Chapter 8

When Tony was about three years old, he learned about school. School, he learned, was a place where lots of little boys and little girls play with each other and learn new things. It was, to Tony's three year old mind, the most brilliant of places imaginable and he had begged to get to go. His daddy said he was too little and too smart and too whiny and too much everything for school. So Tony made his own school and taught Mr. Jarvis how to play games and take apart a radio and eat cookies that Tony had helped to make.

This school is nothing like that. After corner time, the yellow suit man wants Tony to answer math problems.

"Be a good boy and show me how smart you are," he says, "And if you get any wrong I'll know you're being bad and pretending to be stupid. Then you'll have to be punished again."

Math is supposed to be fun because it's playing a game with numbers. Tony doesn't like this game though. He doesn't like the big yellow suit man watching him and he doesn't want to be punished. The first problems are easy, even with the really big numbers. Then the yellow suit man writes down 26 x 32 = _. Tony is confused. Mr. Jarvis never wrote any math problems like that. What is the x for? Maybe it's supposed to be a + and the man just has bad writing. Sometimes Tony's daddy scribbles funny and Tony can't read his words at all. Sometimes his daddy writes math but with funny symbols. Is it a funny symbol or is it a plus sign? Tony doesn't know. Hesitantly, he tries writing '58'. He writes it really tiny in case it's wrong and he can pretend he didn't write it.

The yellow suit man slams his fist down on the table next to Tony. Tony jumps, his heart beating hard in his chest. The fist breaks the red crayon in half.

"That's a stupid answer!" the yellow suit man shouts, "I told you not to be stupid, didn't I!" Tony wants to answer. He wants to explain that the x makes no sense and he doesn't understand. The words are trapped inside his mouth somehow and his hand goes to his flashlight, because maybe its light could somehow make things less scary. Tony waits for more corner time or something scarier to happen.

Instead, the man stops shouting and he picks up the broken crayon. He crosses out Tony's number and writes 832.

"Listen very carefully," he says in a calm, quiet voice as though he wasn't angry at all, "26 times 32 equals 832. Do you understand now?" And then he writes another problem. 62 x 22 = _.

Tony can still feel his heart beating and he stares at the numbers. This isn't proper math. Math is fun. Math is easy. Tony knows how to add and to subtract really big numbers in his head. Jarvis says Tony is really smart and most little boys can only add or subtract tiny numbers. But now math isn't fun and it isn't easy and Tony doesn't know what he's supposed to do and soon the man will call him stupid again and maybe he will have to stand in a corner forever and maybe the scary man will decide to experiment on all his friends and maybe the scary man will hit him. Tony is breathing hard and just staring at the numbers and the problem.

"Come on, Tony, I already did one for you!" The yellow suit man sounds angry again. "I thought you were smart!"

Tony looks at the first problem again. It isn't like adding, because 832 is a really big number, much bigger than 26 or 32. The numbers are starting to blur and his eyes want to cry but he can't cry because kidnappers don't like cry babies who make noise and messes. He tries to be smart but he never had to think about numbers before. Numbers just make sense. Why don't these make sense? Maybe 32 is important; it's in the answer and the question. The yellow suit man is growing angry and Tony doesn't want to be stupid and finally he picks up the broken crayon and he guesses 62 x 22 = 822.

"Wrong!" the man shouts, grabbing the crayon out of Tony's hand so quickly that Tony's fingers are smashed, just a bit, and Tony pulls his hand against his chest. The yellow suite man scribbles hard all over Tony's answer, and then writes 1364.

"One more chance," he growls, "Here's an easy one. Even stupid kids can answer this." And he write = _. Tony still doesn't know what to do. If it was adding he'd put 5. If it was minus, he'd put 1. That's easy. But Tony doesn't understand how the x works, except that it makes numbers a lot bigger. Tony holds his fingers and he doesn't want to play this game, not at all. Then the yellow suit man frowns at him and writes down 6. Tony stares. 6 is not a big number. It's a tiny number.

