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Chapter Text

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Shrugging out of his Armani suit jacket, Tony slid into backseat of the air-conditioned rental car, sinking into the plush leather seat as Rhodey climbed in from the opposite side. Tony let out a sigh as he loosened the pink and purple silk tie around his neck and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. Leaning his head against the headrest, he closed his eyes and absentmindedly rubbed his palm over his chest, over the spot where Senator Stern had accidentally-on-purpose poked him with his commendation pin during the ceremony.

"You know," he said in Rhodey's direction. "That Stern really is a first-class asshole."

"Eh," replied Rhodes. "I've seen worse. The U.S. Military has more than its fair share of overstuffed egos. Especially in the higher ranks."

Tony glanced down at his shirt, rubbing his thumb over the tiny bloodstain where the pinprick had broken his skin. "Yeah, but look at this." Twisting in his seat, he pointed to the mark. "He drew blood! You know, I should sue his ass. Five billion dollars for bodily injury, and five more for associated pain and suffering. See how his colleagues in the Armed Forces Committee like that. Not to mention this shirt cost about $500, so—"

"So get it dry cleaned," Rhodes stated. "No harm, no foul. It'll be good as new."

"Ah, I hate dry cleaning. So many bad chemicals, and they never smell the same afterwards." Tony shook his head. "I'll ask Pepper, I'm sure she knows—"

"Where to, boss?" Happy interrupted from the driver's seat as he merged onto the traffic-laden freeway.

"Airport please, Happy," Tony groaned, leaning back against the seat. "Pepper and I have reservations for dinner tonight. And I need a drink."

"You can drop me off at the Pentagon first," said Rhodes. "Some of us need to get back to work."

"Aww, come on!" whined Tony. "You don't think you've earned a couple days leave after that whole drone mess?"

"It's not up to me, Tony," said Rhodes firmly. "Unlike you, I have people I need to report to."

Shrugging, Tony closed his eyes. "You could always retire, you know."

Rhodes let out a sarcastic chuckle. "Yeah, sure. And do what? Come and work for you?"

"Eh. It's not a dumb idea."

"Yeah, it's not a smart idea either," Rhodes muttered. "At least in the Air Force I somewhat know what to expect on a day to day basis. No offense, Tony, but you're a complete wild-card. You'd give me a heart attack before the end of my first week."

"Then I'd just build you new heart," Tony countered. "It can't be that hard."

"Uh huh. Why don't you worry about your own heart issues first, then come talk to me."

Tony tapped against the new arc reactor securely nestled inside his chest wall. "Hey, I'm good to go. No more palladium, no more poisoning. I'm a new man."

"And hopefully no more idiotic, self-destructive behavior," added Rhodes. "But we can only hope."

Tony gave another shrug. "You wouldn't know what to do with me otherwise. Besides, you can't deny that I definitely make your life less boring."

"Hmph," came Rhodey's reply. "Boring's not always bad, you know."

As per usual, the D.C. traffic was heavy, and with the sunlight streaming in through the windows both men nearly dozed off as Happy wiggled the Audi sedan through the crowded freeway lanes. They were within sight of the Pentagon exit when Tony's phone rang, causing him to jump.

"Probably another goddamn reporter. I'm gonna need to change my number again," Tony grumbled, digging around in his suit jacket for the phone. Pulling it from the inside pocket, his brow furrowed as he noticed the caller ID listing with a New York City area code.

"Tony Stark," he barked into the phone.

"Mr. Stark?" said the New York-accented voice of a harried-sounding woman. Tony could make out the dull buzz of telephones ringing and other voices in the background.

"Yeah? Last time I checked," answered Tony, wincing as Rhodey elbowed him the ribs.

"Polite, Tony!" he hissed. "Be polite!"

Rolling his eyes, Tony cleared his throat. "This is Tony Stark. Can I help you?"

"I hope so," the woman said. "My name is Rita Wilson, and I'm calling from the Department of Social Services in Queens, New York. I have some important questions to ask you, regarding—"

"Excuse me, Ms Wilson," Tony interrupted. He rubbed his palm over the pinprick on his chest, trying to keep his temper intact. He was so sick and tired of rehashing the Expo drone attack. "But let me stop you right there. I have already spoken with the Queens Chief of Police, and The New York Times, and released an official statement to all the goddamn television news stations. I have no further comments on—"

"Excuse me, sir," Rita said, so loudly that Tony had to pull the phone away. "But I am not calling specifically about the drone attack. If you recall, I said I was from the Department of Social Services."

Hmm, thought Tony. Okay, that is a bit odd.

"So…" Tony prompted.

"As you may or may not be aware, sir, the cleanup of the wreckage from the drone attack remains ongoing. Unfortunately, three days ago first responders found the bodies of one Benjamin Parker and one May Parker. Do you happen to be familiar with those names, Mr. Stark?"

"Ah, no," answered Tony. He shot a weary glance at Rhodes, as if begging for relief. "Should I be?"

"Most likely not," said Rita, not without a twinge of sarcasm. "Benjamin Parker was not someone you'd likely come across in your daily life. But, are you perhaps familiar with Mr. Parker's brother, Richard Parker?"

"Richard Parker, Richard Parker…" Tony muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could vaguely recall seeing a mention of that name recently. But where? And why?

Oh yeah. He'd seen the name and the man's picture when he'd hacked into one of the SHIELD databases, after Nick Fury had given him that box filled with his father's journals. Richard Parker was a scientist—geneticist, to be exact—but Tony couldn't find any reason for him to be in SHIELD's files unless he was also an agent of some kind.

Or, perhaps it was because SHIELD was monitoring him and his work for some reason. Hmm…

"I've seen the name," Tony said noncommittally. "But what does he have to do with me?"

"Richard Parker was killed in a plane crash a few years ago, Mr. Stark, along with his wife, Mary," Rita said. "Following their deaths, their small son, Peter, was left in the care of Benjamin and May."

"Okay," Tony said slowly. "That's quite tragic and all, but I fail to see—"

"Ben and May are now dead, Mr. Stark," said Rita. "If you recall, I mentioned only a few moments ago that they were killed during the drone attack."

"Yes, I heard you," replied Tony, rather tersely. "But I still don't understand—"

"Their seven-year-old nephew, Peter, is sitting next to me right now, Mr. Stark. Here at the office. He's scared and hungry and has nowhere to go."

Tony's eyebrows knitted together, and he shot Rhodey a confused look. "Well, surely there must be somewhere for the boy to go?" he asked. "Another relative? Family friend? A neighbor? Someone?"

"Neither Richard Parker nor Mary Parker had any other siblings, Mr. Stark," Rita said. "And apparently their line of work did not invite the type of friendships that would take in an orphaned child."

Tony's heart started to pound, and he tugged at his shirt collar, trying to take a deep breath. Surely this woman wasn't suggesting that he—?

"What exactly is the purpose of this phone call, Ms Wilson?" he asked.

The woman let out a heavy sigh. "Frankly, Mr. Stark, I can't even believe that I was asked to make this call. But this young boy sitting next to me, holding his Iron Man helmet and his Iron Man glove, has insisted from the moment we brought him here that you saved his life during the drone attack, and that if anything happened to his aunt and uncle, Iron Man would come and rescue him."

Tony's eyes widened in shock, and he turned towards Rhodey just as Happy pulled into the employee parking lot at the Pentagon. "Did you just say that he's holding an Iron Man helmet?"

"And a glove, sir," answered Rita. "At first he wouldn't even take the helmet off. He only finally agreed to do so when he got too hungry to continue refusing."

"We're here, sir," Happy said from the front seat.

"Just a sec, Happy," replied Rhodes. He cocked an eyebrow in Tony's direction.

"Um, I gotta call you back," Tony said breathlessly into the phone. "Give me fifteen minutes."

"Mr. Stark, if you're not able to take him in, I'm afraid the only other option is foster care—"

"I said give me fifteen minutes!" Tony exclaimed. "I'll call you back!" Ending the call, he shoved his phone into his pants pocket and turned to Rhodes, one hand on the door handle. "I need to borrow your office computer for a few minutes."

"Tony—" Rhodes protested as Tony scrambled from the car and towards the side entrance. He just wanted, no, needed to see it for himself. Hopefully Rhodey's computer would be good enough to—

"Hey, wait up!" Rhodes called as Tony ran on ahead. "What's going on?"

"Just get me into your goddamn office!" Tony yelled, startling the broad-shouldered Marine guarding the entrance. Rhodes threw him a fierce scowl as he fished his ID from his pocket, swiping it through the card reader to unlock the door and grabbing the Visitor ID badge from the Marine's outstretched hand.

I just gotta see it for myself, Tony thought frantically. There was so much going on that night, I just gotta see it again for myself.

"Dammit, Tony, will you tell me what the hell's going on?" Rhodes asked, panting for breath as they rounded the corner.

"I just need to see something from that night," Tony explained, tapping his foot impatiently as Rhodey unlocked his office door. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he rushed into the small, cluttered room and plunked himself down on Rhodey's wildly uncomfortable desk chair.

"JARVIS, talk to me," Tony stated.

"I'm here, sir," replied the mechanical British voice.

"Interface with Rhodey's computer and pull up the Mark VI data from the night of the drone attack."

"Right away, sir," answered JARVIS. There was a loud burst of static, followed by a few seconds of snow on the computer screen before the image of Tony flying through the air took over, the sound of shattering glass from the Expo dome nearly deafening in the small, windowless room.

"Go forward a bit, JARVIS," Tony said impatiently.

"What footage in particular are you looking for, sir?" asked JARVIS.

"Keep going, keep going," Tony muttered, swiping his hand uselessly across the air in front of the monitor. What he wouldn't give to be in his own lab right now. "Fast forward to the boy wearing my helmet, JARVIS!"

"What?!" asked Rhodes.

"There!" Tony stated, pointing to the monitor. He watched, his mouth dropping open in horror, as the little boy bravely—or stupidly—stood his ground against the giant drone, raising his hand as if to try and blast the drone away with his costume Iron Man glove.

"Nice work, kid," Tony heard himself say after he'd dropped down and repulsed the drone away, knocking the boy backwards with the force of the blast. He tapped his fingertip against the desk, his heart thrumming in his chest.

But why… ?

"Tony—" Rhodes started, but Tony held up his hand to silence him.

"JARVIS, can you pull up the computer file from this specific drone?"

"Yes, sir," came the mechanical reply. "Just give me a moment."

"Tony," Rhodes said again. "That drone thought—"

"Here we are, sir," JARVIS interrupted as the screen changed to show the point of view of the approaching drone. Tony swallowed hard as he watched the drone scanning the panicked crowd as it approached, before locking on to the boy's helmet and lowering its weapon.

"Holy shit," whispered Tony.

"If you'd've let me finish, I could've told you that drone was locking on to the boy's helmet," Rhodes said sharply. "I guess they weren't very smart after all if they thought Iron Man was only four feet tall."

"Must be a damn good replica of my helmet," muttered Tony, shaking his head.

"Can you tell me what this is all about now?" asked Rhodes.

Giving his head a brief shake, Tony drew in a shaky breath, pointing to the child on the screen. "This kid lost his aunt and uncle in the attack, and the parents died a few years ago. The woman on the phone—"

"No," said Rhodes, his eyes wide. "Don't even think about it, Tony. There has to be—"

"The woman said there was no one else!" Tony snapped. "She said the only option he had left was foster care."

"So? Not all foster care is—"

Tony cut him off with a raised hand. "New York City foster care? In Queens? Come on Rhodey, even you can't be that thick."

"Good God Tony, think about what you're saying!" exclaimed Rhodes. "I mean, do you even know anything about raising a kid? You can barely take care of your own self!"

"Pepper will help—"

"Pepper's got enough to worry about! She's trying to salvage what's left of your company, in case you've forgotten!"

"Then I'll hire a nanny!" yelled Tony. "I'll hire three of them if I have to!" He drew in a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm down. "I mean, really. How much trouble can one little boy be? It's not like he's still in diapers or anything. I was pretty much self-sufficient when I was seven."

Rhodes opened his mouth again to protest, but was cut off by the ringing of Tony's phone.

"It's the social worker," Tony said, glancing at the caller ID.

"Tony, don't!" begged Rhodes. "This is madness!"

"Too late," Tony mouthed back as he answered the call. "This is Tony Stark."

"Mr. Stark," came the voice of Rita Wilson. "It's been longer than fifteen minutes—"

"I'll take the kid," Tony said firmly. He looked over at Rhodes, frowning as his friend threw up his hands in frustration. "Where can we pick him up?"

"He's here at the Department of Social Services in Queens, Mr. Stark. When can you get here?"

Checking his watch, Tony walked out of the office and down the hall, heading for the exit with Rhodey hot on his heels. "We can be there in about six hours, give or take."

"Very well, sir," replied Rita. "We'll be waiting."

"Tony, please listen to me!" Rhodes pleaded as they approached the exit. "This is the most crazy idea you've ever had! And that's saying something!"

"I need to do this, Rhodey," said Tony as he tossed his Visitor ID badge at the Marine by the door. "I don't expect you to understand."

"How the hell am I supposed to understand something this mad?"

Tony turned on his best friend, shaking in frustration as he wagged his finger in Rhodey's face. "Look. Either you come with me and help me out, or you turn back around, march yourself back into your office and never speak to me about this again. But I am going to do this. I need to do this. I don't really know how or why I know that, I just do. And that's all I'm gonna say about it."

Clenching his jaw, Rhodes huffed out a sharp breath. "Fine. I'll go with you. But I still think this is crazy."

Tony's shoulders sagged in relief. He knew he couldn't properly articulate why he felt so strongly about this completely-out-of-character action. And Tony had always prided himself on being articulate, if nothing else.

"Thank you."

Happy blinked in surprise as Rhodes slid into the backseat of the car next to Tony. "Um, where to?"

"Queens, New York, Happy," Rhodes replied grimly. "Department of Social Services."

Happy peered quizzically into the rearview mirror, eyeing Tony with confusion. "Boss?"

"You heard him, Hap. Let's move." Tony pulled his phone from his pocket. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Send a message to the contractor about the Midtown site. Tell him to go ahead with the latest design layout. We're gonna need the place in New York a little sooner than I thought."

"Right away, sir," answered JARVIS.

Tony's stomach was churning violently as Happy maneuvered the luxury Audi through the busy Queens traffic, trying to find the DSS building. It was already after 8pm and dusk was falling all across the city, throwing long shadows across the streets from the surrounding skyscrapers.

"We should've stopped at a toy store or something," he muttered, nervously tapping his bearded chin.

"There'll be plenty of time for that later," Rhodes said. "Let's just find the poor kid first."

Finally locating the correct building, Tony instructed Happy to keep circling the block as he exited the car, rushing inside the old, musty-smelling building with Rhodey behind him.

"I'm looking for Rita Wilson," he told the guard at the information desk. "Please let her know that Tony Stark is here."

"We've been waiting, Mr. Stark," said a woman's voice from off to the side. Tony turned to see a tall, slender woman with shoulder-length, dark blonde hair and glasses. A little boy with pale cheeks and wavy brown hair clung to her hand, looking far smaller than Tony remembered being at seven years old. He was dressed in a plain white t-shirt that hung off his bony shoulders, a pair of bulky navy blue sweatpants, and a pair of worn Iron Man sneakers. He was holding his Iron Man helmet in his other, still-gloved hand.

Tony hadn't ever been around small kids enough to have an opinion about them one way or the other, but there was something about this little boy that immediately captured and held his attention. The boy's eyes were sad, but also held a wiseness that seemed far beyond their years. It's almost as if Tony was looking into a kindred spirit of some kind. The unfamiliar feeling was unnerving, and caused a violent shiver to race down his spine.

Rita crouched down to face the boy. "Peter, sweetheart, this is Mr. Stark. He's going to take you home with him now. How does that sound?"

The little boy nodded, his chin quivering as his huge brown eyes flicked up at Tony and then flitted away. "O—, okay."

"Peter?" Tony forced past the lump in his throat, offering his hand to the boy. "It's nice to meet you."

"Mmm-hmm," Peter squeaked in reply as he briefly touched Tony's hand with his own, squeezing his helmet to his chest.

"And I'm James," Rhodes said, crouching down next to Peter. "I'm Mr. Stark's friend." He tapped the boy's Iron Man helmet with his finger. "Can I take a quick look at your helmet? I promise I won't hurt it."

Gulping, Peter nodded again, relinquishing the helmet reluctantly as Rita led them into her office and tried to hand Tony a clipboard and pen.

"I need to you sign these forms, Mr. Stark," she said as he instinctively backed away.

"Just put it down on the desk, please," Tony insisted. "I don't like being handed things."

Rita quirked an eyebrow, but placed the clipboard on the edge of her grey metal desk, watching Tony closely as he donned his glasses and picked it up.

"These forms are for temporary guardianship only, and can be terminated at any time if I deem it necessary." She paused as she took a step back, eyeing him up and down. "There is also still the question of what to do with the remains of his aunt and uncle."

"I'll of course cover the funeral expenses," Tony said distractedly as he flipped through the repetitive forms. "What about the kid's schooling?"

"There were only a few days left of the school year, so I don't believe we need to be concerned with it, given the circumstances," replied Rita. "I've already contacted his elementary school and received his grades for the year."

"Is he smart?" asked Tony, pausing mid-signature to look up from the clipboard.

"Very," said Rita. "He's definitely in the gifted range, and some of his teachers have even labeled him as a genius."

