Tears hurt. Did you know that?

I've been crying for the past day and a half. My eyes are constantly wet and tired and I have nothing left in me. I want to go home so bad...

But I can't. It's not just the zip ties holding me here anymore, it's myself.

I'm saving Peter. If I act up, he'll hurt Peter. Not him. Not my Peter.

I'll die here.

By this time, I had memorized every part of August's face. I knew what he looked like, where the curves and dips were and I could probably give a proper detailed description for a sketch in my sleep.

I also couldn't deny now how much I resembled him.

The walls around me were familiar now, too. Too bright white, and old musty cracks that twisted their way down to the floor. Along with the familiar sounds came the familiar hunger. Just like the tears, this hurt. My stomach was empty and ached like horrible period cramps but sharp. It growled and protested and whined, as I felt like doing.

In short, I was miserable. Not only my emotional state, but also physical. My stupid face was swollen and bruised, I'm sure, and mottled with blue and purple and green.

My stupid brain was oozing out of my ears as well, taking my sanity with it. With the silent treatment from Sinclair, my mind was loosing it.

I deserve this.

I deserve to be tortured.

I don't deserve Peters love.

I don't deserve to get out of this.

Not alive.

I stumbled awake, groggy. I wiped my face with a hand, sitting up from my slumped position on the desk. Papers were thrown all over the place, leads and information we knew about where she could be. I felt empty and hollow.

Mr. Stark was no where to be found, while Mr. Rhodes had his head in his hands, sitting in front of me.

"Mr. Rhodes? Are you alright...?" I dared to question, my head tilting to one side. I knew the answer, no one was 'alright' lately.

A silent lapsed between us for minutes before he gave a shuddering breath and pulled his hands away from his face. "I've failed her, kid. I was supposed to protect her from him and now..."

"It's not you're fault. I feel bad too, I promised..."

"Don't." His voice cut mine off, sharp. "You don't get to blame yourself for this, Peter. She had three super heroes in the house with her. There was nothing we could do..."

I fell silent at his rebuke and began to study the papers before me. I heard Tony come back into the room, but I didn't bother to look up to register his presence. "I've alerted the rest of them about the situation. Bucky and Steve are working around the clock to find her."

Then being the Avengers.

It must be serious.

My chin touched my chest as my head hung low. Everything hurt, that I knew, but my brain didn't register it as pain anymore. I felt groggy and swollen.

My head was yanked up by my hair by Sinclair. I bit my lip so I wouldn't protest as my head screamed from the sudden movement. Once the throbbing eased to a dull roar behind my eyes, I noticed August placing a newspaper in my lap. It was today's paper, the date sprawled across the top. A camera flashed, and he snatched what he had given me again.

My phone let off a quiet chirp as I pulled papers to look at them more closely. I skimmed the words and held it up to Rhodey. "Do you think this could be it?"

While he was looking at the paper given to him, I pulled out my phone and froze. A picture flashed on screen, texted to me by August. I clenched my eyes closed as I handed my phone to Mr. Stark.

He took it quickly as I slumped into my chair, pulling at my wild hair. They were silent for a few moments before James spoke up. "This might be it, kid. This was a training facility we were at our first few months. It closed down after a while... He would still have access to it and the picture resembles it."

I shook my head as he mentioned the picture. Her face was a mottled array of colors, swollen and painful just to look at. An eye was swollen shut and her lips dry and cracked. Oh, how I wanted to hold her again. The newspaper in her lap conveyed a different message.

I read between the lines. Clock is ticking. Do something today or lose her tomorrow.

Sinclair had been gone for hours. Since everything was numb, I fought desperately to loosen the ties binding my hands. I could feel the trickle of hot sticky blood drip down my fingers as the plastic ate into my skin even more. I didn't care. Not that I could feel it anyways.

My heart soared as I pulled one hand through the plastic loops. I nearly yelled a hallelujah when I saw it in front of my face. A giant gash slashed across my wrist where the plastic had been.

My eyes wandered to the table sitting beside me. Needles and syringes were lined up perfectly in neat rows. A shiny silver gun sat closest to me, with little bullets beside it. I leaned and growled in pain as I reached for the weapon.

My finger tips kissed the metal ever so slightly and I harrumphed, frustrated. One last push, and I was able to get a grip.

The door creaked open and my torturer came in once more.