stiles in new york

is peace even real?

Tony's pov

As we are all sitting on the plane, none of us have failed to put the most scared, sad or even mad look on our face.

We were all so mad and scared of what happened to stiles, his ribs were showing, his body was covered in endless scars that were not there before, his eyes look sunken and dark bags were laying under them.

He looked absolutely broken, shattered, ripped to shreds and worst of all he didn't look remotely like himself.

He was laying with his head on my lap as I brush his hair with a soothing rhythm hoping that this would stop the boy from shivering from fear, we turned the heat so high that we had to take our suits off and put more weather appropriate clothes on.

But he just won't stop shivering, he's like a little kid that just came home from playing out with his friends all day in the winter, completely drenched in melted snow making the chances of a cold inevitable.

It's a weird protective feeling I have as he's lying here, all messed up. And all I can think about is giving him help in any way humanly possible.

I want to fix him.

I need to fix him.

I'll make him eat until his ribs are hidden under a safe layer of fat, I'll buy make-up products to hide the tattoo hydra gave him, I'll even try to remove it permanently, I'll make him sleep a hundred years if that's what it takes to make him well rested.

But what is bothering me Is that there are two things on my list that I can't help him with, that I can't fix for him and that I definitely can't make go away.

The red and white lines that cover up his body, the ones that were self inflicted and the ones he had no choice or part take in. The ones that were forced on him.

He was stuck with them, he was filled with lines that could only remind him of pain. There were no fun stories behind his scars.

No 'oh yeah me and my friends had this crazy night a-'. No none of that, it will actually be pure pain attached to him. Like a constat reminder of what he went through.

His body must be his worst enemy.

And if that's not bad enough, let me tell you what is. He won't remember, not me, not his dad, not his uncle, not Derek not anyone.

He won't remember the nights we spend in the lab or the fun we had throwing cereal at Clint hoping he didn't see us hidden behind the corner.

He won't remember anything.

I would be surprised if he even knew his name. It's just painful to know that all the trust we had built and the relationship between us is gone.

No more tony and mischief at it again, no more playing around with technology like kids with toy cars, no more nights filled with star wars and him ranting about how good it is.

None of that. We have to start all over again and what's even worse is he probably doesn't know himself yet so he'll have to get to know himself which, I assure you, will take long.

And the only person who could possibly understand how he must be feeling is Bucky and I doubt that they had the same experience.