"Hmm," Tony said admirably. He glanced over at the boy, who was watching Rhodey intently as he examined the inside of his Iron Man helmet. "Good to know."

"Where will you be taking him tonight, Mr. Stark?" asked Rita.

"Um…" Tony said, biting his lip. He knew he'd been forgetting something. "The Four Seasons in Midtown. I've, ah, stayed there before." He decided against mentioning that he'd had to pay for severe damages on two separate rooms there in the past, both a result from parties that had gotten just a bit out of hand.

Rita pursed her lips. "Peter comes from a working-class family, Mr. Stark. Your rather posh lifestyle is going to be quite a shock to him, on top of everything else."

"Hey, you're the one who called me," Tony protested, signing the last of the papers with a flourish.

"Just something to keep in mind, Mr. Stark," said Rita. She leaned in closer to Tony. "He's got to be hungry, but all I've been able to get him to eat since he was brought here are some dry Lucky Charms and a few sips of water. Before he was found he was surviving on food dropped by bystanders during the attack."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Tony assured her. Handing Rita the clipboard, he took out his phone. "Happy, we're coming out. Get us a couple suites at the Four Seasons, yeah? You don't mind sharing a room with Rhodey tonight, do ya, Hap?"

"No, boss," came the drowsy reply.

"And call up that huge FAO Schwartz and get a few toys sent over. Legos, stuffed animals, anything appropriate for a seven-year-old boy."

"Anything else?"

"Oh, and order some food. Something that a small kid would like to eat."

"I don't know what small kids like to eat, sir."

"Well, then ask the people at the hotel. There's gotta be someone there who has small kids."

Happy sighed into the phone. "Sure, boss."

"Oh, and Happy?"

"Yeah?"

"Contact Pepper and let her know that I'll be staying in New York for… awhile. She'll, um, need to cancel our reservations for tonight."

"Should I tell her why?"

"No, no," said Tony, scrubbing at his tired eyes with his fist. "I'll, um, do that myself. I just don't want her to worry."

"Fine, boss," answered Happy resignedly. "I'm waiting out front."

"I'll be contacting you on a daily basis for the first few weeks, Mr. Stark," said Rita. "And then biweekly after that for the first year." She placed a business card with her telephone number circled in red on top of the desk. "I must be kept apprised of Peter's whereabouts at all times. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," answered Tony. Pocketing the business card, he nodded in Rhodey's direction. "We gotta head out. Happy's waiting out there, and he's probably double-parked."

"Right," replied Rhodes. He handed the helmet back to Peter and smiled. "Ready to go, little guy?"

"Mmm-hmm," Peter said softly, sliding the helmet onto his head. "I'm ready."

"Great," said Tony. He turned to Rita, cocking his head. "Now, I don't have to be concerned about any reporters knocking on my door in the middle of the night, looking for the scoop on any of this. Do I, Ms Wilson?"

Looking aghast at the suggestion, Rita shook her head. "Absolutely not, Mr. Stark," she stated. "In fact, I'm quite insulted that you would even think I was capable of such a thing. As far as I'm concerned, this is just another tragic case in a long line of tragic cases that I've been witness to during my career."

"Hey, I meant no insult," Tony said, raising his hands. "Just trying to keep this under the radar for awhile, while we figure things out."

While I figure things out.

"Good luck, Mr. Stark," Rita called as they walked down the steps to the door, with Tony's hand resting lightly on the top of Peter's helmet.

"Thanks! I'm gonna need it," he added under his breath. Rhodey looked over at him and grimaced.

"You absolutely sure about this?" he whispered, climbing into the front passenger seat.

Tony shrugged. "Too late to back out now." He turned to Peter, pulling the seatbelt across his skinny body and clicking it into place. "There ya go, kiddo."

"I booked us in the two Presidential suites at the Four Seasons," said Happy as he merged into the traffic line. "The toys and food should be waiting for us when we get there. Manager on duty said we can go in through the side entrance. There'll be someone waiting for us by the elevator to take us upstairs."

"Sounds good," Tony said. Glancing over at Peter, Tony nudged him gently with his elbow. "Does that sound okay to you, kid?"

Peter didn't respond, only placed his hands neatly in his lap. Tony wished he would remove the helmet so he could at least see the boy's face, but he wasn't about to ask him that here in the car.

Thankfully the traffic had thinned out a bit, and the ride to the hotel passed in a somewhat easy silence, broken only by Rhodey calling his commanding officer to let him know he'd be gone for the next couple of days.

A bellhop was waiting for them when they arrived, and to Tony's relief they were brought directly to the private elevator that led to their rooms on the 51st floor of the grand hotel. Stepping inside the huge luxury suite, Tony draped his suit jacket over a chair, watching as Peter removed his shoes and padded directly over to the carved marble chess set resting on the coffee table.

"Hmm," he said. "You like chess, do ya, kid?"

"Mmm-hmm," he replied, his soft voice muffled by the helmet as he picked up one of the black rooks. "M—, my uncle taught me."

"Well, maybe we can play a game or two after we eat," said Tony. The smell of French fries filled the room, causing Tony's stomach to rumble. He hadn't eaten since that morning prior to the commendation ceremony. "Are ya hungry?"

Peter shrugged, still holding the rook in his small hand. "I guess."

"All right, then. Let's eat first, then we'll see what'cha got. Sound good?"

"We'll, um, leave you two alone then," said Rhodes, nodding towards Happy. He clapped his hand on Tony's shoulder. "Don't keep him up too late, Tony. Kid's gotta be exhausted."

"Hey, it's just gonna be a quick game of chess," Tony protested in his best wounded voice. "Besides, what better way to get to know someone than over a game?"

Rhodes shrugged, stifling a yawn as he and Happy headed for their own section of the private floor. While Peter continued to study the chess board, Tony busied himself with dishing out chicken tenders and French fries onto the room service plates, covering his fries with a large helping of ketchup.

"Here, kid, come and eat something," Tony said, holding out the plate. He popped a couple fries into his mouth. "It's good."

Reluctantly, Peter replaced the rook on the chessboard and shuffled over to the table, nestled next to the huge picture window looking out over the Upper East Side, the bright lights from the buildings shining like stars against the darkened sky. Tony watched the boy closely as he removed his helmet, setting it carefully down next to him on the chair. Then he gingerly picked up one of the large, wedge-shaped fries, inspecting it with a wary eye before taking a tentative bite.

"If you don't like it, we can order something else," said Tony around a mouthful of chicken, trying to break the awkward silence. Looking around the room, his eyes fell on the pair of huge FAO Schwartz shopping bags tucked in next to one of the plush couches. "And if you're not in the mood for chess, I'm sure we can find something else to—"

"I'm tired," interrupted Peter in his high, little boy voice. "I think I'll go to sleep now."

"Ah, okay," Tony stammered. He looked frantically around the room, just now realizing that he hadn't thought to ask about a toothbrush, or pajamas, or even a change of clothes for the kid. He thought he still had a clean change of clothes in his overnight bag, maybe, but all the kid had was what he was wearing.

Before he could say another word, however, there was a knock at the door. Stuffing another fry into his mouth, Tony walked over to the door, looking through the peephole to find another bellhop, a loaded shopping bag from Petit NY held in one hand and a toiletry kit in the other.

"Thank you for saving my ass yet again, Happy," Tony muttered, breathing out a sigh of relief as he opened the door.

"Clothing and pajamas for the young master," the bellhop said politely, crossing the threshold to place the bag down just inside the room. "And a toothbrush and comb as well, sir."

"Thank you," Tony said, slipping a fifty dollar bill into the man's hand. "Very much."

"It is my pleasure, sir. Will you be requiring anything else this evening?"

Tony shook his head, even though he had half a mind to ask the man if he had any experience dealing with grieving seven-year-old boys. "No, I don't think so, thank you."

"Then I bid you goodnight, sir," the bellhop said, bowing slightly before exiting down the hall. Tony picked up the bag, digging through the t-shirts, jeans, and socks before finding a set of navy blue striped pajamas.

"Hey, kid," he said to Peter, who'd gone back to studying the chessboard, his barely touched plate of food still sitting on the table. He held up the striped pajamas. "Let's, um, get you ready for bed then, if you're tired."

"I can do it myself," Peter said quietly, taking the pajamas and toothbrush from Tony's hand. "I don't need any help."

Tony winced at the cold, detached tone of the kid's voice. "Are ya sure?"

Nodding his curly head, Peter turned and padded down the hall towards the oversized bathroom. Huffing in frustration, Tony busied himself with digging through his bag for his own toiletry kit. He rubbed his fingers across his chin, deciding he could wait another day before trimming his beard.

Peter emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later with toothpaste smeared across one round cheek and headed directly for the FAO Schwartz bags. He rummaged around inside each one for a moment before finally pulling out a stuffed polar bear. Giving the plushy bear a quick squeeze, Tony watched with trepidation as he climbed up onto one of the couches, covered himself with a throw blanket, and turned so he was facing the back, so Tony could no longer see his face.

Tony cleared his throat. "Right," he mumbled. "Well, um, sleep well, kid."

He didn't really expect an answer, so he wasn't surprised when Peter didn't offer one. Tony stared at him for a few more seconds, then grabbed his phone and bag and headed down the hall to the bedroom, stopping to swipe one of the tiny bottles of Scotch as he passed the minibar.

"JARVIS," he said quietly into his phone.

"I'm here, sir."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony sank down onto the luxurious bed, his shoulders sagging with fatigue. "Open new file: Peter Parker, likes and dislikes. Dislikes: chicken tenders and French fries. Likes: polar bears, Lucky Charms, and chess."

"Done, sir," replied JARVIS. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah. What in the hell have I gotten myself into?"

"I'm afraid I'm not sufficiently programmed to answer that question, sir," JARVIS said after a moment's pause.

"That figures," muttered Tony as he dropped the phone onto the bed. Twisting the cap off the Scotch bottle, he downed its contents in two large gulps, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve as he picked his phone back up. Fighting the urge to grab another bottle of liquor, Tony pressed the button for Pepper's private office line, squeezing his eyes shut at the expected tirade that was sure to follow the unexpected—and shocking—news he had for her.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Pep, it's me."

"What's going on, Tony? Are you all right?" she asked frantically. "Happy said you were going to be staying in New York for awhile, but he wouldn't give me any details, and then I've been so busy today with coordinating the relief efforts from the Expo, I haven't had time to call, and—"

"Yeah… um… about that," Tony stammered. "I, uh, need your help, Pep. I've gotten myself into something, and I'm not sure exactly how I'm gonna handle it, and—"

"What's going on now, Tony? More stuff about the Expo?"

Tony hung his head, waves of shame washing over him as he recalled the ice cold tone of little Peter's voice. It seemed pretty clear to Tony that the kid already hated him. Or worse, that he was disappointed in him.

What the hell was I thinking? The kid doesn't want me to help him. He only wants a superhero. He only wants Iron Man.

"Ah, honey," Tony mumbled into the phone. "Today I may have made one of the stupidest decisions of my life."

Chapter Text

"Oo-kay," Pepper said slowly. "What did you do this time?"

"I… um…" Tony stammered, sliding the tie from around his neck and letting it fall into a heap on the bed. He groaned softly as he spotted a splotch of ketchup staining the delicate pink and purple silk. Pepper had given him that tie a few years back for his birthday. It was one of his favorites.

"I may have taken custody of an orphaned kid a few hours ago."

Dead silence greeted his words. As the seconds ticked by, Tony mentally kicked himself for not grabbing that second bottle of Scotch.

"You did… what?" Pepper finally asked. "Oh God, Tony, please tell me I just heard you wrong. Because that's one of the craziest things you've ever said to me."

"You didn't," he choked out. "His name is Peter, and he's sleeping on the couch down the hall right now."

"On the couch… ? But… why?" Pepper demanded. "What on Earth would possess you to do such a thing?"

"It's kinda a long story. You see—"

"I mean, what would ever make you think that you could take care of a kid? How did this even happen?"

"If you'll shut up and listen, I'm gonna tell you!" Tony barked into the phone.

"Fine! Then tell me!" Pepper barked back.

Tony plunked himself down onto the bed, absentmindedly starting to work on his shirt buttons. "Rhodey and I had just finished our ceremony; we'd just gotten in the car to come home when I got a phone call from this social worker in Queens. She had this kid there whose aunt and uncle were killed during the drone attack. His parents died a few years ago in a plane crash."

"But that doesn't make any sense, Tony!" exclaimed Pepper. "Why would a Queens social worker just randomly call you—"

Unbuttoning the final shirt button, Tony tried to shrug it off, letting out a soft curse when he realized he'd forgotten to undo the sleeve cuffs. "The kid was wearing an Iron Man helmet at the Expo, Pep," he said. "I pulled up the footage. The fucking drone locked onto him, thinking he was me, and this kid just stood his ground. If I hadn't landed behind him at that precise moment and taken the goddamn thing out, he would've been blown to ashes."

"Wait, what?" Pepper asked. "So this drone thought—"

"The drone thought the kid was me, Pepper!" Tony snapped. "It was locked onto his helmet, ready to fire. He would've been toast in about two seconds if I hadn't found him when I did."

"Okay, that's all well and good. But I still don't get why—?"

Finally wrestling out of his shirt, Tony tossed it towards the end of the bed, watching with dull amusement as it slid off the edge and onto the floor. "Honey, the social worker said that the kid asked her to call me. That there was no one else available to take him in. It was either me or foster care. And after I saw that footage… Pepper, the boy was fearless! This tiny little kid just stood there and faced down a drone ten times his size, and he didn't even flinch!" Tony scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just couldn't let someone that brave be thrown into some random foster care home. I just couldn't. I mean, who knows what could happen to him?"

"Tony," Pepper said, with an eerie calmness to her voice. "A kid isn't just another one of your machines, or one of your AIs. You can't just turn a kid off or put them away when you're tired of them!"

"Surprisingly, I am aware of that—"

"And they can be loud, and they smell funny, and—, and—, they get sick! You know you hate being around sick people, Tony! What're you gonna do when the kid sneezes on you for the first time! Or worse!"

"Okay, I'll admit I hadn't quite thought of that, but—"

"It can't be too late to bring him back, Tony. Just call the social worker in the morning and tell her that you've changed—"

"No! That's not gonna happen. I signed papers, Pepper. The kid is now under my official, albeit temporary, guardianship. There's no going back. It's a done deal."

There was another pregnant pause, broken only when Pepper sighed heavily into the phone.

"Oh, Tony," she said sadly. "I know you're trying so hard to change, and this is all very noble of you, but do you honestly know anything about raising a child? I mean, you've barely been able to take care of yourself all the time that I've known you, and—"

"And that's why I really need your help," interrupted Tony. "I am a bit out of my element here, admittedly, so please just get yourself out here as quick as you can and help me."

"And what makes you think I can help? I don't exactly have any experience with kids either, in case you've forgotten."

"Well," Tony said slowly. "You're a woman, for one thing—"

"That doesn't mean anything, and you know it!" Pepper retorted. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean that I know how to be… motherly! Come on, Tony!"

"Okay, you're a very kind and nurturing woman—"

"That's not helping!"

"Okay, okay," admitted Tony. "I admit, that wasn't the smartest thing to say. But please, Pep. I need you out here. I'm scared that the kid hates me already. I have no idea how to even talk to him, much less try and plan a funeral for his aunt and uncle. Please. I really need your help!"

Tony could hear the noise from Pepper's pen over the phone, clicking open and closed in her hand. "All right, fine. I'll catch a flight to New York first thing in the morning."

"Oh please, come tonight!" Tony pleaded. "Be here in the morning when he wakes up!"

"Tony, the jet is still in D.C., in case you've forgotten," Pepper said. "And besides, I don't mind flying commercial from time to time."

"I can send the jet back right now!"

"I'm not done working for the night yet, Tony! I wasn't planning on yet another crisis occurring before I've even been able to repair the damage from the last one!"

"Touché," Tony conceded. "I'll see you tomorrow then. But as soon as possible, please. Right now the poor kid's stuck with me, Happy, and Rhodey, and you know how dangerous that can be."

"Oh Lord, yes I do. I'll be on the 4am to New York."

"I'll send Happy to pick you up. Thank you, Pepper."

"Hmph," Pepper grumbled. "I don't know why I put up with you sometimes."

"Hey, at least I didn't try and give you strawberries again," said Tony.

Pepper scoffed. "Oh, yeah, 'cause this is so much better!"

"Well, it kinda is," Tony mumbled, grimacing. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

"All right," she sighed. "But please don't sign up for anything else in the meantime without talking to me first."

"You got it, honey."

After a quick call to Happy to let him know of Pepper's flight plans, Tony tossed the phone onto the bedside table and flopped backwards onto the pillows. He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath.

What the hell was I thinking?

A small hand rapping on the bedroom door woke Tony from his fitful sleep. He groaned as he rolled over, surprised that he'd actually been able to sleep at all, and just now realizing that he was still wearing his dress pants and undershirt from the day before.

"Yeah?" Tony croaked, scrubbing his palm over his dry eyes.

"It's morning, Mr. Stark," came the shy, squeaky voice of the kid as he slowly opened the door. He was still dressed in his pajamas and carrying his polar bear, with his curly hair sticking up in all directions. "You should get up now."

