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Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of H/C Bingo
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Published:
2012-12-28
Words:
635
Chapters:
1/1
Kudos:
18
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2
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684

Blood Loss

Notes:

Written for both an hc_bingo prompt and a prompt on the avengerskink meme.

Work Text:

There is a hard kick that wakes him up first before he distantly realizes that he isn't with the other Avengers or at the Tower. Which also explains the concerning gap in his memories and he groans when one of his hands brush the bump on his head. He is woozy enough that he only vaguely hears the false niceties and threats that are made towards his person.

Mentally he hopes that the Avengers will find him soon before anything happens to him. He likes to thing that the Avengers know one another well enough that they will rescue each other if needed. At least he hope that is the case when they have only been a team for less than four months.

His head, and vision clears enough that he raises head to glare at them even as one of the goons pulls him up roughly to face their shadowy leader.

“What do you want with me hm? Fancy clothes? New and improved weapons? The arc reactor that powers my Tower? 'Cause let me tell you, it did not work out well for the last group that held me.”

“Very tempting, Mr. Stark. But no, that is not why you are here. No, there is a different plan for me to use with you.”

He tries not to cry out when they stab cleanly him once in each thigh and make tiny slices on both wrists, before leaving him alone in the dark room. He knows that if he doesn't try to do something, that he will die here alone before the other Avengers can find him. But first he wants to rest his eyes just a little and then he'll start patching himself up.

Just a little rest first.

He feels like he's floating while he can feel the stickiness of his own blood soaking into his skin and drenching his clothes as it slowly pools around him, when it just barely registers to him that there are people yelling around him and someone else is touching him, pushing him gently to move. It doesn't feel like Bruce's hands, no calluses just smooth skin. Probably Steve then, he thinks blearily as his head and neck shift on their accord.

“Tony? Are you with us man?”

“... -ave to tell t-them of their i-importance t me...”

Obviously he is not, he wants to say that and much more but doesn't have the energy for it. Then he's gone.

0000

He's not sure how it happened or how they found him, but he's slowly coming to and he distantly recognizes the sounds of hospital equipment. He wonders briefly how this new situation happened and if it was all lie concocted by the guy who had taken him.

Being weak like this sucks.

He hates weakness like this. Especially in himself, when his father had taught him to not be weak. He's not so lost in his thoughts that he hears a shift of something next to him and he weakly tenses in the bed as mass movement happens around him. So obviously he's not alone in this room, he thinks blearily as the faces of Natasha, Bruce, and Steve swim into his blurry focus. He opens his mouth to speak, but one of them speaks quickly cutting him off before he can even form a decent sentence.

“Don't worry, Tony. We will take care of you now. Just rest.”

He knows they will. Protect and take care of him that is. In return for allowing them to live in his home, they take care of him as one of their own when no one else can.

He nods off to the feeling of gentle hands on some part of his body that didn't happen to be his wrists or the injury sites on his upper thighs.

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