Tortured Genius (A Marvel Fanfiction: Reader Insert)

Chapter 2: Show Stoppin' Number

The night was silent.

Only the hum of the Bus told the tale of a presence on board. Deep inside, the cell was dark.
It smelled rank, and spots of blood danced on the floor within the shadows, since Quinn hadn't ever gotten cleaned up after May smashed his face in.

But it was your thoughts and your racing brain that kept you wide awake.

You'd been tempted to destroy it once, your brain, but it was was kept you alive and breathing so you decided to not.

GH.325, the miracle drug that saved Coulson, bringing him back from the dead, could save Skye. And the team was going to look for it at the Guest House.

And they were letting you come along.

But I'm changeable. Insane. Mental. You thought, beginning to chant it in your head.

Changeable.

Mental.

Insane.

Chang-

When you paused, it wasn't because you'd drifted off to sleep, or someone interrupted you.

It was because out of the dark blue the cell door had opened with a long squeak, a figure filling the space of escape.

Standing, you squinted, yet couldn't see a thing but the figure in black. An intruder, or Phil wanting to have a midnight talk?

Either was okay, because you weren't getting much rest anyways and you figured you could take on a random intruder.

Only, with a glance at Quinn, asleep, you knew something was up. If it was someone he feared, he'd be awake and all ears. If it was one of the team, he'd be awake but definitely not all ears. And he was asleep.
This was not a random person. It was someone he knew personally.

Their hand placed itself on your shoulder, firmly. It was a worn looking hand, green veins could be seen clearly. Yet as close as the intruder was, they were still shrouded in the blackness, and that was as far as your deductions went.

"Who-" you started, then reeled back as a fist connected with your jaw, and you staggered into the corner, the person advancing with quick, easy paced strides.

Tall. They were tall. Six foot three? That's all you had.
Ward? May? Trip? Garett? Coulson?

Raising your hands in attempt to protect your face, you made an ice wall, which only covered the top part of your frame. So the person went for your gut instead, hooking a cross right into your ribs as you doubled over, coughing and spitting, beginning to cry out for help.

In seconds the small ice wall shattered and the third punch collided with your ear, the fourth bombing your nose and your cry was cut short with a spurt.

"Stop!" You hacked, blood flowing freely down your face and some dripping into your mouth. "Ack! St-"

A knife hand caught the edge of your neck, cutting you off. Sixth swing of their arm your right ear. Seventh and eighth punches slaughtering your hands that were still trying to save you.

Hardly getting a bearing, your threw a punch and tripped the assailant, shooting ice and freezing them to the ground. Unfortunately, you got within eye level of them when they dragged you to the floor and a boot jabbed your ribs again.

Pain flared up, and you heard a gasp and with a fleeting glance saw Ian awake. The gasp, though.

The gasp wasn't one of surprise, it was one of glee and encouragement. To the attacker, not yourself.