Tony pushed himself up into a sitting position, raking a hand through his hair. He blinked against the harsh sunlight streaming through the crack between the curtains, thanking whatever that he'd at least thought to close them the night before. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm hungry," the kid said, watching him through narrowed eyes as Tony slowly got to his feet.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," Tony grumbled, stifling a yawn. "You hardly ate anything when we got here last night."

Peter's scowl deepened, and he squeezed the stuffed polar bear to his chest. "I didn't like it."

"What kid doesn't like French fries?"

"I like French fries," Peter retorted. "Just not those kind."

"Oh? Then what kind do you like?"

Peter shrugged his narrow shoulders, and Tony noticed for the first time that his striped pajama shirt was hanging off of him, with the sleeve cuffs dangling down over his hands, nearly down to his fingertips. The kid definitely didn't have any weight to spare.

"I only like the skinny kind. Those big ones have too much potato in them."

"All right," said Tony slowly, his eyebrows knitting together. "Too much potato, huh? Well, maybe later we can find some skinny French fries that have less potato in them, but for right now, I think I'll order some breakfast." He cocked his head. "You do like breakfast, don't you?"

Peter shrugged yet again. "Depends."

"On what?" asked Tony.

"On what it is," Peter answered.

Tony could feel his blood pressure rising. Why was every single question like trying to pull teeth? "Okay… so what'd ya usually have for breakfast?"

Peter looked down at his feet, and he buried his face into the polar bear, his lower lip shaking. "My auntie would always make me scrambled eggs and toast in the mornings, before school," he said softly. "But on weekends, she let me have Lucky Charms."

Oh shit, please don't start crying, Tony thought frantically. At least not until Pepper gets here!

"So… how 'bout I order both scrambled eggs and Lucky Charms," he suggested in a rush. "Then you can pick what you want. Sound good?"

Another shrug. Tony was starting to think the kid's head was going to wobble right off his skinny neck if he kept that up.

Taking a quick glance at his watch, Tony was surprised when he saw it was already half past nine in the morning. Pepper should be there within in the next couple hours. "So, why don't you get dressed, and I'll order the food," he suggested. "Can you dress yourself?"

Sticking out his bottom lip, Peter turned on his heel and marched down the hall to the shopping bag filled with clothing. Upending it out onto the couch, he pawed through the huge pile until he found a pair of grey sweatpants and a dark blue sweater embossed with a big green alligator across the chest. "I'm not a baby, Mr. Stark," he grumbled as he ripped off the price tags and stomped off towards the bathroom. "I'm a big boy."

Tony flinched as the bathroom door slammed closed. Yep, he hates me.

Picking up the hotel phone, Tony dialed the number for room service.

"How may I help you, Mr. Stark?" asked the attendant who answered.

"Yeah, um, you guys got any Lucky Charms available?" he asked.

"I'm sure we can find some for you, sir," answered the attendant. "Will that be all?"

"No, no," Tony said quickly. He tapped his fingertip against his chin. "We also need some scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and apple juice. Oh, and a Mimosa."

"Very good sir. Give us about twenty minutes, if you please."

"Yeah, sure," Tony replied. "Thank you."

Tony had no sooner hung up the phone when his own telephone rang, still sitting on the dresser back in the bedroom. Thinking it might be Pepper, Tony sprinted back to grab it, rolling his eyes when he saw the now-familiar number of Rita Wilson.

"Mr. Stark," she said as he answered with an out-of-breath "hello". "How are things going?"

"Boy, you weren't kidding when you said you'd be checking up on me," Tony quipped. "It's barely been twelve hours!"

"How is Peter doing, Mr. Stark?" she asked firmly.

Other than the fact that I think he hates me?

"Um, he seems to be doing okay," Tony said, trying to sound nonchalant. "You know, we're adjusting. Or, trying to, at least."

"I see," she said warily. "And where is Peter now?"

"He's in the bathroom, getting dressed."

"Very well. And what were your plans for today?"

"Um…" Tony stammered. "We're gonna start talking about the funeral arrangements." As soon as Pepper gets here.

"That's a good idea, Mr. Stark," said Rita. "And it might help little Peter to have some say in the planning process. I'm sure he can tell you if they were members at a church somewhere, for example."

"Yeah, sure, I can do that," said Tony. "I'll talk to him about it while we're eating breakfast."

There was a pause. "It's quite late in the morning for a boy that age to have not yet had breakfast, Mr. Stark."

Tony gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, he was pretty tired last night. He slept in a little."

"Hmm," replied Rita. "I wouldn't make that a habit. Trying to establish a sound daily routine for Peter should be one of your first priorities. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Tony said, as politely as he could muster.

"I will contact you again tomorrow morning, Mr. Stark," she said. "And I'll expect to hear all about the plans for the funeral, as well as any other plans you have for Peter for the rest of the week."

"Yes, ma'am," said Tony, a bit less politely.

"Have a good day, Mr. Stark."

"Mmm," Tony grumbled as the call disconnected.

"Who was that?" said Peter's small voice from behind him, causing Tony to jump. He whirled around to look at the boy, noting that like his pajamas from the previous night, the sweater he was wearing hung off his bony shoulders like a sack. One small hand was wrapped around the waistband of his sweatpants, as if to help hold them up. He looked as if he was trying to wear clothing that belonged to an older brother.

"Oh, that was Ms Wilson, the DSS lady," Tony said. "She was just checking to see how you're doing."

"Oh." Peter walked over to the table by the picture window, looking out over the bustling city fifty stories below. Seeing the kid standing next to the huge, floor-to-ceiling window made him somehow look even smaller than he already was, and Tony felt that same, unfamiliar protectiveness start to swell up from the pit of his stomach that he'd felt the day before, while watching the drone footage.

And suddenly Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, trying to-reform-himself playboy, and philanthropist—had no earthly clue of what to do next.

But, then again, Tony Stark never, ever backed down from a challenge, no matter how mad the challenge might be. And while he highly doubted that either of his college degrees would be of much use in trying to learn how to parent a little boy, Tony had always prided himself on being a rather quick study.

And besides. He had the perfect example of what not to do in his own father. Howard Stark had been many things, some of them great. But he'd sucked at being a dad.

Pursing his lips in determination, Tony called after the kid. "Hey, kid, c'mere for a second. Let me help you with something."

Peter turned to look at him, a curious look on his face, but didn't move away from the window. Nonplussed, Tony crossed over to him and knelt, looking him straight in the eye.

"Here, let's see if we can get this to fit a little better, yeah?" he said quietly. At Peter's slight nod, he rolled the left cuff of the kid's sweater back twice, revealing his hand. "You know, when I was a kid, I used to sneak into our butler's bedroom all the time and put on his clothes. I'd walk around in there, pretending that I was him for awhile, until..." Tony's voice trailed off, remembering how angry his father had been when he'd caught him one day. After screaming at him for several minutes about the inappropriateness of Tony's actions, Howard had then proceeded to take Tony's computer away for a month, as punishment.

Alas, to Howard's dismay, the punishment barely slowed Tony down. He'd merely built a new computer out of some spare parts he'd found lying around and continued on with his life.

Shaking his head, Tony reached for Peter's right hand, smiling slightly when the boy offered it without hesitating. "Jarvis's clothes were even bigger than this on me, and I kept tripping on the pant legs because they were so long. But then one day, Jarvis came upstairs and found me trying to walk around in his clothes, and instead of getting mad at me, he just rolled the sleeves up, like this, until they fit me better."

Satisfied with the sleeve cuffs, Tony backed away slightly. "He also showed me a way to roll up the waistband of the pants, to help them stay up better. Do you want me to show you?"

Peter looked down at his thin legs clad in the grey cotton fabric, with the cuffed ends so long they were completely covering his feet. "Yes, please," he whispered.

"All right," answered Tony. Carefully, he grasped the waistband of Peter's pants, rolling it three times until it was snug against his waist. With his pants no longer in danger of falling off of him, Peter seemed to relax a bit.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" Tony asked, patting him once on the head as he stood back up.

"Yeah," answered Peter softly. "But I'm still hungry."

"Well, the food should be here soon." Tony said. He glanced around the room, looking for something else to distract the kid with when his eyes fell on a completely assembled Lego fire truck, sitting on the couch where Peter slept the previous night. "Hey, you like Legos?"

"Yeah, they're okay," Peter said as he gave his polar bear a squeeze. "George helped me build the fire truck this morning after I woke up."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "George? Who's George?"

Peter turned the polar bear around in his arms, showing its plushy face to Tony. "This is George."

"Oh, I see," said Tony, trying desperately not to smirk. At least it's not one of those imaginary friend-type things. "And is he as good at building things as you are?"

"Well," Peter answered. "He tried to tell me that we should use the directions, but I told him we didn't have to."

"Oh really?" Tony said, taking a closer look at the fire truck. He picked up the box, noting this particular Lego set contained 376 pieces. "So you put this together all by yourself, without using the directions?"

"Uh huh," replied Peter, shrugging as if that was nothing unusual for a seven-year-old kid.

Well, isn't that impressive? Tony thought. It was one thing for the DSS lady to tell him that Peter was intelligent; it was another thing for him to see evidence of it for himself.

"Hmm. Not bad, kid," said Tony approvingly. Peter gave him a small but genuine smile, as if pleased with the praise, however trivial it was, and Tony's breath momentarily caught in his throat. Was it really this easy to tell a kid they'd done good? He had graduated Summa Cum Laude from MIT while he was still a teenager, and yet even that incredible feat hadn't earned more than a stiff nod from Howard Stark.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark," Peter said softly, just as there came a knock on the door.

"Ah," Tony said. "That must be breakfast."

The smile dropped from Peter's face, and he turned back towards the window as Tony opened the door, allowing the bellhop to set up their breakfast on the table.

"Thank you," Tony said, slipping a twenty into the man's hand as he wheeled the cart out of the room. He was pleased to see three small boxes of Lucky Charms lined up on the silver-colored tray, along with a small pitcher of milk.

"Hey kid," he said, picking up one of the boxes and shaking it to get Peter's attention. "Come and eat. They brought you some Lucky Charms."

"Okay," Peter mumbled, climbing up into the chair closest to the window. He set his polar bear down next to him. "Can I share with George?"

"Sure," Tony replied as he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He watched closely as Peter opened one of the boxes, shook its contents out onto the tray, and proceeded to separate the various marshmallows by shape and color, feeding each piece first to George before popping them into his own mouth.

"Can I have some of the orange juice?" Peter asked, pointing to the goblet by Tony's left hand. "I like it better than apple juice."

Raising his eyebrows, Tony wrapped his hand around the goblet, shaking his head. "Um, no, sorry," he said. "This, um, isn't regular orange juice. But now that I know you like it, I can get you some tomorrow. Okay?"

Peter gave him a quizzical look. "But it looks like regular orange juice," he said around a mouthful of marshmallows.

"Yeah, well, it's not," Tony grumbled. He quickly drained the goblet and set it aside. "But like I said, I'll get some for you tomorrow. Capiche?"

Peter's brown eyes flicked between Tony and the now-empty goblet. "Capiche," he murmured.

"Ah, you know what that means?" Tony asked.

"Sure," Peter answered, picking up his cup of apple juice. "My auntie used to say it all the time."

"Hmm. Cool," said Tony as he folded an entire strip of bacon into his mouth. "So. When were done here, why don't you show me how you can build another one of those Lego sets while we wait."

"Wait for what?" asked Peter.

"Well, my… um… lady friend is on her way, and then Ms Wilson from the DSS office wants us to start talking about some things. She's going to help us."

"What things?"

"Aahh," Tony stammered. He absolutely did not want to say anything that would make Peter start to cry. "Well, things like—"

"Like the funeral?" Peter asked, his small shoulders sagging. "For Uncle Ben and Aunt May?"

Tony's heart broke a little at the sadness in the kid's small voice, and another surge of protectiveness rippled through him with an even greater force. "Yeah," he murmured. "That's one of the things. But, I also would like it if you could show me around your neighborhood a bit. Where you go to school, and where you like to eat, things like that. And we should probably go to your aunt and uncle's house so we can pick up your toys and clothes and stuff. Okay?"

Swallowing hard, Peter clutched George to his chest and nodded. "Am I gonna live here now? In this place?"

"No," Tony said gently. "We're just staying here while we figure out a few things. Once that's done, I'll take you to my house."

Peter bit his bottom lip. "Is your house close to here?"

Sighing, Tony shook his head. "No, it's not. It's on the other side of the country, actually. But we'll get you back out here in the fall once you're ready to start school again. The company I own is building a big building, and we can live there once it's done, so you can keep going to your same school." He pointed out the window, towards the Midtown site of the future Stark Tower. "Sound okay?"

Peter didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned his head, looking out the huge window as he squeezed his polar bear in his arms. "Will you be there with me, Mr. Stark?" he finally asked in a shaky voice. His huge brown eyes filled with tears as he looked back at Tony, and Tony felt his heart skip a beat. In all his life, he had never felt anything quite like this.

No one had ever really needed Tony. As much as his mother may have loved him when he was a kid, his parents definitely hadn't needed him. Growing up, Tony's father wasted no chance to remind Tony that he'd have much preferred the company of some damn army soldier who'd died during the war than be with his own son. And Rhodey, as much as he was Tony's friend, didn't need him. He was a very smart and very successful Air Force Lieutenant Colonel in his own right. Not even Pepper, who'd worked for him faithfully for several years, and who loved him, didn't really need him. Certainly not like Tony felt that he needed her.

But this kid sitting in front of him, this tiny yet immensely brave kid, who at seven years old had already lost not one but two sets of parents, needed him. It was a wholly unfamiliar sensation, and also more than a bit frightening. But, Tony quickly realized, it was not at all unwelcome.

"Absolutely," he said firmly. He reached over and patted Peter gently on the shoulder, realizing with a start that the simple gesture of affection felt completely natural. "I'll be with you the whole time."

Peter nodded. "Then I guess it'll be okay," he murmured, and shoved another marshmallow into his mouth.

They'd just finished devouring the rest of the bacon when there was another knock at the door.

"Ah, that's probably Pepper," Tony said as he rose from his chair and walked over to the door, opening it to find Pepper looking ravishing, as always. "I don't think I've ever been this happy to see you," he said as he kissed her on the cheek.

Pepper pulled back to look at him, wrinkling her nose at his disheveled appearance. "Did you forget to shower this morning, Tony?"

"Oh, yeah," he sheepishly replied. "Kinda forgot about that, with everything else going on, ya know?"

"Well, don't let it become a habit," Pepper whispered as she elbowed him in the ribs. "You need to be setting a good example now, in case you'd forgotten."

"Who're you?" Peter suddenly asked, shuffling over from the table.

Pepper turned at the sound of Peter's small voice, smiling down at the messy-haired boy. "Well, hello there. You must be Peter?"

"Yes," said Peter, eyeing Pepper suspiciously. "Who're you?"

"This is Pepper," Tony replied, wrapping his arm around her waist. "She's here to help us out."

Peter wrinkled his nose. "Pepper? You mean like the black stuff my uncle likes to sprinkle on his eggs in the morning? That makes me sneeze?"

"No, more like the sexy hot stuff I like to have with my pizza," Tony retorted. "And I don't think she'll make you sneeze, unless you're allergic to tight skirts and high heels—, ow!" Tony rubbed his side where Pepper had elbowed him again and knelt down next to Peter. "Anyway, she's gonna help us get the funerals planned. She's a master at planning things; much better than I am. She just tells me where to go and what to wear. I promise she's not gonna hurt you."

Peter's brown eyes quickly flicked up to Pepper before locking again with Tony's. "Okay," he whispered. "If you say so."

Tony gave the kid a quick smile as he got back to his feet. "This kid is a whiz with Legos," he said to Pepper. "Why don't you two work on another Lego set while I take a shower?"

Peter sighed heavily as he glanced back up at Pepper. "Okay." He walked over to the bags of toys, digging through them until he pulled out a set for a strange-looking airplane. "One of my friends at school has this one."

"Great!" Tony said. "Give me twenty minutes and we can be going."

At Peter's nod, Tony turned and headed back towards the bedroom just as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"What's up, JARVIS?"

"There's been an unusual amount of traffic on the SHIELD channels this morning, sir," the electronic voice replied. "Most of which is referencing a recent incident down in New Mexico."

"Oh? How recent?"

"Within the last couple of days, sir."

"Hmm. New Mexico, huh?" said Tony. "That seems like an odd place for SHIELD to be poking their noses around. All right, give me the Cliff's Notes."

"The majority is encrypted, sir, but from what I've been able to gather, this particular incident involved extraterrestrials."

Tony stopped short next to the bed. "It involved, what? You're sure it wasn't just another disgruntled, rage-mongering scientist?"

"Apparently they nearly destroyed a small town."

"Damn," Tony muttered, tapping his chin. "Um, okay. Send any info you've got to the house and I'll go through it when we get home."

"Already done, sir," said JARVIS.

"Any update from the contractor?" asked Tony as he dug though his suitcase for some clean clothes. He'd have to remember to thank Pepper later on. She'd been the one who suggested that he always keep a fully packed suitcase in the jet at all times, just in case.

"Yes, sir. Construction on Stark Tower will begin in one week, with an estimated time to completion of one year."

"Ah, they'll get it done faster than that," Tony objected. "They always overestimate their timeline to try and impress me. But in the meantime, start keeping an eye out for a temporary property. We'll need a place out here once the kid goes back to school in the fall."

"Very good, sir."

