Here's our torture chapter. So be careful. It's not too explicit, but warning for triggers.
Tony managed another day and a half of dodging food before he dropped, passing out on top of the parts he's working with and making a huge racket.
They found him immediately, roused him, and when he refused food and water, tied him to a chair.
Excellent move for a man who's already passing out because of lack of nutrients.
"Why are you not eating?" M complained archly as he circled Tony in the chair.
"I'm not hungry," he slurred.
"Clearly, you are. The human body can only last about three days without proper hydration. Why do you refuse the good food I offer you?"
"Because it's'not good."
"I beg your pardon?"
Rolling his head back to sneer at the man, Tony forced his eyes open, his faculties taking a long time in coming back. "You heard me. You've been drugging me."
"It is only for your own good."
"It's never for someone's 'own good' to drug them!" he snapped, ire rising to swiftly destroy any filters between brain and mouth. "You don't put shit in my that I don't want? Clear?"
"Will you finish your work?"
"Screw you."
M's face finally showed disappointment and displeasure in the creases around his eyes. "This is why we drugged you."
"Oh yeah," Tony drawled, rolling his eyes. "Great one. Kidnap the genius and make him do your dirty work. That's a new story."
"You would be wise to watch your mouth, Mister Stark."
"Yeah? Of course I would. Too bad I've never really had that kind of wisdom. Gotten me in trouble in the past, for sure." He grinned up at M, slouching as well as he could in the bonds. "So now what? Looks like you've lost your compliant slave."
M just smiled sadly. "It is a sad thing, Mister Stark. I would rather not have to resolve to threats. They are so tedious. Needing to follow through and all. Rather too much effort."
"Fuck you and your lazy ass." The hand moved faster than he could currently track, so Tony's head snapped back and he grunted with the force of it. "Fine. Fine we can play that way."
"Are you sure, Mister Stark? You are, after all, weak with not eating." M nodded and Jan came out of the shadows of the small room. Probably the same one he'd been taken to originally when it had been him and Steve.
"Jan. Hey baby." And then grunted as she back-handed him. "Aw man... Why does it have to be this way?"
Jan grinned ferally and smacked him again.
Tony inhaled and kept his teeth together for the next blow.
"Will you build for me?"
He snorted. "This isn't my first round with crazy people who beat me to get me to do something for them."
"Such a way with words..." M tsked sadly, then nodded to Jan.
"I know, right? I should write a book." He braced himself when Jan's fist connected with his jaw and made him see stars. "Don't want to ruin my good looks. I'll need a good promo pic to paste on the back cover."
"You're an ass, Stark," Jan sneered in his face.
"It is a good one, isn't it?" he said faintly.
"You're a selfish, entitled, arrogant, over-bearing fuck-up, Stark." And punched him in the gut.
"Oh fuck, I hate it when they go for the gut. It just messes up so much..." he moaned, bending over himself as far as he was able. He prayed Steve remembered soon. He was supposed to be coming home today. Tomorrow? Yesterday? "Why do you hate me? I never did anything to y—"
"Wrong."
"Not asking you," he gasped around the pain. "Fuck shit is that a taser? I really hate tasers. No, seriously, can we do without the taser?" Tony pressed himself back against the slats of the chair.
M stepped closer and Jan stepped back. "Tony Stark. I am going to tell you a story."
"Ooh, story time," Tony echoed a little deliriously.
"Yes, Mister Stark. Once upon a time there was a man who worked an ordinary job running a defense contracting company."
"Sensing parallelism..."
M arched a brow at him and then continued. "This man went home every day to his wife and two daughters, ages six and eleven. The younger liked baseball and the clarinet, and the elder liked cooking and math."
Tony swallowed, focusing blearily on M, unease seeping in through the cold of the concrete floor. "And?" he croaked.
M smiled. It was anything but kind. "And then, this man's company was hijacked so that some petty superpowered thugs could get what they wanted, kidnapping this man's family. When they didn't get what they wanted, the degenerates managed to blow up the man's family. And with the loss of his family, the loss of his company followed. So soon, this man had nothing left. So as you might see, this man may have developed a certain proclivity against superpowered beings. "
"Some of us help."
"Us?" The man raised both brows in a farce of incredulity. "Oh you consider yourself a part of the superpowered community?"
"You do know that I'm Iron Man..." Tony can't bring himself to meet his gaze any more and drops his eyes to his knees.
The man chuckled an unamused laugh. "Yes. Yes of course you do. You rub elbows with them, but you are not a part of them. You are a brilliant mind who constructed a fantastic toy with which you play at superhero."
He winced.
"Even you know it to be true. But," M leaned in and hissed, "it does not make you better."
"I try," Tony rasped. "Fuck you." And jerked as a hand connected with his face again.
"You will finish this for me," the man said, voice like iron. "Because if you don't, then you will—"
"Don't you dare threaten me," Tony grit out. "I don't respond well to threats. I thought we covered that."
