After a painful and fractured civil war, Tony felt betrayed by the very comrades he had fought alongside. The Avengers were no longer family; they were no longer a refuge for him. Disappointment and torment consumed his heart, leading him to decide to leave New York without telling anyone. Tony Stark, once a hero who saved the world, now just wanted to escape from the terrible memories.

During his time on the run, he traveled from one country to another, finding nowhere far enough to escape the ghosts of his past. Tony's flight led him to a small village in Norway, nestled deep in the icy mountains—Flam. Here, it seemed that the modern world and all its complexities were distant.

It had been a month since Tony moved to Flam. No one here recognized him as the hero Iron Man, partly because he intentionally concealed his identity and partly because the place was too peaceful and remote to care about the outside world. The villagers viewed him as a stranger, both reserved and mysterious, but no one asked too many questions.

On a cold winter morning, Tony sat on the porch of his small wooden house, sipping a hot cup of coffee. The snow-covered mountains surrounded the village, and his breath formed thin white mist that dissipated in the cold air. The sound of the wind rustled through the leafless trees, bringing a sense of loneliness but also an odd peace.

Tony closed his eyes, feeling the cold creep through his layers of clothing, but it did not bother him. This was the quietest moment he had experienced in a long time. Life here was not hurried, not pressuring; it was just him and the stillness of a Norwegian winter. Yet, deep down, he knew that the memories still lingered, waiting to pull him back into a world full of troubles.

Taking another sip of coffee, Tony silently admired the scenery around him. Suddenly, hurried footsteps crunched on the snow, breaking the stillness of the winter afternoon. He glanced over to see a boy running towards him. It was Lars, a ten-year-old boy who lived a few houses down from Tony. Lars was one of the few villagers who had approached Tony, curious about the newcomer.

"Tony!" Lars called out, his cheeks flushed from the cold as he ran quickly. "Are you done fixing it?"

Tony smiled lightly, pulling a watch from his jacket pocket that the boy had asked him to repair a few days ago. The old watch, which seemed completely broken, was now working again thanks to Tony's skills; it was even running more accurately than when it was new.

"All done, kid" Tony said, handing the watch to Lars. "Now you'll definitely never be late for class again."

Lars eagerly took the watch, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Really? Did you really fix it? My mom said it was probably broken for good!"

Tony shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but in reality, he felt a sense of joy at seeing the boy happy. "Just a little minor repair. You'd be surprised at what I can do when I have the right tools."

Lars looked up at Tony, his eyes filled with admiration. "Tony, how do you know so much? You must be some kind of secret hero, right?"

Tony laughed heartily, feeling genuinely cheerful for the first time in days. "A hero? No, kid, I'm just an ordinary guy."

Lars frowned, unconvinced. "Ordinary can fix a watch like this? I bet you used to be a computer repairman or something like that."

Tony pretended to think, then joked back "You know, maybe I did do something with technology... But if I tell you, you have to keep it a secret."

"I promise, I won't tell anyone!" Lars whispered, his face serious but unable to hide his excitement.

Tony laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "Okay, now go home; it's getting dark."

Lars looked up at the sky, which had begun to turn a light purple as the last light of day faded. "Right, I have to get home before my mom calls. Thanks, Tony! I'll definitely ask you to fix something again next time!"

"Just bring it here. But I'm not fixing any toys!" Tony replied playfully. They both laughed heartily.

Lars waved goodbye and quickly ran back towards his home, his small footsteps fading on the snow-covered path. Tony watched until the boy's figure disappeared, then sighed. The winter night began to fall, colder and lonelier than ever.

He stood up, gazing at the snow-covered mountains surrounding Flam, which stretched out like an endless expanse. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but today, at least, Tony had smiled once.