The hot shower was quite refreshing, and Tony was only mildly surprised to find the airplane Lego set nearly halfway constructed once he wandered back into the living room. Pepper was sitting on the couch, a look of awe on her pretty face as she watched Peter—and George—assemble one of the wings. The directions for assembly were nowhere to be seen.

"Happy said to just let him know when we're ready," Pepper said. "But Colonel Rhodes has already left. He said he needed to get back to D.C., and will call you later."

"Yeah, okay," Tony mumbled as he stepped closer to Peter. The boy had dumped all of the pieces onto the coffee table, and was holding the partially constructed aircraft in one hand while he searched for the next block with the other. Finding the proper piece, he showed it to George first, presumably to gain the polar bear's approval, then attached it in the correct spot.

Tony cleared his throat, disappointed that he had to interrupt the kid's work. "We should get going. I wanna be able to tell Ms Wilson that we've made adequate progress when she calls again tomorrow."

Attaching one final piece, Peter sighed as he carefully laid the partially-finished plane down next to the rest of the pieces and got to his feet, grabbing his Iron Man helmet from the couch.

"You don't need to wear the helmet if you don't want to, kid," Tony said as Peter moved to slide it over his head. "No one's gonna hurt you while we're out today.

Peter paused with the helmet just over his eyes. "Y—, you promise?" he asked shakily.

"Of course," Tony said, ignoring the skeptical look Pepper was throwing his way. "You're with Iron Man. Nothing bad's gonna happen."

"Mmm. Then, can I bring George?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, sure, why not," answered Tony. "I'm sure polar bears like to get out every now and then too."

"Hmm, okay," the kid said. He carefully laid the helmet next to the Lego airplane, clutching the bear to his chest. "Then I guess we're ready."

They met Happy down by the car, looking disgruntled as always. "Where to?"

"Queens," answered Tony, giving the kid's address.

Peter sat between Tony and Pepper during the ride to his aunt and uncle's apartment building, during which Tony managed to get from him the names of both his aunt's supervisor at the hospital where she worked as a nurse, and the name of his uncle's boss. Pepper promised to make the necessary phone calls for the funeral planning while they went through the rest of the apartment.

Arriving at the rather shabby-looking building, Peter grabbed for Tony as they exited the car, wrapping his skinny fingers around Tony's larger index finger and holding tight.

"Which floor is it, kid?" Tony asked.

"Seventh floor," answered Peter.

"There's supposed to be a police officer up there to let you in," added Happy. "I'll wait down here by the car."

Since the elevator was broken they had to climb the stairs, and Tony was sweating and cranky by the time they reached the seventh floor and greeted the NYPD officer waiting to let them into the apartment.

Peter froze as the door was unlocked, as if he was afraid to enter. Tony gave him a small smile, tugging gently on his hand. "C'mon, kid, it's all right. Show me your room?"

Swallowing hard, Peter nodded his curly head and led Tony through the apartment—smaller than their suite at the Four Seasons by about half—to his bedroom. Stepping inside the no larger than ten-by-ten foot space, Tony's eyes widened at how cramped it was. A twin bed with rumpled sheets was in one corner of the room, and a battered desk stood in the opposite corner next to the open closet. The small desk was piled high with Lego cars and motorcycles, and, Tony saw with pride, a damn good miniature mock-up of his own Iron Man Mark III suit, complete with arc reactor. There was also a framed picture of a slightly younger Peter laughing with a man and a woman, who Tony presumed must be his aunt and uncle.

"Did you build this?" he asked, pointing to the Iron Man suit.

"Uh huh," the kid replied, shrugging.

"Hmm, not bad! You even got the shape of the helmet exactly right," Tony said, watching Peter's face light up like a Christmas tree at the compliment. Wow, he thought with a mixture of sadness and amusement. It really is this easy to tell a kid they'd done good.

"Uncle Ben liked it too," Peter said softly as he reached for the photo. "He told all his friends at work how good it was."

"So, what'cha want to bring back from here?" Tony asked, gesturing around the tiny room. "Clothes? Books? Toys?"

Peter cocked his head, looking down at George before glancing towards his closet. "Yes, please. The clothes you got me don't fit right."

"Yeah, I think Happy underestimated how small you are," Tony admitted. "But we can get you some more that fit better. Okay?"

Peter tugged on the sleeve of his sweater. "Can I pick them out? These aren't that comfy, either. I like t-shirts and hoodies better than sweaters."

What the hell is a hoodie? "Sure, kid."

"Tony," came Pepper's voice from the doorway. "You guys doing okay?"

"Yeah," answered Tony. He glanced down at Peter. "We can have everything shipped to my house, and you can set it all up in your new room there. Sound good?"

"Will I have a real bed there?"

The simple question hit Tony like a punch to the gut. "Yeah," he murmured. "Look, I'm sorry you had to sleep on the couch last night, kid. I'll make sure the people at the hotel bring in a bed for you for tonight. Okay?"

"I've scheduled the funeral for the day after tomorrow," Pepper said gently. "I need to know if you want obituaries to run in the papers or not."

Tony huffed out a sharp breath, pondering the pros and cons. He'd rather not invite the scrutiny that surely would accompany any word of Tony Stark attending the funerals of some random married couple from Queens. Especially, he realized, for Peter's sake. The kid had the right to grieve his aunt and uncle without reporters barking questions at him or flashing cameras in his face.

"Let's not do that until after the service," he said to Pepper. "You've gotten ahold of anyone who'd be coming, right?"

"I've been assured that all the necessary people will know about the service, yes," Pepper answered. "And I tried to emphasize discretion."

"Then we don't need to broadcast it," Tony said. He patted Peter on the head, again both shocked and amazed that these simple gestures of affection were coming so easily to him. Tony Stark was not usually one for this much touching. Even when he was with Pepper, he often had to remind himself to hold her hand or peck her on the cheek. But the kid almost seem to crave his touch, and so far Tony didn't feel awkward about it at all.

"All right, then I think we're just about done here," said Pepper. "I've arranged to have the furniture and kitchen supplies donated to a nearby battered women's shelter, and the clothing will go the Salvation Army. Peter's toys and clothes will be shipped to the Malibu house, along with the photographs and any valuables."

"Sounds good. And let's get our people out there working on remodeling a room for the kid too."

Pepper smiled, and Tony felt his heart stutter. She had such a radiant smile. "I took care of that last night."

"Thank you, honey," he said, looking down to see Peter wrinkling his nose. "What? You don't like honey, either?"

"That's what my uncle called my auntie," he said, holding up the photo. "And then he'd always kiss her." He leaned in, as if to divulge a secret. "On the lips."

Tony gave him a wicked grin as he grabbed Pepper around her waist. "Like this?" he said, and planted a big smooch right on her mouth.

"Eww!" exclaimed Peter, giggling. "Mr. Stark, that's yucky!"

"Nah, just you wait, kid," Tony said, laughing as he ruffled Peter's hair. "Once you get a bit older, it's not quite so yucky."

"If you say so," Peter mumbled, shrugging as he picked up his Iron Man Lego creation from the desk and wandered out of the room. Pepper watched him go, then turned to Tony.

"I still don't understand how all of this happened, Tony, but I have to admit, he is sure a pretty sweet kid. Not to mention absolutely adorable. I mean, those eyes! And those curls!"

"Yeah, he's growing on me," Tony said, trying to sound flippant, but he knew Pepper didn't buy it. She knew him too well.

"Yeah, that's what I meant," Pepper said with a wink.

"We should buy the kid a suit," Tony said. "For the funeral."

Pepper nodded. "I'll call on the way back to the hotel and schedule a fitting."

Tony tapped his chest over his arc reactor. "I'm gonna need one too. I, um, managed to spill ketchup on that tie you gave me."

"Well, I suppose a ketchup stain is easier to clean up than all the shattered glass in the garage. Or that television you blasted to pieces. Not to mention your mother's poor piano—"

"Repulsed," corrected Tony. "Not blasted, repulsed. And the piano wasn't really my fault. You see—"

"I'm not getting into that argument with you right now, Tony. I'm only trying to point out that your… impulse control isn't the best sometimes. And that might not be what's best for a kid, ya know?"

"Well, I can learn to do better. Shouldn't be too hard." Tony let out a long breath. "I don't know why, but somehow I really feel like I was meant to do this. Meant to take in this kid. After all the crap that just happened with the palladium poisoning and thinking I was gonna die, again, and then going through my dad's stuff, and the whole drone mess with Vanko and Hammer… It just seems so… like this was almost supposed to happen. Does that make any sense?"

"No," Pepper answered, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile. "But then again, not a lot about you makes much sense, so I'll just do what I do best and go with it."

Smiling, Tony pressed a kiss to her temple. "And that's why I keep you around."

"Only one of the reasons," she retorted. "But probably one of the biggest ones."

Exiting the tiny bedroom, they found Peter sitting on the patterned couch in the living room, introducing George the stuffed polar bear to Lego Iron Man. Tony's heart did a flip as the kid looked up and his innocent brown eyes locked with his. It almost felt like a power surge of some kind, as if his arc reactor was overloading, and the intense sensation caused Tony's jaw to clench and his hands to ball into fists at his sides. In that moment, he knew that he would never, ever, allow another tragedy to befall this kid. Not if he could help it.

In all honesty, it was actually quite disconcerting at how quickly and easily the kid was worming himself into Tony's heart. It made him feel vulnerable, and Tony hated feeling vulnerable. It's one of the main reasons why he loved his armor. Iron Man made him feel invincible. Iron Man allowed Tony Stark to maintain his fantasy of seeming aloof and untouchable.

But then again, maybe this would be proof for the theory that Pepper had proposed way back before Tony battled the Iron Monger. Maybe this tiny, curly-haired kid, who loved Legos and chess and polar bears, was the key to proving that Tony Stark did indeed have a heart after all.

Peter's lips quirked into a smile, and Tony smiled back without hesitation.

Yep, he thought. I'm doomed.

Dammit.

Chapter Text

"Hold still if ye please, young sir," ordered the white-haired Scottish tailor as he peered over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. He drew his tape measure down Peter's leg, measuring his inseam while the boy fidgeted impatiently. "I'll be done with ye soon enough."

Wrinkling his nose, Peter huffed out a breath as Tony smirked in amusement. Getting fitted for a suit was, he admitted, an immensely boring task, as there wasn't much else to do but just stand there and be fussed over. But apparently it was especially boring if you were a seven-year-old kid who really, really, really wanted to get back to building his weird Lego airplane and finish his sandwich from Delmar's Deli. The owner at Delmar's had even given both Peter and Tony the footlong special of the day on the house, in honor of Peter's aunt and uncle.

"Haven't you ever worn a suit before, kid?" Tony asked him as the tailor pinned up the too-long pant legs.

"No," Peter grumbled. "I only like wearing clothes that are comfy."

"Hmm," Tony said, trying to hide his smile. "Well, it'll only be for the funeral. Afterwards you can change into something more… comfy. Capiche?"

Peter pursed his lips. "Capiche."

"Ah, there we are, ye wee rascal," the older man said as he slid the final pin into the hem. "All finished."

"Finally!" Peter lamented as the tailor helped him out of the charcoal grey suit jacket. Gathering up his new Old Navy sweatpants, t-shirt, and hoodie that they'd stopped to buy on their way back to the hotel, Peter ran to the bathroom to change, nearly tossing the offensive suit pants at the poor tailor once he was done.

"This will be ready by tomorrow midday," the tailor said, carefully arranging the pint-sized suit on a hanger. "As will yours, sir."

Slipping a twenty dollar bill into the man's hand, Tony showed him to the door, turning back to find Peter digging into his flattened sandwich.

"You're hungry again already?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Uh huh," Peter mumbled around a mouthful of ham. He held out the half-eaten sandwich. "Want some, Mr. Stark?"

"Nah, I'm still full," Tony said, patting his stomach. "It was good, though, I'll admit."

"Best sandwiches in Queens," Peter said proudly as he took another bite. "Uncle Ben would take me there sometimes on Saturdays for lunch. Then we'd usually take a walk afterwards, and I'd always save some of my bread so I could feed the pigeons." Swallowing his bite, he took a sip of his fruit punch. "Are there pigeons by your house?"

"Aahh," Tony stammered. "I think there's probably some seagulls, but I'm not too sure about pigeons."

"Oh," Peter said, thinking. "Do the seagulls like bread?"

"Okay, I think we're all set now," Pepper said as she walked into the living room, saving Tony from having to answer. "We're supposed to be at the funeral home by 10am the day after tomorrow, and the service starts at eleven. I also called Ms Wilson and gave her the funeral information so she knows it's been taken care of." She shot a nervous glance at Peter and lowered her voice. "Do you think we should have open caskets? I don't know if that would be easier on the kid or harder."

Tony's brow furrowed as he looked over at Peter, who was back to working on his Lego aircraft. His own parents had been too badly injured from their car crash to allow for open caskets at their funeral, and Tony hadn't ever been sure if he'd have preferred to see them again or not. He and his father had had yet another argument right before they'd left on their trip, and while Maria Stark had tried to pacify the two of them, as she usually did, there remained a lingering lack of closure that still gnawed at Tony to this day. More than he cared to admit, actually.

"Let's keep them closed," Tony whispered. "If the kid asks, we can always open them for him privately."

"All right," Pepper said, making a note on her tablet. "Then as long as the suits come back okay, I think we're ready."

Tony let out a sigh as he wrapped an arm around Pepper's waist. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Tony," she answered, resting her head against his shoulder. "This is what I do. It's what I've always done."

Yeah, but this isn't even in your job description anymore," Tony reminded her. "You were promoted, remember?"

"Yeah," she said on an exhale. "I guess old habits die hard." She raised her head to look at him. "I will need to get back to work right after the funeral, though. The whole Expo thing still isn't finished, and—"

"It's okay," interrupted Tony. "I doubt me and the kid will be staying here all that much longer anyway."

"His room at the house should be ready by the end of the week," Pepper said. "And I ordered a bunch of Lego sets too, so hopefully he won't get too bored."

"Yeah. Good thinking."

"We should talk about who's going to watch him during the day, though, Tony," she said. "I mean, I'll be working, and you'll be working, and we probably shouldn't let him just wander around the house by himself—"

"No, no, I'll watch him," Tony interjected. "I can work and keep an eye on him at the same time. JARVIS'll help me."

Pepper gave him a skeptical look. "You? Who can't even remember to stop and eat once you get engrossed in one of your projects? Who can go for three days or more without sleeping? Which isn't healthy at all, by the way, and probably not the best thing to model for a small child."

Tony scowled. Sure, there were times—okay, maybe more often than not—where he was so involved in what he was doing that the need to eat or sleep just became a nuisance. Tony even often thought of sleep as time wasted. There were only twenty-four hours in a day, after all. It seemed like such a waste to spend as much as a third of that time sleeping.

Besides. No sleep meant no nightmares.

Pepper, however, did not think sleep was a waste of time, and made sure to get at least six hours every night, no matter what else was going on. And ever since their relationship had evolved from professional to romantic, Tony had to admit that sharing a bed with her had its definite advantages. He'd even gotten to the point, albeit slowly, where he was able to enjoy the cuddling afterwards.

"Eh, it's not like the kid's hard to watch," he said. "He hasn't been hardly any trouble at all here so far. If anything, he can bring his Legos or his chemistry set or whatever down to the garage and work alongside me. I'll set up a space that's clear of any potential flying or flaming objects and we'll be fine. I'll even introduce him to Dum-E. Dum-E's just like a kid; I'm sure they'll get along great."

Pepper pursed her lips. "Tony, I don't know. First of all, I'm not sure there is any space down in that garage that is truly clear of flying objects, and second of all, it's not that hard to hire a nanny. I mean, the kid's gonna want to go places, and do things outside of the house from time to time."

"So?" Tony retorted. "Why can't he do things with me? Why can't I take him places?"

"Because taking him places would require that you actually socialize, Tony," Pepper countered. "With people. Perhaps even other people with children. And you really think that it's gonna be okay for the kid to be anywhere near you at the house, given your tendency towards your so-called 'accidents'?"

"I'm not gonna let him get hurt, Pep," Tony snapped. "Give me some credit here!"

"I don't mean you'd do it on purpose, Tony," said Pepper in a wounded voice. "You're just not as careful as you could be sometimes… okay, most of the time. And old habits tend to die hard."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I know that, Pepper! I'm not an idiot. I'm prepared to do—"

"I'm just trying to tell you that there's nothing wrong with hiring a babysitter, Tony! It's how most people do it—"

"And I said no! I don't want to just shove him off on someone else as soon as we walk through the goddamn door! The kid's been shoved off on other people his whole fucking life already!" Tony was so worked up he didn't even realize he was yelling until Peter's head snapped up, a look of pure terror spreading across his round face. It only took a split second for Tony to decide he never wanted to see the kid look at him like that ever again.

"Sorry, kid," he said in a gentler voice, raising his arms in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "Didn't mean to startle you like that."

But Peter's pale cheeks only grew paler. "Are you mad at me?" he asked, his small, high-pitched voice trembling.

"No, no, absolutely not," Tony assured him, his heart dropping down into his stomach as Peter's chin started to shake. Tony knelt down next to him and gently ruffled his curly hair. "Hey, kid, I promise I'm not mad at you. I just… have a tendency to get… loud sometimes. It's kind of a lousy habit that all the Stark men tend to have. But if it scares you, I'll try not to do that anymore. All right?"

Sniffing, Peter nodded slowly, his lower lip still twitching. "I don't like loud," he whispered. "Bad people are loud. And scary. They used to wake me up at night when I was sleeping."

