Chapter Six:
Tyron sat at the bar stool counter, staring at his hands. He had never had a breakdown like that. At least, not in several years. He duly wondered if it would happen again, what would he do next time? What if he freaked out during a fight or something important? He could get killed, or someone else could get killed.
At the thought, Tyron drew out a shuddering breath, he didn't like killing people, it was messy and always got really bloody. It wasn't that he was a stranger too it — that was far from the truth, actually — it was simply that he didn't like how it turned him into something... Different. Strange and dangerous. It was a side of him that he wanted to keep hidden.
"Hey, Tyron?" Natasha spoke, and Tyron's head snapped up at her, "What do you want to eat?"
Tyron bit the inside of his cheek, "Where did Steve say 'e put the... Food for me?"
Natasha turned, moving to open up a cabinet, "Over here, but it's all just old metal pans. Maybe he—"
"That's it," Tyron cut Natasha off, rubbing the back of his head. "I, uh, don't eat real food. S'bad for me," he explained, dragging his feet as he took out one of the thin, short pans of metal. He began to chew on the side, as he moved to sit again.
Natasha stared at him, shocked and slightly concerned, "That's not—"
"M'insides are different an' shit," Tyron explained, not feeling up to the task of going into full detail. "I literally can't eat real food."
"Oh," Natasha pursed her lips, "Well, uhm, eat. I'll call the guys back in if you—"
"No!" Tyron said and Natasha turned to him, an eyebrow raised. Tyron shank, "I... I mean, uhm—"
"If you're afraid that they're going to do something to you, then don't be. They're good guys, despite their stupidity sometimes," Natasha assured with a smile.
"I–I know, I just..." Tyron's eyes darted away from the redhead, "Don't want 'em to see m'like this," he lied. "S'embarrassin', ya know?"
Natasha gave him a funny look, before chuckling, "Okay, sure." Tyron thanked her as he finished his breakfast.
"D'ya think there's anywhere I can go? Just to, like, get settled?"
"Course," Natasha nodded, "You can go stay on my floor, it's usually always empty, so you'll be fine." She led him out of the room and down the hall. Tyron had to hide his relief as he left the kitchen, that felt more like a jail cell, really.
Natasha led him to an elevator. The ride was so smooth as it descended, that Tyron could barely feel his surroundings change. The only indication that told him that he was moving was the occasional dinging every time they passed a floor.
Finally, the got to a floor labeled as 'Nat' from the electronic letters on the bluish screen, and Natasha stepped out. "I probably don't have any scrap metal lying around like Tony, but if you find some nuts or bolts that don't seem too important, then knock yourself out," Natasha told him.
Tyron could only stare at his surroundings, flabbergasted. The room was vast. There weren't 'doorways' separating the different rooms, but you could distinctly see which was which. The walls were painted a palish blue, giving off a comforting aura, however the furniture was much more sinister. There were two punching bags on one side of the room. One looked very worn down, as the other filled with knives jutting out of various places. A oversized throwing dart target took up half of one wall, except it was full of throwing knives, bullet holes, and a few arrows. Beside those two was several cushiony mats, probably used for sparring. On the other side of the room was a television set, which was off, and a black leather couch. Finally, there was a kitchen set near the wall where Tyron had stepped in.
"Make yourself at home," Natasha told him. She pointed down a open hall, where there were four doors closed. "There's a bathroom down that hall, a supply closet, and my bedroom, but you'll figure out which is which." Tyron only nodded, still taking in the sight. He had never seen so many knives in his life. "I have got to go, but if you need me, or anyone else, ask JARVIS. He'll help."
"В самом деле (Indeed)," JARVIS' voice responded.
"Wha'?" Tyron said, looking skyward where he assumed JARVIS to be.
"Oh, right. Джарвис, изменить настройки языка на английский (JARVIS, change the language settings to English). There, he should be fine now," Natasha gave him a grin.
"What language was that?" Tyron asked curiously.
"Russian. That's my first language," Natasha explained. Tyron nodded. He was never good at languages. He could remember back in middle school, he took Spanish, but now, the only think he remembered was 'No hablo ingles (I don't speak English)'. Although he's met a lot of people who are bilingual, he was never able to truly pick up on their language.
"Oh. Tha's cool, I guess," Tyron replied, scratching the back of his head.
Natasha smirked, "Well, I'll leave you here. Like I said, JARVIS will be able to help you with anything you need. Bye," She patted Tyron on the shoulder, making him tense, as she walked towards the elevator. Tyron waited until the doors closed to finally move.
"JARVIS?" Tyron called out.
"Yes, Mr. Tyron?"
"Where's th' nearest staircase?"
