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Snowflake	By : LordStrawberry Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Avengers, The Views: 3323 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, the Avengers, Thor nor any other Marvel Universe fandoms or characters. I do not gain profit from this..

Chapter List
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It had all happened way too fast. One second Loki was on the floor, reeling, the next he was jumping towards Natasha and Clint, the familiar golden shimmer engulfed them, and gone they were.

And Anthony Stark was left behind, sitting in a wheel chair, too weak to stand up, to weak to hold in his own piss.

His mind was not damaged though. He could still process what he was seeing just fine. And what he saw was two of his comrades freeing the villain they claimed to hate so much and in return being saved by him. A thing Tony understood. They had raised their hands to free him, they would have been done for. Now they were on his side, and he had taken them with him.

Part of him wanted to be glad. He wasn't the only one on Team Loki anymore. There were more so-called traitors. Hey, they could be their own group now! Just like Loki had wanted to begin with. His own set of allies.

Yet there was one small but important aspect to the situation, that troubled Tony. Him.

He was left behind and very, very helpless.

And then there was this other thing. He knew the location of Loki's hideout. Nothing said he would use it again, he was no idiot. But the fact alone, that he knew of one of the god's hideouts might just be enough for Fury to cause him trouble.

Thor and Steve just stood there, faces blank. Banner was probably still hulking out somewhere. So it was down to those two, if he wanted protection.

"Did you know of this?", his voice was so thin he barely heard himself and he hated it. He wanted to go for commanding, instead he had gotten near-death, still.

Thor was fidgeting, it didn't suit him.

"The fight was done. We needed to contain my brother. I never meant for you to get hurt."

His eyes spoke truth, yet his voice wavered slightly. Sure, he never truly wanted anyone to get hurt. But when it came to his brother, he was willing to make exceptions and Fury could be very persuasive to extract just such an exception from just about anybody.

"Look, Tony.", Steve, "I don't know what happened back there, but you know we can't just let him go. It is only a matter of time till he turns on us again. I can not take that risk."

Tony could not truly blame them for anything. The nuke had been his idea to begin with, sort of. He had only himself to blame for telling those two. And when its course needed to be corrected, the Thunderer had stood down quickly, but again, that did not equal getting him hurt. It was on him. What was not on him, however, was using an injured man as lure. He was not cool with that.

The thought of the look on Loki's face as he realised he had been betrayed, he would never forget it. All he could do was hope that the god did not blame him for it. Flashes of a kiss snuck into his memory and almost made him smile, hadn't they come at such a bitter price. He had nearly died.

And Loki had mourned, that and his near-death-experience battled for dominance over his mind.

Loki and that dear, loving kiss were chased from his thoughts abruptly, as his wheel-chair was moved and a quick glance behind him revealed Fury in all his one-eyed, black-leather glory and Tony's heart sunk.

"Thor, Cap... now would be a good time to take a fellow Avenger home, okay? Stark Tower? Or maybe Malibu? Malibu sounds nice."

Both of them just had blank stares to give him and from behind Fury laughed.

"You know just as well as I that we still have work to do, Stark. Debriefing awaits."

The last words were said with a malice that made Tony's blood freeze in his veins.

"Seriously, Fury... I am injured here, I need to-", don't beg, "Please let me go...?" Damn.

He tried to stand, the movement of his wheel-chair did not make it easier and the doomed attempt was only regarded with another laugh and a gloved hand pressed him back down, almost gently.

"We have excellent medical care back in the headquarter, don't worry, Stark."

With one last glance at his two fellow Avengers he finally gave in and let himself be defeated by unconsciousness.

________________________

Clint had awoken soon after and together he an Natasha had managed to bring the half-conscious god backstage, where they found a bed in one of the rooms. Convenient.

"Do you think this was their last hideout?", the Hawk asked.

"Seems like it. It certainly looks lived in. Let's get him onto the bed."

As they had him lying down, rolled over and covered with a blanket ("He looks cold...") they finally sat down next to him and exchanged a long look.

"We are Starks now.", Clint said.

"Traitors, you mean?"