"Bad people?" Tony asked, frowning as a swell of protectiveness welled up inside him, followed right on its heels by a healthy dose of anger. Who would dare…?

"What bad people, kid?"

Peter gulped and shook his head, which only served to alarm Tony even more. "Hey!" he said gently as he cupped Peter's shoulders. "No one's gonna hurt you, I promise. I won't let 'em. Okay?"

"P—, promise?" Peter asked in a wobbly voice, his big brown eyes glassy with tears.

Oh shit, don't cry! Please don't cry! I'm not ready to handle that yet!

"Of course!" Tony assured him. He pulled back and winked. "No one's dumb enough to mess with Iron Man."

He didn't miss the way the kid's eyes flicked over to his own Iron Man helmet and Lego figure, both resting on the coffee table next to the chess set.

"Okay," said Peter, and inhaled a shuddering breath. "If you say so."

"Just 'cause I'm curious, though," Tony said. "Can you tell me who these bad people were? And who they were mad at?"

Biting his lower lip, Peter reached behind him and grabbed his polar bear, squeezing him tightly against his chest. "I—, I don't know who they were," he whispered. "I never saw them, just heard them. They'd only come at night. But they were always mad. And really, really loud."

Tony shot a quick glance up at Pepper, relieved to see her furiously tapping notes into her tablet as the boy spoke. "Um, can you tell me why these people were mad at your uncle?" Tony couldn't imagine who in the hell would be mad enough at Ben Parker to come and yell at him in the middle of the night. From what Peter had told him, his Uncle Ben had worked as an electrician, which in Tony's mind was not a profession that would usually invoke such strong anger. But this was in Queens, and he supposed anything was possible.

Peter's watery brown eyes widened in shock, and his head shook so hard that a stray curl flopped down over his forehead. "No, it wasn't at my uncle's house!" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "It was at my house!"

"Your hou—, you mean, your parents' house? These people were yelling at your mom and dad?" Tony asked. He cocked his head when Peter nodded, thinking. "How old were you when this was going on, kid?"

"Th—, three," Peter stammered. Tony could tell he was barely holding back his tears, and he felt a sharp twinge of remorse, realizing he was most likely giving off his don't cry vibe quite strongly. For a seven-year-old, the kid was remarkably perceptive.

"All right," Tony said, trying to sound soothing. "Just one more question and I'll shut up about this. Okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," Peter murmured.

"Do you know why these people were yelling at your parents?"

"N—, no," answered Peter. "But it wasn't very long before my mom and dad had to go away." He paused, burying his face so hard into George's plushy head that his next words were muffled. "And then they never came back."

Tony huffed in frustration, but heeding his promise to drop the subject, he ruffled the kid's hair one more time and got back up to his feet. "All right, kid. It's all right. Why don't you… um… go back to your Legos now."

Peter glanced over at his nearly finished Lego creation, which, Tony realized, didn't resemble any kind of aircraft he'd ever seen before. "I don't feel like building anymore. Can we watch a movie instead?"

"Um, sure?" Tony said, picking up the remote from the coffee table and turning on the big-screen television mounted on the opposite wall. "What do you wanna watch?"

"Can we watch Star Wars?" Peter asked as he and George climbed up onto the couch. "That's one of my favorites!"

"Yeah, sure, kid," said Tony, flipping through the various channels until he got to the On Demand section. "Um, there's about a hundred movies called Star Wars. Which one is it?"

Tony was not at all prepared for the look of complete and utter childish shock that crossed Peter's face. "You mean, you've never seen Star Wars?"

"Um, no," Tony mumbled sheepishly. Watching movies, like sleep, had always seemed like a colossal waste of time to him in the past. "Why? Is that a bad thing?"

Peter only continued to stare at him in disbelief, causing Tony to fidget uncomfortably. "What? Am I like the first person you've ever met who hasn't seen it?"

"Yeah!" exclaimed Peter. "They're really old movies, so I thought all grown-ups had seen them. Well, I guess the newer ones aren't as old, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Tony grumbled as he plopped down on the couch. "So which one do you wanna watch?"

"Well… if you've never seen them, then I suppose we should watch Episode I. But I don't like the newer ones as much as the old ones, so…". Peter tapped his chin as he thought. "Never mind. Let's watch Episode IV anyway. It's the first one."

Tony didn't bother asking why in the hell the first one was called Episode IV as he selected the correct title and pressed the play button on the remote. Pepper excused herself a few minutes later, saying she was heading down to the business center to do some work. It wasn't until the movie was nearly half over that Tony realized Peter had inched his way so close to him on the couch that his head was pressed up against Tony's arm, and his face had relaxed into the most contented look that Tony had yet seen on him. They weren't even really talking, save for the times when Peter would point something out or comment on a particularly favorite part of the movie.

Is it really this easy to spend time with a kid?

Having not spent more than maybe a few minutes once or twice a week with his own dad, and that time being spent mostly being ignored while Howard Stark worked, Tony once again felt those disconcerting, conflicting emotions welling up inside him. Protectiveness. Pride. And perhaps the most uncomfortable of all, tenderness. The cacophony of odd feelings caused Tony to shiver, and he was grateful that the kid was too engrossed in the movie to notice his discomfort. He was a Stark, dammit. He wasn't supposed to have feelings like this. Especially for some random kid that he just met a couple days ago.

But perhaps the most unnerving part was that he seemed powerless to stop them. Tony hated not being in control. He'd spent his entire life burying his emotions down in a place so deep, he wasn't sure if he was even capable of unearthing them anymore.

It seemed as if no one had thought to inform the kid of that, however. So he was just going about, being his charming little self, and not even realizing he was slowly but effectively peeling away the innumerable layers of Tony's internal armor.

"Hey," Tony said a while later, as the Rebel pilots were beginning their assault against the very-aptly-named Death Star. He pointed to the fighters flying on the screen and then to Peter's Lego aircraft resting on the table. "You were building one of those, huh?"

"Uh huh," replied Peter. "It's an X-wing fighter. My friend at school has one, and I helped him build it when he got it. But I've never had my own before."

"Hmm," said Tony distractedly. "Well, now you do. How 'bout that?"

"Yeah! And now we can do our own attack on the Death Star! Except, our Death Star is really just a big rubber ball, because they haven't made a Death Star Lego set yet. But my friend's gonna get it as soon as they do, and then we can build it together!"

"That's good, kid," Tony mumbled, alternatively clenching and flexing his fingers. In addition to everything else, he wasn't used to going this many days without working on something, and he could tell he was starting to get restless. And when he got restless, his mind had a tendency to wander into those very dark places that he'd just as soon never visit again, and that often required consuming large amounts of alcohol in order for him to re-forget.

Plus, he very much wanted to check in with JARVIS and see if he'd been able to learn anything else about the going's-on down in New Mexico.

First huge green rage monsters, now extraterrestrials. What the hell is going on here? Why is all this happening all of a sudden?

He wondered if old General Ross was aware of New Mexico yet. For SHIELD's sake, Tony hoped not. The drunken, paranoid fool would probably try to commandeer whatever technological remnants were left behind and attempt to turn them into weapons.

As soon as the movie credits rolled Tony jumped to his feet, so suddenly that he caused Peter to tip over sideways onto the couch.

"Sorry, kid," Tony said, trying to smile at him. "I… um… just need to make a phone call. Are you good for a few minutes?"

"Uh huh," Peter said warily. "Are you—?"

Tony's heart was staccato drumming against his arc reactor, and he inhaled a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. "I promise I'm not mad at you, okay? I just need to check on a few things. I'll be back in a bit, and then we can play chess if you want. Sound good?" Chess was a very methodical and strategic game; it would hopefully help to soothe his troubled mind.

"Okay," said Peter, his features relaxing slightly. "Sounds good."

"Cool," said Tony as he turned towards the bedroom, grabbing his phone as soon as the door closed behind him. "Talk to me, JARVIS."

"Good day, sir," JARVIS replied.

"Any updates on the situation in New Mexico?" Tony asked, pacing back and forth on the thick carpet.

"There's a meeting scheduled for today at a secure SHIELD facility to discuss the incident, but I've not yet been able to break through their newly updated firewall."

"All right, that's point one for when we get back," Tony stated. "Keep trying anyway. Maybe you'll get lucky and sneak in."

"I often do, sir," said JARVIS.

"Yeah, yeah. Point two, JARVIS. What's General Ross been up to these last few days?"

"General Ross has been busy covering the recent destructive incident at Culver University."

"Uh huh," Tony said, tapping his chin. He really needed to trim his beard tonight. "Any update on that?"

"None that I've seen, sir."

"Which means that he's up to something," Tony muttered. Suspicious to the point of outright paranoia, General Ross often kept complete or near-complete radio silence when he was up to something he ought to not be doing, in order to maintain deniability later on if things went south. He was more slippery than a wet politician, and just as slimy as one when he so chose.

"Keep another eye on him, will ya, JARVIS?" said Tony. "Let me know the moment he surfaces again."

"As always, sir."

"All right. Just one more thing then," said Tony. "Has there been any mention in the news about the kid?"

"A few mentions of area Iron Man sightings on various social media outlets, sir," replied JARVIS after a moment's pause. "But no specific mention of the boy by name."

Tony breathed out a sigh of relief. It was a testament to Pepper and her excellent work behind the scenes that they hadn't been inundated with reporters as of yet. The sooner he was able to get the kid to his home in Malibu, which was far more isolated than New York City, the better he'd feel. "Good. Keep me updated. I wanna know if the kid's name pops up somewhere, no matter where it is."

"Very good, sir."

The morning of the funeral service dawned cloudy and somber, as Tony supposed it should for the funeral of a tiny kid's beloved aunt and uncle. Peter was still asleep on his hide-a-bed when Tony shuffled into the living room, stifling a yawn. Crouching down next to the bed, Tony gently ruffled the kid's hair, trying to wake him without startling him.

"Hey, kid," he murmured. "It's time to get up. We need to get ready to go."

"Mmm," Peter mumbled as he rolled over with his eyes still squeezed tightly closed, raising his arms above his head to stretch and knocking George the polar bear onto the floor in the process. Tony picked up the bear, handing him back to Peter as the kid's eyes blinked open once.

"Still 'leepy," he said, curling his slight body around his bear. "Don' wanna get up."

"I know, kid, but you gotta get up and get ready now," Tony said. "You can take a nap afterwards if you want to."

Peter's eyes flew open, narrowing as they focused in on Tony. "I don't need a nap. I'm not a baby," he grumbled, wrinkling his nose. "I'm a big boy."

Tony couldn't help but smile at the indignation in the kid's voice. "Okay then, big boy, get up and let's eat something before we get ready."

They ate their breakfast in a somewhat comfortable silence, looking out the huge window at the vast, bustling city below while Peter fed George his usual Lucky Charms marshmallows and finished both his own and Tony's leftover orange juice.

"All right," Tony said once the last piece of bacon was gone. "Let's get you ready now, yeah?"

In an instant, Peter's entire demeanor changed. His chin started to shake, and his shoulders curled inward as he looked up at Tony. "Um… um… "

"What's wrong, kid?" Tony asked, kicking himself for asking what appeared to be a really stupid question.

"It's just," Peter squeaked, burying his face into George's neck. "Auntie May always had me wash my hair before special occasions, and I think this definitely qualifies as a special occasion… but—"

"But, what?" prompted Tony.

"But every time I try and wash my hair by myself, soap gets in my eyes!" he cried, shaking his disheveled head. "And it hurts!"

"Yeah, well, eyes tend to hurt when you try and wash them with soap," Tony quipped, trying to lighten the mood. Please don't cry, please don't cry! "I know mine have never particularly enjoyed being washed."

"Can you help me?" Peter asked, sniffing. "Please? I wanna look extra nice for Auntie May today. I think she'd like it."

"Aahh," Tony stammered. Up until this point, Peter had taken care off all his own showering and dressing and other bathroom needs on his own, insisting that he was more than capable of doing everything himself. And Tony had been completely fine with that. He looked frantically around the room, as if he expected that someone else would materialize out of thin air who knew how to wash a seven-year-old kid's hair. But Pepper had already gone down to the funeral home to take care of any last-minute preparations and to verify the security, and there was no way Tony could ask Happy to help with something like this. He didn't know anything about kids either.

If only Jarvis were here!

"Please, Mr. Stark?" repeated Peter, his huge brown eyes boring deep into Tony's soul. "Please?"

What the hell. I am fucking Iron Man. If I can survive months of torture and captivity in a goddamn cave in Afghanistan, I can surely survive washing one little boy's hair.

"Sure, kid," Tony said after a moment's pause. "You… um… go get started, and then just, ah, yell when you're ready. Okay?"

Peter's bony shoulders sagged in relief. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Stark! Thank you!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, go on," Tony said gruffly, watching as Peter ran into the bathroom, followed by the woosh of water as the bathtub started to fill.

"I'm ready now, Mr. Stark!" the kid's high voice called out through the closed bathroom door a few minutes later. Swallowing hard, Tony gingerly opened the door, relieved when he found Peter surrounded by an opaque layer of bubbles.

"All right," Tony said as he knelt down next to the tub and grabbed the removable shower head. "Um… let me know if the water's too hot, okay?"

"Uh huh," Peter replied, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as Tony began rinsing his curly brown hair. Lathering it up with shampoo and rinsing again—taking extra care to not get any of the soap near the kid's eyes—only took a total of about three minutes. Not hardly something, Tony realized with shame, worth getting so worked up over.

"I can do the rest myself now, Mr. Stark," Peter said once all the shampoo was washed away, his soaking wet curls plastered across his forehead. "Thank you."

"Yeah, okay," Tony said, pushing himself back up to his feet. "Come on out when you're dry and I'll help you get into your suit."

"Uh huh."

Once he was dressed in his own brand-new suit, Tony stood at the mirror in the living room, glaring at his reflection as he adjusted his tie. "Yeah, you're a Stark all right, you asshole," he mumbled. "But I guess you don't have to be that kind of a Stark."

"Can you help me now, Mr. Stark?" a small voice suddenly said from behind him. Tony whirled around to find Peter, dressed in his undershorts and undershirt with his hair still damp, gingerly holding out the mini garment bag that held his suit.

"Yeah, sure, kid," he said, taking the garment bag and laying it carefully down on the couch. He had to stifle a chuckle when Peter wrinkled his nose as Tony tied the tie around his neck.

"Too tight," Peter complained, tugging on his shirt collar. "Don't like it."

"Like I said, kid," Tony said as he fastened the small silver cufflinks. "It's only for the funeral. After it's over you can hoodie it up to your heart's content. Capiche?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Um, capiche."

"All right, here ya go," said Tony as he helped Peter into the suit jacket just as a knock sounded at the door. Tony checked his watch. "That's Happy, so it's time to go. Ya ready?"

Looking over at his Iron Man helmet, Peter stared at it for a moment before giving his head a light shake and reaching for George instead. "Yeah, I'm ready."

The ride to the funeral home passed in a somber silence, matching the mood brought on by the overcast skies. Entering the elegantly decorated building guarded by two plainclothes NYPD officers, Tony wasn't too terribly shocked when a group of about ten women practically pounced on Peter as soon as they walked through the door. Pepper had warned him that some of May Parker's nurse colleagues were less-than-thrilled with the news of Peter coming under the guardianship of Tony Stark. And, like many New Yorkers, they weren't at all afraid to state their minds.

"Mr. Stark," one of the women said as she broke away from the fussing and cooing group. "I'll have you know, sir, that if my husband and I could have worked it out somehow, little Peter would've been coming to live with us."

"That's very kind of you, ma'am," Tony said in a clipped voice, his eyes scanning the room and counting four additional NYPD officers, one posted at each corner. Thank you, Pepper, he thought. "However, I can assure you—"

"Peter has our phone number, Mr. Stark," she interrupted, peering at him through narrowed eyes. "And I've told him to call if he ever needs anything. Anything at all, be it day or night. Do you understand me?"

Tony bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his temper intact. "I appreciate that, ma'am—"

"His aunt and uncle were good people, Mr. Stark," the lady continued, practically spitting the words in Tony's face. "The best kind of people. Little Peter deserves only the best, wouldn't you agree?"

Inhaling sharply, Tony walked straight over to the group of women and tapped Peter on the shoulder, giving the boy a wink as he looked up. Peter smiled back at him, wrapping his thin fingers around Tony's proffered hand.

"He'll get only the best with me, ma'am," Tony said firmly as he tugged Peter away from the group. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I believe the service is about to begin."

Peter surprised Tony by remaining relatively stoic during the hour-long service, his rather blank expression only wavering at the end, when the two mahogany caskets were carried out and loaded into the hearses for the ride to the cemetery. He was even able to maintain his remarkably brave stoicism while the celebrant read from a prayer book as the caskets were loaded onto the metal frames, to be lowered into the ground once the crowd had dissipated.

It wasn't until the final well-wishers had hugged and kissed and fussed over Peter to their heart's content and walked away that Peter's lower lip started to shake. Clutching George tightly to his chest, Peter shuffled over to the twin caskets, carefully running his small palm along the length of each one. Tony felt Pepper's hand on his arm as she leaned in to whisper into his ear.

"He's struggling, Tony," she said sadly. "I think it's finally hitting him that they're gone."