And then all at once, the numbers slide into place again. 6 has two threes inside it. What if the x is a way of saying to add numbers over and over again? Didn't the yellow suit man say 'times'? Maybe this meant he adds 3 twice. Or he adds 2 three times. Both ways equal six. He looks at the really big questions and the numbers add and add in his head and come out right.

"That's three problems you got wrong," said the yellow suit man, "Even the easy question."

"No, I can do the x's now," Tony says, "I can do more problems! I can do…I can do 108 times 57! It's…it's…it's…6156!"

"So now you want to play smart!" says the yellow suit man, and he sounds angry and that makes Tony want to shrink all tiny and small and maybe no one can see him and be angry anymore. There's a strange look in the man's eyes, almost like he's happy but his voice is still angry and scary and Tony doesn't like it. Math is easier to understand than faces.

"I didn't ever do times, I didn't, not in my whole life!" Tony tries to explain.

"Tell me, Tony, what's three times ten?"

"Thirty!" Tony answers quickly.

"And thirty is how many minutes I want you to stand in the corner," says the yellow suit man, and he grabs Tony arm and hauls him back to the same corner as before.

Tony tries to stand still, he really tries, but his legs are tired of standing and sore and his tummy is rumbly and empty and his brain is thinking about numbers, and his friends, and Mr. Phil, and Ms. Pepper, and Mommy and Daddy, and Jarvis, and ear phones, and broken crayons, and screaming Natalia, and crying Clint, and green Bruce, and Steve, and kidnappers, and darkness, and rats, and Captain America, and rockets, and hamburgers, and ice cream, and dinosaurs, and mad scientists with fizzy beakers, and flashlights and not-angels, and shrink rays that make you so tiny no one can find you because you've run off to live with mice who can fly and feed you cheese.

Thinking all these things makes his brain race like his heart in his chest and crowds out all the small things like that he isn't allowed to move or Mr. Yellow Suit Man might hurt him or his friends. So he scratches his nose or bends his knee or twists his head. And then Mr. Yellow Suit Man frowns or shouts and says time is starting all over again.

It goes on and on, standing in a corner, and not moving, and Tony thinks maybe it's been breakfast time, lunch time, and dinner time already because his tummy is so empty, and his heart is still beating hard, and now his head is turning dizzy and making his racing thoughts run in circles until it feels like all he's done in his whole life is stand still and stare at a corner with a frowning giant man shouting at him. Then somehow he's leaning against the wall without meaning to.

"Stand up!" shouts the angry voice.

Time starts over again, and again, and blurs until thirty minutes is the same thing as thirty days, until Tony is leaning again, but the wall has turned into white tiles because somehow the wall is the floor, and the white takes over the entire world.

When Tony wakes up, he isn't on the floor and he isn't in time out. He's in bed again, and Clint is curled up next to him. The room is silent this time. No one is screaming and Clint is asleep.

"Clint?" Tony whispers, but he's still asleep. Tony's tummy growls because it is empty and maybe he missed a hundred mealtimes because he was bad and was in time out, but there isn't any food in the room.

Tony is hungry and sore and scared and small and useless, and alone. Alone…except for Clint. And Natalia is one room over, he saw her. And somewhere in this building, this evil kidnapper school, there is Steve and Bruce. Somewhere looking for them all is Mr. Phil, and Miss Pepper, and Mr. Thor and Mr. Fury. And in Tony's chest, there is still the glow of his flashlight, his gift from the angel woman who isn't an angel.

So Tony doesn't cry, and he doesn't hide in a tiny ball. He squirms closer to Clint and listens to his soft breaths, and he thinks. His limbs still feel shaky and his mind still feels blurred and sleepy, but his hunger anchors him and he doesn't fall asleep and his brain thinks in spirals, which is better than circles because each time he comes around to the same thoughts, he's uncovered just a little bit more.

He doesn't want the kidnappers to hurt his friends because Tony is bad. Tony doesn't want to feel shaky and sore because he was punished. He doesn't want his friends to be punished either. He's supposed to be good and do what grownups say. His kidnappers are grownups and they might hurt his friends if Tony is bad. Tony doesn't want to be bad.