As night fell, the cold gradually descended with it. The crackling sound of the fire from the small fireplace in the corner of the room created a warm atmosphere, a stark contrast to the chill outside. Tony Stark sat in his wooden house, his gaze absently fixed on the flames. He could no longer concentrate on anything; all thoughts faded as fatigue washed over him. Setting his empty coffee cup down on the table, Tony leaned back in his chair and gently closed his eyes.

Winter in Flam was quiet and cold, yet Tony felt a certain peace. However, even in the most serene spaces, his past clung to him, incessantly knocking at the door of his mind. The feeling of running away never completely disappeared, and tonight was no exception.

As he sank deep into sleep, Tony was pulled into a nightmare. He found himself back in the fierce battle in the bunker in Siberia. The cold seeped deep into his flesh, every breath like a knife stabbing into his lungs. But that cold was nothing compared to the numbness in Tony's heart—a pain invisible yet etched into every cell of his being. The haunting images of the Civil War played out vividly as if everything were happening right before his eyes.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, with a resolute yet pained face, stood in front of Tony. He felt the chill radiating from Steve. They were no longer teammates, no longer fighting together; now they were two adversaries.

"You knew..." Tony said, his voice hoarse and filled with hurt.

"You knew the Winter Soldier killed my parents, yet you still chose to protect him?"

Steve tightened his grip on his shield, the torment evident in his gaze. "I'm not protecting what he did, Tony. I just can't let him be killed when he's also a victim. Bucky had no choice."

Steve's words felt like salt in the bleeding wound of Tony's heart. "No choice?" Tony laughed bitterly, but his voice choked with the rising pain.

"What about my parents? Did they have any choice, Steve? They were brutally murdered by the very person you're trying to protect. You knew that, and you still hid it from me!"

Anger flared in Tony's chest, mingled with a sense of helplessness and despair that was suffocating. He recalled every moment from the footage he had seen—the scene of his parents being killed by none other than Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier. Tony's eyes turned red as the haunting image replayed in his mind like a dark film he could not escape.

Steve remained silent, just standing there, gripping the shield—a symbol of righteousness, of ideals Tony once respected. But now, it had become a symbol of betrayal.

"I trusted you!" Tony shouted, the anger compressed in each word. "I believed you would always stand on the right side, but you hid the truth from me. You chose him over me."

Steve looked at Tony, his eyes heavy, yet still unwavering. "I didn't choose anyone, Tony. I just did what I believed was right."

Those words felt like blades cutting deep into Tony's soul. "What you believe is right?" He gasped, his eyes filled with hatred. "Do you think you're the only one who knows right from wrong? What about me, Steve? I've lost everything; do you understand? Everything!"

And then that moment came—the moment Tony could never forget. Steve Rogers, with one last look, plunged his shield into Tony's chest. "Clang!" The sound rang clear as if the whole world around them paused to witness. The pain pierced through Tony's chest, a blow that struck not only his body but at his very soul. The shield—once a symbol of loyalty and justice—had now become an instrument of betrayal, and Tony felt as if the entire world was collapsing.

His eyes gleamed with cold determination. Tony, in his battered Iron Man suit, struggled to stay upright but could not withstand Steve's final blow. The blade of betrayal stabbed straight into his heart as Steve raised the familiar shield.

The pain tore through his chest, blood spilling from Tony's mouth. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. All he could see was Steve's cold expression. Not hatred, but a decision, a choice—choosing Bucky, choosing the past over him.

"Steve... don't..." Tony gasped weakly, his frantic eyes searching for salvation, but it was hopeless.

Steve turned his back, leaving Tony crumpled on the cold ground of the bunker. Everything around him faded away, leaving only solitude and pain. He could not move, could not do anything to change his fate. The sound of Steve's footsteps grew distant, leaving Tony alone with his anguish and despair.

Heavy breaths and a racing heartbeat pounded in Tony's chest. The pain, the fear, and the feeling of betrayal were so overwhelming that it felt as if he was truly reliving that moment. His mind whirled, unable to escape the vortex of the past.