Tony could only nod his head as he watched Peter lean in towards Aunt May's casket, whispering something too soft for him to hear. As soon as he finished speaking he bit down hard on his bottom lip, his brown eyes flicking over to Tony, then flitting away just as fast with a sharp shake of his head.

Tony's heart twisted in his chest as he watched the kid repeat the process with his Uncle Ben, his teeth digging harder and harder into his lip as the seconds ticked by. He was trying desperately not to cry, and Tony knew it was because he was afraid that Tony, his hero, would be ashamed of him if he did.

"What the hell is wrong with you, boy?" Tony heard his father's voice say in his head, chastising him as a young Tony sobbed over the loss of his beloved maternal grandmother. "Stark men don't cry!"

Stark men don't cry. Stark men don't cry. Those words would reverberate through Tony's head roughly fifteen years later, at the funeral service of his own parents. He remembered standing there at his parents' gravesite next to Obadiah Stane, outwardly cool and unflappable as hundreds of people wished him well, his blood ice-cold in his veins and a lump in his throat the size of a ping-pong ball. And once it was all over, and Obadiah had delivered him back home, Tony had proceeded to drink himself into oblivion for the next three days straight.

Stark men don't cry. They just bury their emotions in work and alcohol, because that's so much better. Isn't it?

Well, to hell with that.

Briefly squeezing Pepper's hand, Tony released her and walked over to Peter, resting his hand gently on the kid's shoulder. "Hey, kid," he said softly. "It's okay."

Peter inhaled a shuddering breath, his eyes wide as he looked up at Tony. "N—, no. I—, I'm okay, M—, Mr. St—, Stark. R—, really."

"I mean it," Tony insisted, keeping his grip on the kid's shoulder. "It's okay."

"No!" Peter yelped, shaking his head. "I—, I'm okay! I just—"

"Peter!" Tony said sharply, mentally kicking himself when the boy jumped at his biting tone. But the sound of his proper name coming from Tony's lips for the first time since they'd met at the DSS office was enough for him to stop his yammering and focus in on Tony's face.

"Peter," Tony repeated, more gently this time as he knelt down, cupping the boy's shoulders with both hands. "I mean it. It's okay to cry."

Peter stared at him for two more heartbeats before the dam finally broke. Huge, fat tears spilled over his eyelids, streaming in rivulets down his round cheeks as the boy threw his arms around Tony's neck, burying his face in Tony's chest.

"Why did they all have to leave me, Mr. Stark? Why?" Peter sobbed, his breaths coming in huge, shuddering gasps. "My mommy and daddy, and my aunt and uncle? Why does everyone always leave me? Why? Why?"

Tony winced as he awkwardly patted Peter's back, trying not to think about the tears and snot and spit pooling on the front of his brand-new Tom Ford suit, and focus instead on the way his heart was cracking in two for the tiny kid crying in his arms. The realization that Tony was really all that Peter had now hit him like a repulsor blast to the chest, and Tony pursed his lips in determination.

"I don't have an answer for that, kid," Tony said softly. "But I'm gonna promise you something right now."

"What's that?" choked Peter.

"I promise," Tony said, drawing the small boy flush against his chest. "That's not what I'm gonna do."

Chapter Text

Tony heaved out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he shuffled down the hall towards the bedroom, taking one final glance at the kid over his shoulder as he opened the door.

Pepper, who'd gone to bed over an hour ago, rolled over as he stepped into the room. "Is he finally asleep?"

"I hope so," Tony answered as he sat down heavily onto the bed. "I waited until he stopped sniffling, at least. He's got a death grip on that polar bear though. We might be looking at a completely different animal in the morning."

Tony wasn't sure how long they'd stood there in that cemetery while the kid sobbed—and slobbered—against his chest, but by the time Peter was able to cry himself out and they made their way back to the hotel, it was nearly dinner time. Not surprisingly, Peter managed to only pick at his food during dinner, and then proceeded to refuse every single suggestion for distraction that Tony and Pepper tried to make.

In the end—with much cajoling—he finally agreed to watch Star Wars again, but only if Tony sat next to him. Likely exhausted from the events of the day, he ended up falling asleep against Tony's arm about two-thirds of the way through the movie, but woke back up and started crying all over again when Tony tried to transfer him to his bed. This led to almost two hours of shushing and comforting until Tony could get him back to sleep.

"It's gotta be hard on the kid, don't you think?" Pepper lamented. "It's just gonna take some time."

"Yeah, I guess," Tony replied, rolling his eyes as his phone buzzed in his pocket. "What's up, JARVIS? It's been a long day, and I'm tired—"

"Thought you ought to know, sir," JARVIS interrupted. "You asked me to inform you of any news regarding General Ross."

"Yeah, yeah, I guess I did," mumbled Tony, scrubbing at his face. "What's the old bastard up to now?"

"He and his squadron are currently dealing with a developing crisis situation in Harlem."

Tony's eyebrows shot up as he whirled around to look out the window, seeing nothing save for the normal late-night lights of the city. "Ah, that's a lot closer than I like him being, JARVIS. What's going on?"

"Apparently your 'disgruntled, rage-mongering scientist' has turned up again, sir. And it appears that this time he's brought a friend."

"He just turned up… in Harlem, of all places?" Tony demanded, his heart rate increasing with every word. "I thought they were down in Virginia? JARVIS, Harlem is practically just down the goddamn street from here!"

"Communications between General Ross and his forces have been mainly limited to their private military channels, sir, but I've been able to compile some information from the influx of 911 calls in the area. People are describing two large, monster-like creatures fighting each other. One orange-ish and one green. To put it bluntly, sir, they are going bonkers."

"So now we have not one, but two disgruntled, rage-mongering scientists fighting right in our backyard? Along with a full squadron of black op, trigger-happy zombie grunts?" Tony snapped, as if JARVIS himself had personally invited the monsters to start fighting. He inhaled a shaky breath, willing his heart to stop thudding in his chest as he looked over at Pepper, who was gaping back at him in confusion.

"It appears so, sir. Although I am doubtful that Ross's soldiers are in fact, zombies."

"Um," Tony stammered. He pointed with a shaky hand to Pepper's phone sitting on the bedside table. "Call for the plane. I want to get the kid out of here as soon as possible. Like, right now!"

"Okay, I'm on it," Pepper replied, sliding out of bed and grabbing her phone.

"Then get Rhodey on the phone," barked Tony. "I want him to come with the plane. And tell him to bring his suit." Why didn't I bring my suit, damn it? I'm never leaving the house without it again!

"Tony, the jet's being fueled now," Pepper said a minute later as she set her phone back down. She reached for her suitcase to start packing up. "It'll be here in about two hours. Colonel Rhodes will be arriving with the plane, and you need to calm down a little or you'll end up scaring the kid!"

Nodding, Tony flipped on the overhead light and grabbed his own suitcase, haphazardly tossing things in as he tried to take deep breaths. It'd been a long time since he'd been this overwhelmed with fear, and that realization alone was only making it worse.

"JARVIS, is the route from here to the airport clear?" Tony demanded. "I don't want the kid to know what's going on."

"The fighting appears to be confined to Harlem, sir," replied JARVIS. "I will of course continue to monitor the situation."

"Yeah, okay," Tony muttered as he zipped his suitcase closed, draping the garment bag with his and Peter's suits over the top.

"Is Happy awake yet?" he demanded, whirling around to look at Pepper.

"Why would he be awake, Tony? It's the middle of the night!" Pepper retorted as she finished tying her hair back into a ponytail. Tony's jaw clenched and he cocked his head, causing her to back away slightly. "I'll call him, okay? You just… worry about the kid."

But that's the problem; I'm too fucking worried about the kid. What the hell is wrong with me? Tony thought, shooting Pepper what he hoped was a grateful look as he exited the bedroom. He paused in the hallway halfway to Peter's bed, his hand on his chest, cupping his arc reactor. It was glowing its bluish-white glow like it always did, and the slight hum it always emanated was still there, so that obviously wasn't the problem.

Tony leaned against the wall, inhaling as deep a breath as he could and letting it slowly out. He hadn't been this worked up since he woke up in that goddamn freezing cold cave back in Afghanistan with Yinsen's clunky electromagnet wedged into his chest wall, tethered to a fucking car battery so he could be tortured and coerced into building a weapon for a bunch of terrorists.

Get ahold of yourself, Stark! You're fucking Iron Man, not some pansy-ass who's scared of monsters! And it surely wouldn't do the kid any good to wake him up with Tony looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Happy's packing up, then he'll bring the car around to the side entrance. I've taken care of the checkout, too," Pepper said, stepping into the hallway with her suitcase in tow. She looked past Tony over at Peter, still asleep on his little bed. "Are you gonna wake him up?"

"Yeah," Tony croaked, inhaling another deep breath. "Just trying not to scare him, like you said."

"He won't be scared unless you give him reason to be," Pepper whispered. "You don't need to tell him what's going on, Tony."

"Yeah, I know," replied Tony. Wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow, Tony pushed himself off of the wall and crossed the living room over to Peter's bed. He looked so innocent and small, lying there with his eyes squeezed closed and hugging his polar bear. Tony knelt down next to him, carefully brushing an errant curl from the boy's forehead. Peter jumped at the touch, yelping.

"It's okay, kid, it's just me," Tony soothed, patting Peter's head. "No need to be scared."

Peter blinked, rubbing at his red, puffy eyes with a balled up fist. "Still dark, Mr. Stark?" he mumbled. "Why's still dark out?"

"I'm sorry to wake ya, kid," Tony said gently. "I really am. But we need to get going."

"S' tired!" Peter whined, burrowing down into his blankets. "Don' wanna ge' up!"

"Look, kid, I don't really wanna be awake right now either," Tony said, which was really only partially true. He'd never told anyone this, not even Pepper, but a big part of the reason why he would often go without sleep for days on end was that more often than not, the first thing he'd see when he closed his eyes was that goddamn cave in Afghanistan. And reliving his torture over and over again in his nightmares was not something he ever looked forward to.

Not to mention the fact that the man who was supposed to be his surrogate father figure was the one ultimately responsible for Tony being captured in the first place.

"C'mon, Peter," Tony said, his tone firm but still gentle as he untangled the boy from his covers. "You can go back to sleep on the plane if you want, but I need you to get up now."

"But, why?" Peter asked, a bit more awake now. "You said you'd take me to get ice cream tomorrow."

Oh yeah. While Peter had been crying earlier, Tony had tried to distract him by asking him some questions about his favorite things. He'd learned that Peter's favorite colors were red, blue, and grey, his favorite Star Wars character was Obi-Wan Kenobi—both versions, whatever that meant—and his favorite flavor of ice cream was peppermint.

"Listen, kid. I'm sorry, but we need to get going right now, and that's all I'm gonna tell you about it. But I will promise you this. If you get your little behind out of that bed right now and get dressed so we can get out of here, there will be plenty of peppermint ice cream at my house in Malibu for you. Capiche?"

Peter stuck out his bottom lip as he pushed himself up on his elbow. "Capiche."

"That's a good kid," Tony muttered, ruffling Peter's messy hair as he helped him out of his pajama shirt. He made a mental note to schedule a haircut for him once they got back to Malibu. Pepper had said she adored Peter's curls, but Tony highly doubted they were just supposed to hang in front of the kid's eyes like they were now.

They'd just managed to get Peter dressed and standing somewhat upright when there was a knock at the door. Pepper opened it to find a very disgruntled-looking Happy, yawning and clutching his suitcase. One of the hotel's luggage carts stood beside him.

"Ready, boss," he grunted. "Should I bother asking why we're leaving for the airport at one in the morning?"

"Nope!" both Pepper and Tony said simultaneously.

"Thought so," grumbled Happy.

"And whatever you do, do not mention anything about Harlem," Tony whispered to Happy, handing him the shopping bag full of Peter's Legos.

"Why? What's going on in Harlem?" Happy asked.

"Nothing!" bellowed Tony and Pepper at the same time. Tony shot a pointed glance at Peter, who was holding George and staring off into space, blissfully unaware of the conversation.

Happy rolled his eyes, but thankfully kept his mouth shut as they packed up the car. Being that it was the middle of the night the traffic on the way to the airport was minimal, and they ended up arriving at the hangar about twenty minutes before the plane arrived, carrying an exhausted and cranky Rhodey. After a quick fuel top-off, they took off for California around 3am. Peter managed to stay awake for the entire car ride and takeoff, but his eyelids started drooping almost as soon as the plane leveled off. It didn't take too much encouragement from Tony for Peter to curl up on the seat next to him and go back to sleep.

"Now," Rhodes said from across the aisle, his narrowed eyes flicking back and forth between Tony and Peter. Happy was already snoring away in the back, and Pepper was taking advantage of the in-flight WiFi to catch up on some Stark Industries paperwork. "Care to let me in on what's going on?"

Glancing down at Peter to make sure he was asleep, Tony cocked his head. "Yeah. But first, a question. What's your old buddy Ross been up to lately?"

Rhodes blinked in surprise, giving Tony his what-the-hell-are-you-on-about-now stare. "C'mon, Tony. You know Thunderbolt's unit is off the books. Strictly EYES ONLY clearance. What makes you think that I know anything about what he's up to?"

"I'm not an idiot, Rhodey," Tony hissed. "I know he was in charge of that whole Gamma Bomb project, and I know it went horribly wrong somehow. But it's been five years since Banner disappeared, and now all of a sudden he shows up twice in the span of what, a week or so? Don't insult me by telling me that's just a coincidence."

Pursing his lips, Rhodes shook his head, looking down at Tony's hand resting protectively on Peter's shoulder. "You seem to have become awfully fond of this kid already. What's up with that?"

"Never mind that," Tony retorted, even as his fingers reflexively tightened their grip. "Just tell me what you know about Ross!"

"Tony, please!" Rhodes pleaded. "You know I'm not allowed to tell you anything! You don't have the proper clearance—"

"I used to design weapons for that fucker!" Tony snapped. "And I've never seen another military man so obsessed with building the perfect weapon. Not to mention his penchant for ass-kissing; I swear at least ninety percent of the politicos in D.C. owe him favors, and some of those aren't so small, either. So don't give me any of your damn excuses, Rhodey, 'cause you know I'll just find it out myself if I have to. This just saves me a bunch of time. And you of all people know how valuable my time is."

"Mmm," Peter whimpered in his sleep, shifting position so his head was resting on Tony's leg.

"Shh, it's okay, buddy," Tony whispered, running his hand along Peter's back. "Rhodey. Grab me a blanket from the overhead, will ya?"

"Sure," Rhodes said slowly, his eyebrows knitting together as he retrieved the woolen blanket from the overhead bin. He tossed it onto Tony's lap, sitting back down with a smirk. "Boy, you really have gone off the deep end for this kid. Haven't you?"

Tony shot him a sharp look as he carefully tucked the blanket around Peter's curled up form. "He's just a little kid, Rhodey. He doesn't have anyone else."

Rhodes let out a laugh, throwing up his hands. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with it!" he protested. "I just think it's funny is all. Who would've thought that all it would take for Tony Stark to show his vulnerable side would be a tiny, curly-haired kid from Queens who dressed up in an Iron Man costume?"

"Yeah, yeah, enough about me," Tony grumbled. "Just tell me what I want to know, and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the flight."

"Fat chance," muttered Rhodes. Sighing, he shook his head. "This could get me court-martialed, Tony. You understand that, don't you?"

"Who am I gonna tell?"

Rhodes hesitated for a few more seconds before leaning in towards Tony. "Fine. But I swear, Tony, if this ends my career, I'll never forgive you."

"This plane is more secure than Fort Knox," Tony assured him. "Isn't that right, JARVIS?"

"Right you are, sir," replied JARVIS.

"All right," Rhodes began. "You know ever since World War II that a lot of people have been… interested in replicating the work of Dr. Abraham Erskine—"

"Interested?" interrupted Tony. "More like obsessed."

"You could say obsessed," Rhodes agreed. "Russians, Nazis, hell, even us. Well, the Biotech Force-Enhancement project was part of Ross's attempt to replicate Erskine's work. He was tinkering with a formula to make soldiers immune to Gamma radiation when an experimental bomb detonated prematurely. One of the lead scientists on the project—"

"Banner," said Tony.

"Yeah, that's him. Banner got caught in the crossfire, so to speak, and ended up getting exposed to a massive amount of the radiation. It really should've killed him."

"But it didn't," Tony said.

"No, it didn't," said Rhodes. "Instead—"

"It turned him into a huge, green, rage-monster," stated Tony.

"When his heart rate gets above a certain point," Rhodes continued, glaring at Tony. "Look, if you're gonna keep interrupting me—"

"Just cut to the more recent stuff, will ya?" asked Tony. "I've already gotten the history lesson."

Rhodes huffed out a sharp breath as his glare grew sharper. "There's been some… concern… that Ross's involvement in this project hasn't exactly been beneficial to his health."

"Uh huh," said Tony. "And what does that mean, exactly?"

Leaning in even further, Rhodes lowered his voice. "Look. Some of the higher-ups are worried that Ross's desire to create the perfect weapon, or the perfect soldier, has evolved into an obsession that's quickly becoming unhealthy. But because of his high ranking, and the amount of ass-kissing he's done in the past, people are afraid to go after him."

"So instead, they just let him set not one, but two rage monsters loose in goddamn Harlem, of all places?" Tony demanded. "What the hell, Rhodey?"

"I'm not privy to the reason why they were in Harlem tonight, Tony," Rhodey admitted. "Or where the other 'rage monster' came from. I've told you all that I know."