"Down the hall, second door on your left." Tyron nodded, following his directions. He opened the door to see a long staircase. Tyron nearly sighed, as he began to run down the steps, taking two at a time. At some points, he would need to stop to cough, but otherwise, he continued to run. The staircase was long, but that was reasonable, seeing as Stark Tower was a very tall skyscraper.
By the time he got to the last ten or so floors, he was getting very tired. He jogged down them, sluggishly. He knew he didn't have a lot left, but he was also getting extremely tired at the same time.
Tyron stopped at the second floor, and took a minute to catch his breath. When he was finally ready, he stepped out the door.
Tyron found himself in the lobby of the building — at least he assumed it was the lobby. There were receptionist at a few desks along the side, talking to the people in front of them, or chatting on the phone. Tyron pulled up his hood and began to walk briskly for the doors. There were a set of escalators and a staircase, and Tyron quickly jumped down. He glanced around warily, there were a quite a few security officers, some of them looking at him. One of the officers spoke into a communicator on his collar before approaching him. Tyron swore under his breath as the man stepped up to him.
"What do you think you're doing, son?" He demanded. He was a tall, white man, with faint freckles across his face. That didn't stop him from looking very intimidating, however.
"M'tryin' to leave, sir," Tyron explained.
"And how did you get in in the first place?"
Tyron bit his cheek, "M'school was havin' a field trip. I got separated. 'Ey said to go wait at th' restaurant across th' street if ya did. Tha's where m'going, sir."
The man gave him a mean glare before grabbing his arm, "Why don't you come into the back with me?" He spoke, his voice low. He didn't give Tyron an option as he dragged him into a enclosed room. When the man opened the door, he immediately knew it was empty. Tyron gulped down his anxiety as the man opened the door, then closed, and locked it behind him.
"So, tell me again what a little black nigger like you was trying to do?" Tyron glared at the man, not only because he knew his intentions were ill, but also because he called him 'nigger'. Not that he hasn't been called that before — he has, especially with Baron — but it was still highly offensive.
"I was tryin' to leave, sir," Tyron explained through gritted teeth. His eyes darted for any kind of metal, but the room was practically empty and only filled with storage boxes.
The man smacked him in the head, leaving Tyron reeling. Before he could respond, the man grabbed him by his shirt collar, lifting him up. "I don't like dirty kids like you in my lobby, boy," the man growled.
"Good," Tyron coughed, "I was just tryin' to leave."
"Are you being smart with me?"
"Well, m'not bein' stupid, am I?" The man shoved him to the ground. His head collided with the floor, causing stars to fill his vision.
"I'll show you what I do to smartass niggers like you," the man hissed. He began to kick him in his side, making Tyron curl up on himself. Then, he pulled out a baton on his waistband, and began to hit him with that. Tyron bit his lip ferociously in order to not cry out at the man's assaults. Blood spilt from his lips and he coughed on the marble-tile floor.
When the man finally finished hitting him, he picked him up, leaning him against one of the boxes, and began to use him like a punching bag. Tyron nearly lost consciousness, his knees giving out as he slumped against the wall. He wished he had the metal to fight back, but instead was forced to take the beating.
After nearly a half hour, Tyron was bloody and bruised, the man hadn't touched his face though, and Tyron knew exactly why. He was lying on the ground, coughing up the blood that was supposed to be in his body. The man was just looking at him, however proud with what he did to Tyron. "Next time, you, and all the other dirty niggers like you need to stay out of my lobby. Go back to fucking Africa where monkeys like you belong!"
Tyron didn't have the strength to respond, he was only trying to catch his breath. He was probably bleeding internally, or maybe he broke a rib, he wasn't sure. He knew he couldn't stay here though, especially if Steve found him. He needed to get out of the city, maybe go down to the Bronx, he had a few connections there. He wouldn't want them to see him in this condition, but he probably had no choice.
"Hey!" The man snapped, kicking him in the ribs. Tyron wheezed, pain exploding in that region. He doubled over, coughing and hacking up more blood. The man thew a rag at him, "Clean up your shit." Then, he spat, the majority of it landing on Tyron's face. Tyron was slow, since his chest and torso would burn whenever the tried to move, but he used the dirty rag to clean up the blood then wiped off the spit on his face.
It took Tyron several minutes to stand, but he finally did. He accidentally moved his fingers despite the cast on them, and winced at the pain that brought too.
The man grabbed him by the neck, wrapping his arm around him, as he pulled up his hoodie and brought him out the door. He got to the door where the metal detectors and a few more security guards were. "He was on a field trip and got separated," he explained. "There's a rendezvous point across the street for them, I'm just gonna walk him out." A few nodded, satisfied with his lies.