Tony is very very good at math. Sometimes math is more than just numbers. Sometimes math works as a sort of story. The story in Tony's head goes like this:

Tony being good = no one being hurt. But, Tony always being good = impossible. Therefore, eventually this will happen: Tony being bad = friends or Tony being hurt. The math in his head says this will happen. Sooner or later, bad things will happen and it will be Tony's fault.

The final conclusion; if Tony trying to be good = Tony and his friends being hurt, then being good is not enough. Tony has to do more than try to be good.

It's bad to kidnap children. Kidnappers are monsters, the real kind not the pretend kind, not like mummies. It's not bad to fight monsters. Mr. Phil told Steve he was good when he attacked the agent man who hurt Tony. Therefore, Mr. Phil will say Tony is good if he attacks the kidnappers.

He can't just attack them. The kidnappers are bigger than him and scarier, and Tony is small and weak. But he isn't alone. He isn't locked away in the dark. He doesn't have to wait to be rescued. He also doesn't have to attack by jumping out and hitting people. Maybe, just maybe, there's a way to attack people by being small, and weak, and very very smart.

"Tone?" Clint mumbles, still half asleep.

"I'm here," Tony whispers back. Clint hums. For a moment it sounds like he's going to fall asleep again, but then he speaks.

"Where were you?"

"A man said we're in a school," Tony whispered. "He wanted me to do math. Then I was bad and I had to stand in time out forever and ever. I think I fell asleep in time out."

"The science lady wanted me to play games with the toys," Clint whispered, "It was stupid." Tony thinks about this. He wants to ask if she hit Clint because Tony was bad, but somehow the words change around when he says them.

"Was she bad? Did she hurt you?"

"Just…just a couple hits," Clint answered. "Was the man bad? Did he hit you?"

Tony starts to answer no, but the answer doesn't quite fit the question.

"He said I was bad," Tony answered. "He shouted. I told him we were stupid because I wanted us to go home. Then he wanted me to do times, and I didn't know times. And he said I was bad and I had to stand in time out."

"You aren't bad," Clint insisted, his eyes open now and he didn't sound half asleep anymore. His voice was almost too loud for a whisper but it wasn't quite a normal talking voice. "You aren't bad. He's bad. Did…did you get spanked? Or did he hit your hand?"

"No," Tony answered, feeling odd. "No…he is a bad man…a…a monster, and a liar…but he didn't hit me. He shouted. And I had to stand forever. And I never got dinner or lunch or anything. Then I fell over. I think I fell over a couple times, maybe? It was a really, really long time out. He started it over if I moved."

"I got dinner. I should have hidden some of it for you." Tony doesn't know what to say to this. He feels a bit unreal and washed out.

"We have to be bad," Tony says at last. "We have to…we have to be monster fighters. We have to escape."

"We'll escape together," Clint whispers. "All of us." Then they're both silent, thinking thoughts so heavy, deep thoughts that run in spirals. Tony listens to Clint breathing and stares outwards in the dim glow of his flashlight. He doesn't feel alone anymore, but he still feels something lonely, something unpleasant that almost makes he want to cry, but he doesn't. The night feels very long. In the end, his heavy thoughts and weak limbs drag him down. He sleeps.

Author's Note: So…you may have noticed a slight delay between this chapter and the last. One that lasted a couple of years. Oops? I had half of this written for basically all that time, and then couldn't figure out where to go from there, and then I was distracted by being more into Sherlock for a bit, and…well…sorry? Well, I do now at least know what I'm aiming for to finally get this story finished, so hopefully it won't be another year or so before the next update. I hope. No promises. But at least I do have an end in sight, so hopefully I'll continue to be inspired to write until I reach it.

Also, for those who wonder why a mathematical genius like Tony doesn't already know how to multiply, the simple answer is that no one got around to teaching it to him, his main teacher at the moment being Jarvis who didn't think advanced mathematics were important for a four year old to know. The real answer is that I wanted some math simple enough I wouldn't have to strain to find the answer but hard enough that a math genius might still struggle. Of course, once Tony has the concept down, multiplication is easy.