Chapter Text
Tony wakes with a groan. His head is throbbing, and for one bright, bittersweet moment, he’s sure he’s recovering from a late night - early morning - party, that his Mjolnr sized migraine is from alcohol, and his aching body is from partying too hard, like the quote un quote good old days.
Then he cracks an eye open and discovers the floor his cheek has likely been pressed to for hours is cement, there’s a little pool of dried blood by his head, which doesn’t bode well in the way of a concussion, and the word “Jarvis” dies on his lips.
He pushes himself up from where he’d been laying face down on the floor, immediately regretting the sloshing of his head’s insides. He’d curl up again if he didn’t think sudden movements would exacerbate the problem. He can tell, in this moment, just how fragile and human his body truly is, like a glass full of wine, and any crack could prove fatal.
Which reminded him, where the hell was his suit?
“What the f-“ He begins, but he’s hushed from the shadows to his right.
His vision is slightly blurry, and he’s squinting because the cold grey light filtering in through the bars of the prison room is ridiculously painful on his head. He turns very slowly and slightly to face the shadows.
“You’re finally awake.” The person whispers, “About time.”
“I’m gonna try again.” Tony says, voice now lowered, “What the everlasting fuck?”
He probably knew them, or at least he hopes so, he just couldn’t distinguish their voice over the buzzing in his ears.
“You were drugged. We both were. I am certain they used the same thing on you as on me, which is probably why you’re not handling it well, although the doses were likely less for you. You threw up before you passed out.” He thinks a blurry arm gestures towards a corner of the room where, yes, it looks like something had been thrown up. How pleasant.
“Right.” Tony mumbled, putting a hand to his forehead, and finding he did, indeed, have a fever, “You think it has shellfish as a main ingredient? I might be allergic to shellfish. Man, you’d think a kidnapper would do more research on potential victims’ allergies. No way to get ransom money if they die from peanuts.”
The person remains silent, obviously not one to participate in his stress and slightly panic induced humor, “Well I’ve had my share of kidnappings, and there is very little likelyhood that this can be worse than the last time.”
The voice very quietly agrees.
Tony’s got a sinking feeling, but he can’t for the life of him think why. It’s like the moment he’d been told this was a kidnapping, his brain had realized something but forgotten to let him in on it. Shit.
“What do you remember?” The voice says carefully as Tony slowly edges himself out of the direct, painful light until his back is against a cool wall.
“Honestly? I don’t… the last thing I remember is… I don’t know, I was in my kitchen. Shit!” The sudden and explosive admission, though whispered, caught both of them off guard.
“What?” The other person across the room hissed.
“I left my omelette on the stove. Man, I hope Jarvis turned it off.” Tony said in a daze.
The person across the room stayed almost worryingly silent.
“What?” Tony said, forgetting he was supposed to keep his voice down, “What is it?”
“Shhhh, nothing. I’m sure your robot didn’t let your eggs burn.” It said exasperatedly, almost annoyed, but willing to do whatever it took to keep Tony quiet.
“So why do we need to whisper?” Tony began, just as one of the cell doors was shoved open with tremendous force.
“That’s why!” The person hissed as something large and extremely ugly walked into the dim light. Giant hands reached out and they were each hauled up by a giant, hairy…minotaur thing?? Tony wasn’t sure. He was more kept up on astrological thermodynamics than any yeti nonsense.
Still, not your run of the mill kidnapping. Fan-fucking-tastic. Tony couldn’t catch a break, could he?