. "Don't you fucking dare let it end like this, you hear me. They say you're dead, but you can't be. You can't be. Please, Tony, for me, for Vision. We'll find the scorpion and then we'll come to see you in the hospital. Don't give up."
Rhodey's hands disappeared and Tony felt bereft as if the helm had been taken from him and he had been left sailing the sea alone with no way to control the ship. He screamed Rhodey's name, begging his friend to come back, but Rhodey never heard him, never answered, his touch never returned. Tony called for Vision, for FRIDAY, but neither one heard him, neither one answered.
Soon Tony could feel the chopper taking off, rising higher, beginning to fly. And then, then Tony could sense someone leaning over him. There was a warm, moist breath on his cheek, a low chuckle, and the deep voice - the same that had adviced Rhodey and Vision to search for the broken scorpion - whispered in his ear over the sound of the rotor,
"I know you can hear me, Mr. Stark. The paralysis will wear off soon enough, the effects are temporary. Now that you know what it would be like to die, I'm sure you fully understand your predicament. The Salivating Scorpions have got you and we are hungry. Whose blood shall we have? Yours? Or your friend's? That depends entirely on you."
And while Tony was still terrified and alone and hurting, he was now also furious because, seriously? Had he just been kidnapped from his own bedroom?
Had he been able to move, he would have spit the man above him in the face.
A/N: I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing to follow. Please leave a review to let me know what you thought. :)