"And I thought I had ensured your geniality. Yet here you are cursing me. Cursing me for suffering loss?"
"No. For lowering yourself to be just like them."
With the first arguably real roar of emotion, the man began beating Tony in earnest, punching and slapping until the chair Tony was in fell over. And then he kicked him.
In between grunts, Tony got out, "How's...it feel...to be...the bad...guy?" Eventually, M grabbed his hair and pulled him upright by it, Tony crying out as follicles ripped loose.
"You know nothing. NOTHING." M pinched his face, snarling close.
"Fuck your nothing," Tony said lowly. "You don't know my life. I won't help you. You're wrong and you're taking the coward's way out. Trust me. I know it well enough to recognise it when I see it. Why do you think I don't drink the wine you offer me? You can't even give me a name, M. So don't talk to me about knowing nothing!"
M backed off and sneered at him with one final backhand. "If he's no use to us, then do as you will. You see, Tony Stark, all of these people...?" He spread his arms. "All of these people are people on whom your life has had adverse effect."
"W-what...?"
M tutted. "Don't act dim now, Mister Stark. All of these people. Hurt. Injured. Damaged. All thanks to your weapons. Your way of life. Your...indiscretions. Your irresponsibility."
He flinched at the words and bit his lip. "We can't all be perfect," he said hoarsely. "We can't all..." Shook his head. "Never mind. You're not going to listen to me anyway."
"Because you're not worth listening to."
"Fine!" He raised his head and forced a grin over his lips. "Good luck finishing on your own. Reed's a tricky bastard anyway. You'll never read his plans yourself."
M arched a brow. "I suppose if you won't help me, I'll have to do my best. It won't nearly matter anymore. Not to you, anyway, Mister Stark. Because if we can't be civil, well. Then we can be violent. And all of these people here would love a hand at making you feel some of the pain they've been carting around for years."
Sucking in air, Tony straightened his spine and sat back in the chair. "Fine then," he said with a calm that was probably coming from shock and resignation. "They deserve it." Shrugged. "Who am I to deny vice and gratification. I can hardly fault others if they do..."
"Then enjoy your torture, Tony Stark. Perhaps you'll wish that you hadn't been so stubborn about a measly drug in your system."
"I've moved past the age where I need drugs to have fun," he said flatly.
M smiled tightly and opened the door to the small room. Jan stepped in front of Tony, blocking further view of the man.
"How can I blame you," Tony said tiredly. "What happened."
"You don't deserve to know." And then Jan took her time with a riding crop. Prowling around like a vengeful cat, taking swipes and drawing blood.
Next was Greg. Greg liked water. Greg liked Tony's head under water. Greg missed his sister a lot. So he tested Tony's breath-holding abilities.
Sarah came in and sat, staring at him unerringly for twenty minutes, listing good qualities about her sister, and all the good she was doing for the world as an aide worker. She wasn't finished when Edward came in and told her to get up and leave. She left. Because good old Ed pulled out the taser.
"Fuck..." Tony groaned.
Ed smiled.
Ed left when Tony couldn't speak any more.
When Johnny left, Tony couldn't cry any more. Johnny had so much pain.
M shuffled into the room with a yawn when Johnny left. "Would you care to help me again? I'll stop them."
Tony keened, sagging forward in the chair. It wasn't going to last much longer. He wasn't either.
"Sorry, can't hear you, Mister Stark."
He choked and tried to raise his head.
"No? You do not care to help?" M shrugged. "Very well. Your choice. And do remember, Mister Stark. I did give you a choice." Then grinned like a mad dog and left.
Daisy. Daisy liked to smoke. For all of his addictions, Tony Stark did not like smokers. But Daisy, young and voice rough, hair shorn short and sharp, liked smoking. And as she told the story of her father dying much younger than he should have, she slowly pressed her cigarette to Tony's skin. Sometimes, she pressed it to places he was still clothed and then watched it burn through to his skin. She stood when she was finished, gave him a mocking salute and grin and passed through the door.
Natsu brought a whip. He also brought repressed feelings and a propensity for violence. Tony only had the pleasure of his company for a short time because then he passed out.
He whimpered when he woke, muscles immediately cramping up and spasming, making him gasp for air that was driven away by pain. Not my fault, not my fault ran the mantra in his head. Except that it was his fault, and he was to blame for the pain these people felt. Not his fault for their improper expression of that pain.
At some point someone must have untied him from the chair, because he was dumped on the cold concrete in a twisted heap. Fighting vertigo, he rolled over, vomiting the nothing that was in his stomach. He rolled back the other way to avoid the smell, stretching out so as much skin as possible touched the cold, regardless of how it made him shiver. Maybe if he was numb enough, he wouldn't feel the bruises, burns, and welts. Steve... Get here soon, he thought as he drifted out of touch with the world again.