He finally got to the door, and was about to step out when someone shouted behind him. "Tyron!" It was Steve. Of course.
"Fuck," Tyron swore, earning a sharp jab in the side from the man beside him. He winced when he injured a sensitive point.
"Captain America," The man saluted Steve and he smiled. "It's an honour to meet you, sir."
"Thank you," Steve replied. "I apologize, he is with me."
The man stared at him for a second, a dark look passing his face, "Of course, sir," the man replied through clenched teeth, pushing Tyron over roughly. Tyron tried to stand straight, but ended up hugging his torso, holding back a hiss in pain.
"Thank you, I appreciate it," Steve replied, taking Tyron by the arm and walking him back in the Tower. Tyron snatched his arm away from the man, glaring at him. He could feel the other security guard glowering holes in the back of his head, but he didn't care.
Steve made it to the elevator, and was lucky enough to get an empty one. "What were you trying to do?"
Tyron coughed twice before attempting to answer, "Leave," it came out in a croak.
"Why? You're still sick!" When Tyron didn't respond, Steve let out a sigh, "Let me see your hands."
"Hell no," Tyron glared.
"I need to see how they're healing."
"Why can't Doctor Banner do tha'?" Tyron grumbled, "I don't want ya anywhere near me."
"Why? What did I do?" Steve asked, almost sounding hurt.
"Ruined my—" he didn't get to finish his sentence when he suddenly began to cough again. Blood splattered on his sleeve, but he quickly hid it before Steve could see. "I don't wanna talk," He grumbled. Steve gave him a look, but sighed, and waited for the elevator doors to open.
On the other side stood Tony, who grinned as the two stepped out, "Found the escapee?" Tony mused. Tyron shot him a glare as he stepped out of the elevator, his arms folded over his chest. "What's with the face?" Tony said, poking his cheek. Tyron almost snapped his teeth at the man, knowing they were strong enough to tear his whole finger off, but decided against it. Instead, he slapped his hand away, and continued to walk down the hall.
"Well, ya 'ave m'ere, wha' do ya want?" Tyron grumbled at the blonde man.
"To make sure you weren't going to go out and do something stupid," Steve replied, and Tyron shot him a glare.
"I told ya I didn't need a fuckin' babysitter!" Tyron snapped at the two. Tony seemed to relish in his anger, and forced an arm around his shoulders.
"You're adorable," Tony teased. Tyron bared his teeth at him, and Tony chuckled, "What's got you so angry, Metalhead?"
"Leave m'alone," he grumbled. Tony huffed, but gave him a pat on the back. It was a friendly gesture, and wouldn't have hurt as much as it did, if his injuries weren't so recent.
Tyron hissed, his hand reaching to rub the throbbing air. As if on cue, his lungs began to burn and caused him to fall into another coughing fit. Tony as Steve stared at him as he nearly fell to his knees as he coughed into his arm. By the time he finished, he was feeling lightheaded and faint.
Tyron noticed Steve staring at his face, and swore, moving his sleeve to wipe at his mouth, but it was already too late. "You're coughing up blood!?" He demanded. Tyron didn't respond, as the man advanced on him. "What happened? Is it that bad?"
"Leave m'alone," Tyron grumbled with a coarse voice. "M'fine."
"No you're not!" Steve grabbed his arm that he was coughing into. Tyron tried to pull away as he stared at his arm, but his grip was like iron. He could feel his heart beginning to race as Steve inspected his arm with anger and concern.
"Leave m'alone!" His voice was panicked, he could feel Baron's grip tightening. He pulled again, grinding his teeth, blood pounding in his ears.
"No! We need to get you to Banner! Tony—" Steve cut himself off, staring at Tyron's panicked, terrified expression. "What? Tyron—"
"Let go. Let go, please," he was begging at this point, his voice shuddering in fear. Steve let go of him immediately, and Tyron stumbled away, his own hand wrapping around where Steve had his arm. Absentmindedly, he massaged it, slowly calming himself down.
"Hey, hey, Tyron," Tony spoke, his voice slow and steady. Tyron turned to the man, waiting and staring, "Good. JARVIS, scan his heart rate."
"Mr. Tyron's heart rate is going back to normal levels. He should be fine in approximately two minutes," the AI responded.
"I'm sorry," Steve apologized.
Tyron turned away from him, allowing himself to let go of his hand. "M'fine. Just don't touch m'no more," he was really quiet as he spoke, and didn't meet Steve's eyes.
Steve nodded, agreeing with that decision as Tony pointed out, "We still have to get you to Banner to check out that coughing though." Tyron groaned.