"Yeah. And I have no idea why the hell I let you talk me into this."

Natasha laughed at that.

"I did not say a word. You are well capable of making your own decisions."

"I don't want to be a Stark though. Have you seen, what he did to the guy?"

"Kissed him? Is that what you mean? I don't think he'll try that with you, though."

Clint threw her a look of mock hurt.

"Ouch."

Behind them Loki stirred and tried to sit up.

"You have to go... get him back. Get him back here, before they take him. Please, it's important."

"Shh, keep still. They have already taken him, I'm sure. There is not much we can do now. S.H.I.E.L.D will expect us to come after him. The only shot we have is with your magic, and I am guessing we still have to wait some time for that."

The god only struggled weakly against his blanket, but gave up quickly, as he had to recognize the extent of his fatigue. He was in no fit state to do anything, let alone use magic.

"I... I need him, though. I need him here.", he managed weakly, "I thought him lost to me."

"We will get him back, in time. What is important now is, whether or not he knows this place. Fury will interrogate him."

Loki groaned at that. If that was directed at the possibility to be discovered or the interrogation Tony would face, no one could say.

"We need to go get him. We must! They blocked my spell, I don't know what else they will be able to do against me. If they suspect me as their enemy, maybe they will not be as alert to your presence."

Natasha doubted that, but she hesitantly agreed to work out a plan with Clint. A plan that did not stack the odds completely against them. Not an easy task.

Loki fell asleep soon after, the strain of the last battle had dug deep into the hollows of his face, he looked all angles and edges, half-starved and very, very tired.

They had decided on a first plan, to begin mission 'Iron-Retriever' (corny name courtesy of Clint Barton) and wasted no time entering stage one.

Stage one, also known as 'Awaken the Dragon', proved easier than expected, keeping in mind the coma like state Loki was in. He woke easily enough.

On to stage two of the plan.

'Food for the Gods'

Easy. Loki worked his little concealment magic and shifted himself into the form of a doe-eyed young woman. Innocent enough. They then proceeded to buy food, a lot of it, with a credit card Natasha had nicked earlier.

They then went on to stage three, as in 'Batcave' (Clint got tired) and they did not need to search for long. Amusing enough, an abandoned movie theater caught Loki's eye and so it was settled.

Natasha argued that it was too similar and not far away enough, too easily figured out.

"Do they really think me this stupid? Or you, for that matter?"

And Loki was right, they probably didn't.

So they had found a new home, and they had food.

Mission accomplished.

Loki would have liked to do more, but even he could not deny the strain their little adventure had put on him and it would not do, to expect more from mere mortals than he did from himself. So he let them rest, huddled into comfortably cushioned, dark blue cinema chairs.

Tomorrow though, tomorrow they would get Tony back.

____________________________

The nausea had come just as the doctor had promised. Along with it came a skull-splitting headache, which on its own would have rendered him helpless. And then there was the fever that was spiking higher and higher and effectively left him a weakened mess piled up in the corner of his tiny cell.

And then there was the noise.

The music was blaring at a near-deafening volume, the repetitive rhythm and shrill vocals pounded his head-ache-stricken mind mercilessly, and all he wanted to do was die.

Pressing desperate hands onto his ears did not do much to dampen the sound. It still left him vibrating with the aggressive bass tune, that turned his stomach inside out, along with the pre-existing case of nausea he owed to the radiation sickness.

The light was another thing. It was blinding and never stood still. There were colours too, stroboscope light flashed in irregular pattern and all he could think was "I am about to faint." over and over again, and then "Why am I not fainting?".

Why wasn't he? His systems were awash with stimulants, the occasional downer here and there to keep him from having a stroke, oh sweet mercy that was.

When they had come the first time he had expected to be interrogated.

He knew it was to early. He was suffering, but he was not broken.

They hadn't come to interrogate. They had come for something different and one short glance at the piece of cloth and bucket of water was enough to drive deep terror into every fiber of his being.