Tony leaned back in the plush leather chair, absentmindedly running his hand along Peter's back over the blanket. "All right," he said softly. "Thanks, Rhodey. I appreciate it."

"There is one more thing," Rhodes said a couple minutes later. "I do know that once Banner reappeared, Ross ordered construction to resume on a super-secret prison, located out in the Atlantic somewhere off the coast of New York. It was originally being built during the Cold War to potentially house convicted American Communists, and was abandoned during the seventies due to fuel shortages and other budget cuts. But orders came in just a few weeks ago to pull it out of mothballs."

"Out in the Atlantic?" asked Tony, cocking an eyebrow. "As in, under the water? Submerged?"

"Completely submersible and undetectable by any currently known military or civilian tracking methods," Rhodes said grimly. "They call it the Raft."

"And who do you think he's planning to put there?" Tony asked.

Shrugging, Rhodes shook his head. "I suppose it'd be as good a place as any to hide a scientist who likes to transform into a huge green rage monster. Or even two of 'em, if it came to it."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Tony, gritting his teeth in disgust. "That sounds like something ole Ross would do."

"Now," said Rhodes. "Are you gonna tell me why I'm here, escorting you and the kid to Malibu when I'm supposed to be sleeping in my bed back in D.C.?"

"Just thought you'd appreciate the vacation," quipped Tony. "You work too hard. It's bad for your heart, ya know."

"Don't give me that, Tony. You're never concerned with my vacation status, much less the state of my heart. Now, tell me what's really going on. You owe me that much at least."

Tony dropped his head back against the headrest, wondering for a brief moment who in the hell had chosen the ugly, yellowish-beige color of the private jet's upholstery. Had it been him? He couldn't remember, but it absolutely was something that needed updating.

"After the fiasco down at Culver, I had JARVIS start keeping tabs on Ross. I wanted to be informed when he showed his ugly mug again." Tony drew in a deep breath, not wanting to reveal to Rhodey just how ridiculously scared he'd been. "When I heard he was in Harlem, and the rage monsters were fighting, well… I just didn't want the kid to be scared, ya know?" I need to rebuild that suitcase suit. Or something even smaller. I can't be caught empty-handed like that again.

"Mmm-hmm," said Rhodey, unconvinced. "Whatever, Tony. I highly doubt the kid would've even heard about it if you hadn't said anything."

"He doesn't know!" Tony hissed. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

Rhodes opened his mouth to retort, then thought the better of it, giving Tony a skeptical look instead. "Sure. So, I'm gonna catch some sleep now, if that's okay with you."

"Yeah, sure," Tony muttered, his mind already going in a thousand different directions. His left arm was bothering him, a remnant of being knocked out of the sky by one of Rhodey's fighters way back when. Tony wrapped his right hand around his left wrist, flexing and clenching his fingers until Peter whimpered again, shifting as his small hand grabbed a fistful of Tony's shirt.

"Shhh," Tony whispered, returning his palm to its place on the small of Peter's back. "It's okay, kid. It's okay."

Owing to the fact that the kid managed to sleep nearly the entire five-plus-hour flight, Peter was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed once the plane touched down in California. After saying goodbye to Rhodey, the drive from the airport to the Malibu house had his face—and George's—plastered to the backseat window, pointing out nearly every palm tree he could count.

"And it really never gets cold here, Mr. Stark?" he asked excitedly. "It never snows? That's so cool!"

"How is it cool if it never snows?" Tony asked, winking at Peter's dumbfounded look. "Nope, no snow."

"Uncle Ben would've loved that," said Peter, turning back to his window. "He always hated driving in the snow."

As soon as Happy pulled into the circular driveway of the Malibu house, Peter's jaw dropped even further. "You live here? But this is like the size of my whole entire school!"

"Cozy, isn't it?" quipped Tony as he stepped out of the car and took in a deep breath, reveling in the clean, slightly salty sea air. Had it really been only a few days since he'd last been here? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I need to get home, Tony," Pepper said, breaking Tony from his thoughts. "I need to unpack and shower and get ready for work."

"Already?" Tony asked. "You can't take one day off? And besides, you know I have a shower here that's at your disposal." While Pepper would often spend the night at the mansion, she hadn't yet given in to Tony's requests to move in permanently, saying she wanted to take their burgeoning relationship slowly for the time being. Given Tony's reputation as a womanizer, and especially given his most recent actions when he was being poisoned to death with the palladium, he supposed he couldn't really blame her.

"I think you'll have your hands full enough with the kid for awhile," Pepper murmured, leaning in for a kiss. "His room is two doors down from yours, and I'll see you both tonight."

Peter was still standing next to the car, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth gaping open as he stared at the massive house. Tony let him stand in awe while Happy unloaded the car, then cupped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, kid. Pepper said they just finished decorating your new room last night, so let's go take a peek, yeah?"

"Uh huh," Peter mumbled.

Taking the boy's hand, Tony led him through the front door, into the wide, oval-shaped entryway, and headed directly for the open staircase that led to the second floor. "Ah, here we go," Tony said as they arrived at the door to Peter's room, marked conspicuously with a nameplate in the shape of the Death Star.

Opening the door, it was almost as if they'd been transported inside the Star Wars movie itself. Opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up one entire wall of the room, two full-sized beds were draped in coverlets embossed with the two droids, C-3PO and R2-D2, while smaller versions of each droid rested on the bedside tables to serve as lamps. Behind the beds, a painted mural of the main spaceship, the Millenium Falcon, covered nearly the entire wall. On the opposite side stood a bookshelf, shaped to look like a TIE fighter and filled with books of all shapes and sizes. A squashy navy blue beanbag chair sat on the floor next to the bookshelf, with a tall reading lamp shaped like a lightsaber nestled behind it. About twenty different Lego sets stood piled up on the opposite side, with a removable building mat designed to keep any pieces from escaping. The final addition, a sixty-inch flat-screen television, was mounted on the wall above the bookshelf.

"Whoa," Peter said slowly, his eyes growing wider by the second. "This… is all for me?"

"Well, you're the only kid here, so I'd say that's an affirmative," said Tony, smiling at Peter's completely awestruck reaction. "Does that mean you like it?"

"Uh huh," the boy replied, crossing the large room to the door next to the bookshelf. After carefully placing George down on the beanbag chair, he opened the door to find the walk-in closet already filled not only with the clothes from his aunt and uncle's apartment, but an entirely new wardrobe as well, complete with at least a dozen pairs of new shoes.

"And the bathroom's here," Tony said, opening the door on the opposite side of the bookshelf to reveal the large, child-friendly bathroom, complete with a step stool at each of the two sinks, a Star Wars shower curtain, and Stormtrooper automatic toothbrush.

"I've always wanted one of those!" Peter exclaimed, pointing to the toothbrush. "My friend at school has one, only his is Darth Vader. But I think I like the Stormtrooper better."

"Well, as long as his toothbrush doesn't try to give yours orders, I think you'll be okay," said Tony with a grin as they returned to the bedroom. He had to admit, watching the kid innocently take everything in was damn endearing. As if he needed any help being endearing.

"Mr. Stark," Peter stammered, turning to look at Tony. He had that little crinkle between his eyes that Tony had noticed before when he was being especially emotional. "I don't—, I mean, this is all—, I mean… thank you."

"So, you like it?" he asked. "Think you can make do with it okay?"

"Uh huh! I love it! I've always wanted a Star Wars room! My friend has a Star Wars bedspread too, but his looks like that one lightsaber poster from Return of the Jedi. I think I like these better." He paused, eyeing the two beds. "But why are there two beds in here when it's just me?"

Tony honestly had no idea. He'd only had one bed in his room as a kid. "Well, I suppose this way you can pick your favorite robot—"

"They're droids, Mr. Stark," Peter corrected. "Not robots."

"Fine, droid," Tony said, throwing up his hands. "This way you can pick whichever one you like better on any given day."

"Or if I have a sleepover?" asked Peter eagerly. "Then my friend doesn't have to sleep on the floor!"

"Yeah, sure, kid," Tony replied. What the hell is a sleepover?

"Yay!" exclaimed Peter, bouncing on his feet. "It's gonna be great!"

"So," Tony said, a little impatiently. He was eager to get down to the garage and start going through the information from the New Mexico incident. "Let me show you the rest of the house, and then you can get to reading or building or brushing your teeth if you want, okay? I have some work I need to get started on."

"Can I have something to eat first?" Peter asked as he retrieved George from the beanbag chair. "I'm hungry."

Sighing, Tony nodded. He supposed he could do with one of his green smoothies. "Yeah, sure. Let's head to the kitchen and see what JARVIS has got for us."

"Jarvis? The guy who's clothes you used to play dress-up in?" asked Peter, reaching for Tony's hand as they headed back down the stairs.

"Well, no," replied Tony. "Mr. Jarvis was our butler when I was a kid, but he eventually got old and died. I created the artificial-intelligence JARVIS afterwards. Sort of a way to honor him, I guess. My JARVIS runs the house, just like a regular butler would. He's in charge of the security system, the grocery ordering, things like that. But he also helps me with my Iron Man armor, and helps me keep tabs on certain things that I like to keep tabs on."

"Like what?" Peter asked.

"Like… things a seven-year-old kid shouldn't have to worry about," Tony replied pointedly, smirking when Peter stuck out his bottom lip. "It's adult stuff; part of my work. Nothing you need to worry about."

Peter's brown eyes grew wide again. "Like your Iron Man work? Am I gonna get to see your suit today?"

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose you can a bit later. If you let me get some things done first, yeah?"

"Okay."

Arriving in the huge, open kitchen, Tony lifted Peter and George onto one of the tall stools lined up at the breakfast bar and opened up the fridge, pulling out a single-serve bottle of orange juice. A quick peek into one of the cupboards revealed a brand-new box of Lucky Charms, which Peter happily tore into while Tony fixed himself a smoothie.

"JARVIS?" said Tony. "Say hello to Peter."

"Hello there, Master Peter," replied the AI. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Whoa!" gushed Peter around a mouthful of marshmallows. "He called me master!"

"Yeah, it's a British thing," dismissed Tony. "I think. Our butler called me master until I was around fifteen or so."

Peter gave him a quizzical look. "Why'd he stop?"

"The term 'Master' is used to denote a young man who has not yet reached adulthood," piped up JARVIS. "Once the age of eighteen is attained, the salutation 'Mister' is then substituted."

"Thank you for the etiquette lesson, JARVIS," Tony quipped, taking a large swig of his smoothie. "So if you're done stuffing your face with the marshmallows you like to call cereal, I think that's my cue to send you to your room, young man. I need to get to work."

"I've programmed the television with programs appropriate for a child of Master Peter's age," said JARVIS. "Including all six films by the name of Star Wars."

"But for how long?" Peter whined, finishing the last of his orange juice. "I wanna see where you work. I wanna watch you. Why can't I?"

"And you will," Tony said, trying to not sound impatient. How could such a cute kid have such an annoying whine? "But I told you; I need some time to check on some things first." He clapped Peter on the shoulder, holding him steady as the boy jumped off the high stool. "I'll come and get you when I'm ready for you. All right?"

Peter's shoulders sagged, but he nodded as he picked up George. "Fine."

"If you need anything, just ask JARVIS," Tony said. "He'll tell you what to do."

"Uh huh."

Tony felt a pang of remorse as he walked Peter back up to his room, but he pushed it down, knowing that he needed to start sifting through the terabytes of information JARVIS had likely compiled on both the New Mexico incident and General Ross. Plus, there was something else that'd been nagging at Tony since before the Parkers' funeral.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asked once they arrived back at his bedroom.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Am I allowed to jump on the beds?"

Tony couldn't help but laugh. Only this kid would ask such a question. "Yeah, sure, why not. Just don't break 'em. Or, at least don't break them right away. We wouldn't want to make Pepper mad. Okay?"

"Really? Thanks! I like to practice my flips, but I still land on my back and sides sometimes, and it kinda hurts if I'm landing on the hard floor."

"You can do a flip?" asked Tony, impressed. "Can you show me?"

Nodding, Peter toed off his shoes and climbed up onto the end of the R2-D2 bed, executing a nearly-perfect front flip.

Damn! Tony thought. I guess his small size is good for something! "That's pretty impressive, kid! Where'd you learn how to do that?"

A huge smile stretched across Peter's boyish face, and once again Tony felt that unfamiliar pride welling up inside him as he watched the kid soak up the praise like a sponge. "I got to go to a gymnastics camp last summer," Peter said, the smile disappearing almost as fast as it had appeared. "I was gonna ask Auntie May if I could do it again this summer too, before—"

"It's okay, kid," Tony said quickly. "You can practice as many flips as you want on the beds, as long as you don't fall off and hurt yourself. Capiche?"

Peter swallowed hard, biting his quivering bottom lip. "Capiche."

"Hey," Tony said softly, sitting down on the bed next to Peter. "I promise I'll only be a couple hours, then I'll come and check on you. You can keep yourself busy for a couple hours, right?"

Sniffing, Peter glanced around the room, his eyes landing on one of the larger Lego sets in the pile. "Yeah. I'll be okay."

"Just let JARVIS know if you need anything," Tony said, ruffing his curly hair. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Okay, Mr. Stark," Peter said, plopping down on his building mat and reaching for the Lego set. "See ya later."

Tony hovered in the doorway for a few more seconds, watching as Peter set George down next to him on the floor and proceeded to rip open the Lego box, tossing the assembly directions off to the side as he dumped out the pieces into one huge pile. As he turned and walked down the hall, he could hear Peter talking to George about where they should start.

"All right, JARVIS," Tony said as he punched his code into the newly repaired glass security door and stepped into his lab. "Show me what'cha got."

"Would you like to begin with New Mexico or General Ross, sir?" asked JARVIS.

"Might as well start with the little green men," Tony said, tapping his monitors to life. "Then we can move up to the big green man."

"Very good, sir," JARVIS replied, as pictures of the destroyed New Mexico town started to appear on the monitors.

"And while you're doing that, order something for the kid to jump on that's safer than a bed," Tony said, tapping on one of the pictures that showed a very odd-looking marking etched into a field.

"Perhaps a trampoline, sir?" suggested JARVIS.

"Hmm, yeah, sure," Tony replied, distracted. "And as if you don't have enough to do already, open a new file while you're at it."

"A new file for what, sir?"

Tony narrowed his eyes as he remembered what Peter said about the loud people who woke him up at night shortly before his parents were killed. Tony was certain there had to be some connection with why Peter's father's name had shown up in SHIELD's files. From what Tony had seen, SHIELD didn't keep tabs on just any ordinary scientist. There had to be an important reason why they had been monitoring Parker's work.

"I wanna know everything that SHIELD was doing with Richard Parker," Tony said, tapping another command into his monitor. "And whatever research he was involved in. There's something there, JARVIS, and I'm gonna find it."

Chapter Text

Through the pulsating beat of his usual Black Sabbath background music, Tony smiled as he heard the thud! of Peter sticking yet another landing in his floor routine. After seeing the boy's delight with his new trampoline and all the tricks he could perform with it, it was only a couple of days later that Tony tracked down and hired a gymnastics instructor who would come out to the house and work with Peter for a couple of hours every afternoon. This not only gave Tony some much-needed time to work on things that were not exactly appropriate for little eyes to see, but also had the added effect of helping tire Peter out so he'd hopefully be able to sleep better.

Thud! Tony heard again, followed closely by the shout of praise from Peter's teacher, a short, compact Ukrainian woman in her mid-fifties that treated Peter like a long-lost grandson. Tony shook his head, grinning even wider as he tightened a bolt on the knee joint of his new prototype armor.

Instead of building another suitcase suit—which, Tony had realized, was quite bulky and heavy and too conspicuous to easily carry around—he decided to try and build a more lighter-weight suit that could be summoned to him via an electronic signal transmitted from a pair of metal cuffs worn around his wrists. It had been tricky tinkering with the density of the gold/titanium alloy, as making the suit lighter also variably reduced the protection it offered. But if Tony's math was correct, and it always was, he believed he'd been able to find the perfect balance between durability and portability.

He of course wouldn't know for sure until he was able to test out the suit for himself, which wouldn't be for awhile yet, but things were looking good so far. With any luck he should be able to have the Mark VII suit finished by the time he and the kid returned to New York in a couple of weeks. School would be starting in a bit less than a month, and Tony wanted Peter to have some time to get back into the swing of things in New York before he started the new school year, especially since they still needed to design Peter's new bedroom at Stark Tower. The tower wasn't completely finished quite yet, but the contractor had promised Tony that the living quarters would be ready to move into by the time he and Peter arrived in New York.

Tony had been relieved to learn that the school Peter attended wasn't just a regular New York City public school, but instead a prep school for gifted kids that required the passing of a difficult entrance exam prior to admission. Even better was the fact that the school was actually located in Midtown, not Queens, and as such was only about ten blocks away from Stark Tower. Since his own schooling had been so convoluted as a child, with skipping grades and entering college when he was only fifteen years old, Tony was pleased that Ben and May Parker had instead chosen to keep Peter in his age-appropriate grade and send him to this special school for especially smart kids.

An eager knock on the glass door startled Tony from his thoughts, and he looked up to find Peter, bouncing up and down on his feet and sporting a cheeky grin.

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark!" the boy exclaimed, rushing into the garage once JARVIS unlocked the door. "Ms Toddie said that I can start on the tall balance beam next week! She's gonna bring one for me to try!"

