My first fic in a while. Anyway I hope you enjoy. For those who have followed me as an author here this is my first Marvel fic. I've been into the young avengers for quite a while now but this is the first time I'm submitting anything online about them. Please feel free to review. I love reading any feedback. This really focuses on Tommy and what happened to him in prison so this may come off a little ooc. Hopefully not. This is set before the newest series but after everything else. Again I know there's nothing written factually about Tommy's time in prison so hopefully this doesn't suck. This is all memory based too so hopefully it isn't confusing. Or is at least better than my ridiculous ramble right now.

He opened his eyes and immediately wished he'd kept them closed. Tommy found himself strapped tightly to an operating table surrounded by doctors. His initial thought was to vibrate himself out of the restraints but the constant mild electric shock pulsing through the restraints kept him from being able to concentrate hard enough on them. What the hell was he going to do and how'd he get into this situation?

The last thing he remembered was getting ready to ride the big roller coaster at six flags on the Kaplan family trip. How had he ended up in the hands of some twilight zone scientists?

He searched his surroundings flinching with each shock. Familiarity prickled at the back of his mind. He knew this place and these people. He started struggling. He needed to get back. He would not let them do anything to him ever again.

These were the doctors from the prison he'd been kept in before being liberated by the young avengers. Doctor Dick, he'd named him years ago, picked up the all too familiar scalpel sneering down at him.

"This is going to hurt Thomas," he said.

Tommy didn't doubt him, it always hurt. Which was the point. They'd always tried to see how much his speedy healing would let his body take before it gave up trying to keep him alive. For years he hoped his body would just give out. Looking at that scalpel, no knife. He wouldn't let himself pretend they were professionals. He'd met professionals and they had compassion for people, even mutants.

As the knife came closer to his stomach he stayed silence. Once they officially started there would be plenty of noise coming out of him.

He felt the first burn of the blade cutting through his skin and kept as silent as possible. But as the psycho cutting him up kept cutting he let out a whimper closely followed by a scream. At this rate he'd be too hoarse to make any sounds in no time. At least then he'd be too tired for much else, including most of the pain.

"Thomas. Today we will be testing the speed your body can heal and if the depth of the wound will change anything."

He hated when people called him Thomas because of this. While at prison he was always called Thomas. He was never a him, it or that, only Thomas. Prep Thomas for operation. Thomas this is going to hurt, a lot. Thomas is a remarkable specimen. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.

The worst part about everything is that he may heal faster than a normal human but he didn't heal like wolverine. If they broke his arm he'd need it set to heal. If they cut his ligaments or tendons, he needed them surgically reattached. Something that had always angered the psychos.

The one silver lining to the entire situation was that the psychos didn't operate on him. He was rushed down to the emergency ward to be treated for his wounds if they'd done too much damage to them. He'd get pain killers and all kinds of drugs to make him numb. It was a blissful 5-10 minutes for him. His accelerated healing also meant burning through the drugs faster than a normal human. He'd woken up mid operation more than a handful of times. They'd started inducing coma's to keep him out while he was on the table. But a drug induced coma is still something his body could burn through and he'd eventually wake up on his own without side effects, which was apparently strange.

Retreating into his own mind and memories hadn't stopped the barrage on his body. The psycho's had continued cutting him up, each cut a different depth. He didn't realise how soar his throat had been getting until then.

It had been hours since they'd started experimenting on him. The clock on the wall said it had only been 1 hour but he knew better, it had been hours. His body had stopped trembling, he'd stopped screaming and now he just lay waiting for them to stop. Hope had died in him years ago. He felt that overwhelming emptiness he'd had before meeting the young avengers creeping up on him. This was it. There was no escape.

The tears sliding down his face had tried and crusted. The blood dripping from his body was constant. He stared at the ceiling waiting for the black spots to start and his vision to blur so he could be moved out of the room but nothing happened. Something was terribly wrong. Had they learned some way to keep him conscious to keep it the torture going until they decided they'd had enough?!

The hopelessness disappeared leaving cold blind panic.

If they'd figured some way to keep him going they'd never stop. He wouldn't just run out of steam and be left with time to recuperate, no this would go on forever. They'd start taking shifts so they could have breaks but he'd still be laying there too tired to scream anymore and in too much pain to sleep. They were going to kill him this time.

"Billy, help."

It was the only words he'd said the entire time. In a last ditch attempt to find help he called out for his twin.

The tears started again. This time they weren't because of the pain, he was drowning in his own sorrow and clinging desperately to the one last shred of hope he'd found buried deep inside himself.

"Billy! Please come find me!"

They were the last words he'd be able to say. The psycho's muzzled him. He looked at them, they seemed worried. Why were they worried? It wasn't like Billy would actually be able to hear him and come to his rescue.

He let the tears continue, mourning his freedom and his life. He wondered if anyone would come looking for him. Probably not. They didn't seem to care about him at all. No one except Billy and Teddy, they might come looking for him. Or they'd get so wrapped up in each other they'd forget all about him. How could he blame them. Sometimes he'd disappear for days at a time. Before they realise something is wrong it'll be too late. He doubted his body would be able to take the amount of abuse the psycho's had planned for him very long without some form of rest.

He stopped thinking about anything when the psycho's brought a blow torch into the room.