He remembered distantly how he had freaked, started to scream, had tried to get away. All in vain. As they had bent him backwards over the sorry excuse for a bed, covered his mouth and nose with the damp rag and poured water over his face, nothing in the world could have saved his sanity. The horror when he felt his throat close up, the violent gagging against water-masses that were not there, he had been thrashing in their vise-like grips, fighting with everything they had, but hopelessly in vain.

Then it had stopped and he had lain there, eyes open and unseeing, his breath coming in violent pants and the faint memory of a loving kiss on his lips had disappeared into the void, drowned by the pain, the terror of this, and he had cried.

Then the music had started again and the lights had come back and he threw up water until there was nothing left.

That's what it must feel like to be electrocuted in slow motion. All the impulses were beating him up, thrashing him around, and the only time it would stop, they would resume their other kind of torture. The wet one, that made him die over and over again.

That was the rhythm they had set for him. Over and over again.

By now he was begging to be interrogated.

Loki would be alright, wouldn't he? They had probably moved by now, for sure. It would not harm anybody to tell Fury, right? He would feed him the useless truth if he wanted it. He did not know more than this anyway, right?

But Fury did not ask. Maybe he didn't think him broken enough. Maybe he wanted to be sure. And so the vicious rhythm resumed over and over and over and over again and all Anthony Stark wanted was peace, stillness. Death.

It might have been days, might have been minutes, when he was finally moved.

They entered his cell with lots of harsh shouts and barked commands, before he could even begin to comprehend what was happening they had already gripped him under the arms and dragged him out like a ragdoll.

He was thrown into a nearly empty room, only one very comfortable looking armchair stood at the wall, facing the door he had just been hauled through.

"Have a seat.", the all too familiar voice of Nick Fury suggested. Not 'commanded', not even 'asked'... suggested. Like one might suggest an old friend might want another cup of tea.

The tortured mind of Tony Stark complied and he slowly scrambled towards the seductive piece of furniture.

It gave in as he slumped into it, the soft cushioning was a balm on his strained limbs, the sweet, sweet silence the song of salvation for his ears and the dim light in the room was ready to let dearly needed sleep take him into her arms.

"Uh, not yet!", warned Fury and motioned for someone to sound a horn.

Tony jerked up, the sudden movement shaking battered body and mind alike.

Fury gripped him by the neck of the hospital gown he was still in and pulled him closer, eye to eye.

"Where is he."

The tiny moment of serenity had prompted an unwanted flashback, and suddenly there had been a body behind him, arms around him and the steady breath of another against his neck.

He wanted to say it, he really wanted to. But there was the one memory he liked to believe had kept him sane so far, and he did not feel like soiling it with his betrayal.

He had never been one for diplomacy, and so he spat in Fury's face.

A thing he should not have done, but he knew that, of course.

He was let alone then. And each time sleep tempted him, the horn's uproar tore him apart limb by limb until there was nothing left but a pile of flesh and bones, loosely held together by the last strings of sanity. Sweet darkness, mind-flaying noise, gentle stillness, gut-wrecking chaos... it went on and one. He could not cry anymore. His face contorted, but there were no tears left to accompany the dry sobs that shook his body and he screamed, his throat sore and hoarse from the last session of waterboarding he had endured.

Nothing in the world could drive fear into him like the horn could. In this room it became the enemy, the Satan that brought hell upon him. He dreaded its sound, knew when it would come. The intervals were nearly steady, off only by seconds. The fearful anticipation had him rigid and unbreathing, only to fall into a fit of hyperventilation when the sound hit.

When Fury came again, someone had removed the top of Tony's head and let the brain sizzle in the comfortable warmth of the room. It felt raw and exposed, ready to be picked and poked at. Fury could see right inside anyway, why bother speaking. Yet when the director asked Tony answered. He started with an empty warehouse and ended in a soul-consuming kiss in the midst of dying monsters and burning skyscrapers.

He told him everything.

_______________________________

Oh damn. I did not know I was capable of this. I guess my H/C-addiction has awoken once again.

I hope none of you mind and maybe some can appreciate some... cruelty... I must be a very sick person, but I do enjoy intensity of that kind, as long as it's only words.
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Snowflake