Tony woke up with a jolt, his heart pounding in his chest as if it was about to leap out of his body. The terrifying images from the nightmare still clung to his mind, making the air around him feel suffocating and hazy. He gasped for breath, each inhalation becoming difficult as if the air had frozen in his lungs.

A wave of panic crashed over him, drowning him in fear. Sweat poured down, soaking his shirt despite the winter chill outside. He sat up abruptly, his eyes wide, looking around in confusion. The room was still silent, but the crackling sound of the fire in the fireplace became deafening, echoing like the echoes of past arguments.

Tony tried to regain his composure, but his mind remained chaotic. It felt like someone was pressing down on him, making everything heavier. A sudden dizziness struck, forcing him to lean against the wall for balance. His chest tightened as if an invisible hand was squeezing him.

"No, no, no..." Tony muttered, trying to convince himself that he was safe, that it had all just been a nightmare. But the haunting memories spun wildly in his mind: images of Steve, the shield, blood, and the screams of his parents. Each time he closed his eyes, everything came flooding back, like a film that wouldn't stop playing.

Fear engulfed him, making Tony feel as if he were no longer the master of his own body. His hands trembled, fingers cold and uncontrollable. He felt like he was standing on a fragile line between reality and illusion, between fear and safety.

His heart pounded like a drum, each beat ringing out like a knock of pain. "Inhale... exhale," he reminded himself, but he couldn't manage it. With every breath in, his lungs felt suffocated, as if the air had been taken away. He felt trapped in a confined space, the walls of memory closing in, smothering him in crisis.

Tony raised a hand to rub his forehead, trying to soothe the throbbing pain. The piled memories weighed heavily on his mind, scenes from the civil war, the battle in Siberia, and especially the images of his parents. "Why... why did it have to be like this?" he murmured in desperation, each word escaping like a silent scream.

Now, the panic was not merely fear; it was a loss of control. He found himself gasping for breath, each hurried inhalation as if there wasn't enough oxygen. Nausea surged, his stomach twisted, and he felt like he was about to throw up as if everything in his body was turning against him.

Voices echoed in his head, questions, criticisms, and painful images flashing before him. "It's your fault, Tony!" "Bucky was not wrong; he had no choice." "Can you stop being selfish, you childish Stark!?" "Teammates shouldn't keep secrets." "You're a murderer." Each word cut deep into his mind, trapping him in an inescapable cycle.

Tony closed his eyes, trying to find a place of peace within his soul. He was no longer the strong Iron Man; he was just a man battling against himself. It felt like he was besieged by unseen monsters, memories overwhelming him, tearing apart each fragment of his being.

"It's just a nightmare," he told himself. "Just a nightmare..." But that voice felt weak, like a self-soothing lie.

His mind became increasingly chaotic. The panic rolled like an unending wave. "I need to get out of here... I need to escape..." he thought, rising and pacing the small room, each step heavy as lead. The feeling of suffocation and unease intensified; he couldn't still his restless mind.

Each time he passed the window, the blinding light overwhelmed him. He wanted to step outside, to seek fresh air, but the very thought of the light made him feel trapped in darkness.

A voice rang in his ear, repeating, "You don't deserve it... you don't deserve it..." Tony's panic escalated as memories of the argument with Steve flared in his mind. The words they exchanged cut deep into his self-worth like knives.

"He lost everything, and what about you, Tony? You have it all!"

At that moment, anxiety transformed into a storm, sweeping everything away. The panic, the PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder—had become an inseparable part of his life. The haunting memories of his past, of his parents, of betrayal and pain, relentlessly surfaced. He found himself sitting in a dark corner, alone and desperate, facing the ghosts of his past but unable to escape. Instead, the pain rose higher, like a raging wave crashing around him.

Tony collapsed to the floor, hugging his knees, feeling as if he were sinking into eternal darkness. The panic gradually subsided, but the pain lingered, smoldering and never fading. The sleep he had sought became a distant dream, and the light outside turned into a source of terror.