This can't be it. I refuse to believe this is how our story will go.

At least, I hope it's not.

But each hour I spend bound a straight jacket in this nightmare, that hope dwindles. It also doesn't help that I'm cut off from the others, only able to be heard when Secretary of Defense Ross tries to convince me to say something and threatens to drag me off to some place worse. I struggle to imagine a more dismal situation than this.

A part of me keeps waiting for Dad to walk in and fix all this. I just wish I knew how long we've been here; at least then, I would know how much to hope. For all I know, days may have passed with Dad trying to make it here without trouble, or it may have been only a few hours dragged out by my sedated state.

There's a hissing sound, and I lean my head back against the hard wall to prepare for the next wave of nausea that comes with whatever they're pumping in here to keep me loopy. I swear, with a straight-jacket and sedation, you would think I was a dangerous international criminal or something. But then again, I suppose I kind of am now.

Everything spins under the soft, hazy coating that seems to blanket everything. I screw my eyes shut and curl my fingers into tight fists while I wait it out. "Don't go to sleep. You've just gotta make it stop." Tears spill out as quickly as the words, and I barely register my own rocking body.

There's chatter from the other cells, but I can barely register it as I try to fight off the exhaustion slowly threatening to drag me under. "Lia?" My Dad's voice calls out, and it takes me a long moment to realize that it's not in my own head. I look over to see him pressing a hand to the glass.

"Dad?" I call with a heavy slur and slide myself closer to the window to try to make out even the smallest details about him through the crappy glasses they gave me. "Are you really here?"

"Of course, did you really think I wouldn't come?" He asks with a harsh sadness as he crouches down so we can be at the same level. "I'm gonna make sure you can come home soon too. I promise."

"I'm glad, Dad." I sigh and rest my head against the glass as I feel myself falling back into the drug induced oblivion. "I knew you wouldn't just leave—"

My eyes struggle to open again underneath the heavy weight of my eyelids. A chill traces it's way across my skin as I take in the white room that seems glaringly bright despite the glasses. Yet, the chill is nothing compared to the surge of fear when I see the restraints—and the patch-mouthed monsters.

There's more of them then usual in these nightmares, but I know it's them. It's obvious in their demeanor, in how they rush around while chattering in their odd gibberish that makes my head spin more than already. I feel a small bit of relief wash over me when none of them seem to notice my semi-alert state.

Except, that quickly changes. One of them approaches, the patch of his mouth folding and pulling as the gibberish pours out of him. I reflexively tug on the restraints when he gets close.

The action sends pain radiating up my arms, and I barely have the frame of mind to notice the objects sticking out of my skin. It also gains the attention of the other monsters, who all try to shout over one another as they frantically rush around. "No, no, no." The cries tumble from my lips as I struggle to avoid their touch, but like always in these horrendously realistic nightmares, they get a strong hold of me with claws digging in.

Except this time, it all goes dark.

It's not until I'm wrapped in a comforting embrace the I wake up once again. My eyes blearily open up and blink away the haze to see who's holding me. "D-dad?"

He pulls away to look at me, tears building in his eyes and as mine trace over the cuts and bruises on his face. "I'm here, bug." He whispers as he pulls me back into him. "I'm here just like I promised."

"'Cause Starks keep their promises." I slur and wrap my arms around him, which I only now realize aren't tied up in the straight jacket. "What—what's going on?"

Dad pulls away and softly smiles as he helps me to my feet. "I'm taking you home, bug." My heart surges at the words. Home. I get to go home. No more straight jacket, constant nausea from anesthetics, or not being able to think straight. Instead, I'll be with Dad, able to sleep in my own bed, and even see my friends again.

It all quickly fades as I remember the others. "They can't leave. Can they?" Dad shakes his head as he helps me walk out. "How can I?" My voice is less slurred, words clear enough to actually be understood.

"Don't worry about it, kid. Just take care of yourself." Sam calls, clearly having heard the conversation. His eyes are full of tenderness as he nods to me in a silent affirmation that we'll be okay. That tenderness shift into something harsher as he meets my Dad's eye. "Be sure to keep her safe, Stark."

I furrow my eyebrows, wondering what he could mean and if I heard him right with my still-fuzzy brain. Although, I certainly don't imagine Dad's tightening grip as he nods in reply, obviously getting the message that I don't.

We make it out to the landing pad, where Ross angrily stares at us and says something to my Dad that I don't have the focus or energy to hear. Luckily for me, Dad brushes him off and helps into the helicopter. "Here, I figured you might be needing this." His voice is soft as he slides the barely fitting sunglasses off and replaces them with the upper half of my Phantom mask.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips at the sudden change in brightness and release of pain. There's a long stretch of silence between us, only broken by the sounds of the helicopter as we leave the nightmare prison behind.

"I'm sorry." I finally whisper once the Raft is far out of sight.

"Don't be," Dad whispers softly. "You only did what you believed was right—we all did. I can't be upset with you for being who you are or standing for something."

"What happened?" I question, easily noticing the somber, pained edge to his features, but he stays quiet, which answers my question. "I guess that's it then? We're all that's left of the Avengers?"

My eyes fall down to my fidgeting hands at the somber words. It's only then that I notice the lingering bruised on my wrists and the marks on my inner elbow. Dad seems to notice them too as he moves to check me over. His voice is full of fatherly concern as he asks, "Do you know how these happened?"

I search my brain for any semblance of an answer, but it's all a giant blank. This only seems to worry him more as his lips tug into a deep set frown. His brows furrow as he clearly puts together the pieces of something. Whatever it is, the answers only make him more frustrated and worried as they settle into lines on his face.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about right now. Just get some rest, bug." He tells me softly and lets me lean against him. His warmth is a stark contrast to the constant cold of my cell, and I find myself drifting off from the comfort and exhaustion.

Except, one thought lingers in the back of my mind amidst the happiness of going back to a somewhat normal life. It rings out and latches on until it seems burned into my eyelids as I fall asleep.

What happened to me back there?