"Really?" Tony said, his lips curling into a smirk. "That's great! Now you'll make even more noise when you land. And I wish you could time your jumps better with my music, because the beats never seem to line up correctly. It really throws me off when I'm trying to work."

Tony had meant the comment to be lighthearted, and so was alarmed when Peter's face fell and his shoulders hunched forward. "Hey!" he said, reaching to ruffle Peter's sweaty curls. "I only meant that I'm proud of you, kid, that's all. I know how much fun you have jumping around upstairs everyday."

"Ms Toddie says I'm good at it," Peter mumbled.

"And Ms Tatiana is correct," Tony stated firmly, gripping Peter's shoulder. "I was just giving you a hard time, kid. I know you're good at it, and I know you love it."

Peter drew his shoulders back, nodding at Tony as he tried to smile. "I do love it. I'm gonna miss it when we have to leave here."

"Well, maybe we can find a gym for you to practice at after school?" Tony suggested. "You can get your Lego-builder friend to join you too, if you want."

"I don't think so," Peter said, shaking his head. "Ned can't do gymnastics like me."

"Okay, we don't have to decide now," said Tony. With a final twist of his screwdriver, he removed the knee joint and placed it carefully onto its stand. "Wanna try out your new boots for a few minutes?"

It was as if Tony had flipped a switch with the way Peter's eyes widened and the smile stretched across his face. "Can I?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise," Tony replied with a wink. Lifting Peter onto the counter, he retrieved the mini Iron Man boots he'd just yesterday finished building from their locked storage cube and slid them onto the kid's socked feet. "So. Whaddya think?"

"Whoa," Peter breathed, clinking the toes of the bright red and gold boots together. "They look just like yours!"

"They are just like mine," Tony said proudly. "Just a bit smaller. And non-flyable, of course."

"Aww, but I wanna fly too!" Peter whined as he jumped off the counter, dropping down in a perfect imitation of Tony's signature Iron Man landing. "Why can't I fly?"

"You're still a bit young for that, I think," said Tony with a chuckle. "Besides, I don't think Ms Wilson would be too happy if she thought I had you flying around the garage."

"But I wouldn't tell her!" exclaimed Peter. "Just like I didn't tell her that you let me stay up watching movies when I can't sleep!"

Tony grimaced. He didn't like being reminded that the poor kid had trouble sleeping from time to time. "I know, Peter. But watching Star Wars for the eightieth time because you had a nightmare at three in the morning and flying around a garage in homemade rocket boots are two pretty different things. Don't you think?"

"They're repulsor boots. Not rocket boots," Peter corrected. "Right? You told me that you don't build rockets anymore."

Grinning, Tony nodded. "Yeah, that's right. But I highly doubt Ms Wilson would care too much about that particular distinction."

"Yeah, I guess not," Peter muttered. He took a step, smiling as the boot made a loud clanking noise against the garage floor. "They're still pretty cool boots though, Mr. Stark. Thank you."

"Tony," Tony said suddenly, tapping his fingers on the counter. He glanced sheepishly down at Peter. "You can call me Tony, you know. Mr. Stark was my father's name; it's not mine."

Peter brushed a sweaty curl from his forehead, swallowing hard as his huge brown eyes locked with Tony's. "Auntie May always said it was polite to call grownups mister or missus," he said quietly.

"Well, Auntie May was right about that," replied Tony, his heart thudding in his chest as he knelt down in front of Peter. He'd been wanting to bring this subject up for most of the summer, but hadn't found what he thought to be the right time. "But I think we've established by now that I'm not just your average adult. Haven't we?" I'm your… what am I, exactly? Your guardian?

Your… dad?

Would you even want that from me?

"Yeah," Peter said slowly, his sweet, boyish grin stretching across his face. "Yeah, I think so. Okay, Mr… I mean, Tony. Thank you."

"Good," Tony said with a relieved smile, patting Peter's shoulder as he got back up to his feet. "Glad we got that settled."

"How long can I play in these?" Peter asked as he stomped over to his workstation, modeled to look just like Tony's, where he was working on rebuilding an old tractor engine Tony had scavenged from a nearby scrapyard. He picked up a socket wrench, looking over the various engine parts with a critical eye while Dum-E watched from over his shoulder.

"Until you break the floor," Tony said, winking as he tapped commands into his monitors. A blinking light, indicating a new message from JARVIS, caught his eye. "Or until dinner time, whichever comes first."

"Uh huh," replied Peter, biting the corner of his lower lip as he attached two parts together. He always would bite down on his lip when he was concentrating extra hard, which both Tony and Pepper happened to find adorable.

"What's going on, JARVIS?" Tony asked quietly, tapping the message icon on his monitor. He'd developed this new upload into JARVIS's system after Peter nearly overheard he and JARVIS talking about some things that Tony had no desire for Peter to overhear. Tony wasn't sure how in the hell the kid did it, but Peter was so quiet on his feet at times that you didn't even realize he was standing right next to you until he opened his mouth. As a result, JARVIS was now silent in the garage when Peter was around, unless specifically spoken to by either Tony or Peter.

"Is the coast clear, sir?" asked the AI.

"As long as you're quiet," replied Tony, shooting a furtive glance over at Peter, still with his teeth clamped down on his lip. "What's up?"

"I've been able to retrieve some more files pertaining to Richard Parker from an old, now-defunct SHIELD database," JARVIS said in a loud whisper. "But unfortunately many sections of the files are redacted, making them nearly unreadable. I would estimate that only ten to twenty percent of the text is legible."

"Damn," Tony grumbled, tapping his chin. So far the only information he'd been able to dig up on Parker was that he was a geneticist—which he knew already—and that he somehow knew or had worked in the past with Agent Peggy Carter. Tony was familiar with Agent Carter, as she had not only worked closely with Tony's father on Project Rebirth, but was also a founding member of SHIELD. Unfortunately, Peggy Carter was now a near-invalid, suffering from Alzheimer's Disease, and therefore not a reliable source of information.

"Let me take a look at 'em anyway, JARVIS," said Tony. "Maybe there'll still be something useful in there."

A scanned copy of an old, typewritten page appeared on Tony's monitor, listed as page 1 of 216. "Very good, sir."

"Hmm," Tony grumbled as he scanned the page, which was littered with harsh black lines striking out most of the text. A quick swipe to the next page revealed more of the same, and by the tenth page Tony was rapidly losing his patience.

"JARVIS, pull all of the non-redacted text of this file and condense," he said.

"It'll likely only be gibberish, sir," warned JARVIS.

"Yeah, maybe. Do it anyway and let's see."

A few seconds later a new, thirty page file appeared on his screen. Tapping the first page, Tony read through the random, oft-repeated leftover words, his jaw tensing tighter and tighter as the seconds ticked away.

RESEARCH. DNA. GENETICALLY ENGINEERED. STRENGTH. SPEED. DURABILITY. FOREIGN. WEAPON.

And the final words, printed towards the end of the last page, repeated three times.

TRAITOR. MUST ELIMINATE IMMEDIATELY.

Tony swallowed hard, a sharp ache flaring in his chest as the realization of what this likely meant washed over him. He shot another glance over at Peter, who was busy tightening a bolt with his socket wrench like a pro, blissfully unaware of what was going on only a few feet away.

According to this information Richard Parker was a traitor, and had likely been killed for it. Whether or not Mrs. Parker had been in on her husband's work or was simply just collateral damage Tony couldn't tell, but the evidence seemed clear that Richard Parker had been trying to sell a weaponized… something to a foreign government, and had gotten caught.

"JARVIS," Tony croaked softly. "Triple encrypt this file and store it away under the kid's heading."

"Very good, sir," replied JARVIS. "Should I then begin preheating the oven? It is getting close to the boy's dinner hour."

"Yeah, sure," said Tony with a heavy sigh. He hadn't been quite sure what he thought he'd find when he started this particular information dig, but it definitely hadn't been that.

Poor kid, he thought. Howard Stark had also been accused of being a traitor, and in fact had been forced to flee the United States for a period of time while that was all sorted out. But his name was eventually cleared, and that mess had all occurred before Tony was even born, although it no doubt contributed to the bitterness Howard carried with him as an older man.

He doesn't need to know. There's no reason for him to know. Peter had been only three years old when his parents were killed, and had admitted to Tony a few times that he didn't remember them very much. There was no good reason Tony could see for sullying the kid's few remaining memories of them with such horrible information.

"Hey, Peter, why don't you finish up there and get ready for dinner, yeah?" Tony called to the boy. "You have to be hungry after all that noise you were making earlier."

With a final stroke of his wrench, Peter set it down and nodded. "But can we come back down here afterwards?" he asked as he clomped back over to Tony, holding out his arms so Tony could lift him onto the counter. "I'm almost done with the engine you gave me."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want," Tony forced out past the lump in his throat. Sliding the kid's boots off, he locked them in their storage unit. "You've only been working on that engine for two days and you're almost done already?"

"Well, yeah," Peter said, holding onto Tony's hand as he jumped down off the counter. "It's not really that different from a Lego set."

"No, I suppose it's not," Tony said with a chuckle. "But the real test will come when we try and turn it on."

"Oh, I wanna try!" exclaimed Peter as they climbed up the stairs and headed for the kitchen. "When can we try?"

"Probably after your friends leave next week," Tony said. Rummaging through the fridge, he pulled out the various food items that comprised Peter's dinner for the evening. Pepper had ordered a weekly meal-delivery service shortly after they arrived in Malibu, telling Tony that while Peter may enjoy living on orange juice, Lucky Charms, and the occasional frozen pizza, it likely wasn't the healthiest of diets for an active, growing little boy. All Tony had to do was pull out the color-coded boxes that corresponded to that day of the week and heat things up. It was easy enough, and, Tony realized, even somewhat enjoyable. He and Pepper would usually eat their dinner together after Peter went to bed, but Tony would always sit with Peter and have a snack while he ate.

"I can't wait to see Disneyland!" Peter exclaimed fifteen minutes later through a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy. "Ned's never been to Disneyland either, so it's gonna be so much fun!"

"Yeah, I can't wait," Tony said, trying desperately to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Peter's eighth birthday was during the week that they'd be returning to New York, and Tony had planned on having a small party for him with some of his school friends once they'd gotten settled into Stark Tower. But then Peter found out that his best friend, Ned, was going to be visiting his grandparents for the last two weeks of summer break and sadly wouldn't be available for Peter's birthday. So, in a rare moment of weakness, Tony had offered to fly Ned and his father out to Malibu for a few days instead. It had seemed like a great idea at the time, but as it grew closer to their arrival date, Tony was starting to regret the offer more and more. Three days of Peter socializing with his friend meant three days where Tony would be expected to socialize with said friend's father, and making small talk with non-genius people wasn't one of Tony's strong suits. Pepper was, of course, exempt from that category.

"Are you gonna go on all the rollercoasters with me, Mr—, I mean, Tony?" Peter asked as he took a sip of his milk. "I love rollercoasters! Uncle Ben took me on the Cyclone once when I was six, and it was so much fun!"

"Yeah, I've been on the Cyclone a few times," Tony replied. He didn't mention that the last time he'd ridden that ride he'd been nearly falling-down drunk; not something he cared to remember.

"Whoa, they had it way back when you were a kid?" Peter asked, biting off a chunk of a dinner roll. "I didn't know that!"

"That coaster's been around since my dad was a kid," Tony retorted, winking so Peter wouldn't think he was truly angry. "And I'm not really as old as you make me sound, you know."

Peter let out a giggle. "Are ya sure?" he asked with a maniacal grin.

"Positive!" Tony stated, ruffling Peter's hair. "Besides, I still play with toys, so I can't be that old."

Giggling again, Peter popped the last bit of his roll into his mouth, swallowed the rest of his milk, and jumped down from the kitchen stool, heading for the hallway. Tony just watched him go, that painful ache in his chest flaring up again as he recalled what he discovered today.

He doesn't need to know. Kid's had enough heartbreak for one lifetime.

Peter paused in the hall, looking back when he realized that Tony wasn't following him. "Are you gonna help me wash my hair tonight, Mr—, I mean, Tony?"

"Yep," Tony choked out. "You just go on. I'll catch up once I clean up in here."

"Okay," the kid said as he skipped away.

"JARVIS?" Tony said once Peter's footsteps had faded down the hallway. "You got that file encrypted yet?"

"Triple, sir, just like you asked," replied JARVIS.

"Good. Any way you could work on pulling the text from the redacted lines?"

"Not likely, sir, given the poor quality of the initially scanned file. But I can try."

"Yeah, why not," Tony said. He slammed his palm onto the countertop, nearly knocking Peter's milk glass into the sink. Why hadn't he just left well enough alone? He'd always been too curious for his own good. But now it wasn't enough that Peter's birth father had been branded a traitor, Tony wanted to know why. "When you're not busy with other things."

"There is very little time when I'm not busy with other things, sir," quipped the AI.

"I know, I know," replied Tony. "And it goes without saying that not a word of this gets to the kid, right?"

"Absolutely, sir," said JARVIS. "As always, you can count on my discretion."

"Thanks, JARVIS."

The rest of the summer seemed to pass in a blur, including—much to Tony's relief—the trip to Disneyland with Ned and his father. Both of them, who were about as round as they were tall, talked so nonstop that Tony and Peter could barely get a word in edgewise during the entire three days of their stay. Ned was even able to keep up a running commentary about some movie he'd recently seen while they were riding on the Matterhorn, while his dad proceeded to give Tony an entire detailed history lesson on the original Polynesian settlement on the Hawaiian islands, and how his family then came to migrate to New York City.

In the end, even Peter seemed a bit relieved once they were shipped back off to New York. And Tony was relieved to no longer have to fend off the curious stares, side-eyes, and loudly whispered questions of onlookers as they strolled through one of the busiest amusement parks in the country.

"Isn't that Tony Stark? Over there, next to that kid wearing the science-nerd t-shirt?"

"Nah, Tony Stark's taller than that dude. And you know he wouldn't be caught dead carrying around a Mickey Mouse balloon. I'll bet he's more of a Buzz Lightyear guy."

It was still a miracle that a gaggle of reporters hadn't yet descended on them, another testament to Pepper's excellent work behind the scenes. Tony knew it was only a matter of time before some reporter that was out of Pepper's reach would be able to put the pieces together, but he was still grateful for the time he and Peter had had to get to know each other in relative obscurity.

The move into Stark Tower two weeks later went as well as could be expected, and once Peter resumed school, he and Tony were able to fall into a fairly easy daily routine. Tony was impressed with Peter's teachers, most of whom were remarkably supportive of him as Peter's guardian, and the smaller class size and the general intelligence level of the faculty helped ease any concerns he might have had about the quality of Peter's education. The Principal's promise to treat Tony the same as he would any other parent, instead of a billionaire celebrity/ superhero, was also a relief.

Being more of a morning person than Happy, Tony would get Peter up and off to school in the morning, with Happy picking him up in the afternoon and bringing him to his after-school gymnastics class, then back to the Tower for dinner and homework. Afterwards, they'd work some on Tony's new Mark VII suit, or watch a movie, or whatever else the kid wanted to do until it was time for bed.

And it still never failed to amaze Tony how easily the kid was managing to thaw his frozen heart. Even though he was still dependent on his chest piece to survive, Tony hadn't realized how little he was actually living before Peter came along. Pepper had helped to awaken a part of him that he'd thought was long dead, but it wasn't until Peter came into his life that Tony truly understood the concept of unconditional love.

"Hey," Tony said one cool, mid-November evening, his brow furrowing in concern as he watched Peter only pick at his dinner. "What's going on? Not that hungry tonight?"

"No, not really," Peter said, pushing the plate away. "I'm pretty tired, actually. Can I go to bed early tonight?"

Tony's brow furrowed even more, and he scrubbed his palm across his eyes. The kid never, ever asked to go to bed early. If anything, he was always begging to stay up late so he could watch the construction people working on the upper floors of the tower.

"They work you guys extra hard at the gym today?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Peter mumbled, even as he laid his head down on the table. "'m tired, Tony. Wanna go bed now."

"Okay, sure," Tony answered warily. "Go on and get ready and I'll come tuck ya in."

"Thanks," Peter whispered as he practically slid from his chair, stumbling twice before he managed to exit the kitchen.

What the hell are they teaching at that gym? Tony wondered as he cleaned up the kid's discarded dinner. Maybe he should think about dropping Peter down to three classes a week instead of five if they were going to start working the kid to death.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked Peter as he tucked him in a few minutes later, after making sure that he'd remembered to brush his teeth.

"Uh huh," Peter mumbled, already half asleep. "Jus' 'ired."

"Hmm, okay," Tony said, still not convinced but knowing that trying to hold any kind of conversation with a half-asleep Peter was pretty much a hopeless cause. He gently ruffled the kid's curly hair. "Sleep well, buddy."

Exiting Peter's bedroom, Tony proceeded downstairs to his interim workshop, already pondering on how to solve the annoying communication problem between the new suit and the metal cuffs. Once he was able to solve these issues, he'd then have armor that would essentially wrap itself around his body on command, instead of having to rely on his complex robotic systems for suit-up and removal.

"How're those numbers coming, JARVIS?" Tony asked as he tapped his monitors to life.

"Sir, please understand, these are very complex calculations," JARVIS said. "And if a single variable is missed, we run the risk of the suit wrapping itself around the nearest lamppost or mailbox instead of around your person."

"Well, it'd be one hell of a handsome lamppost," Tony muttered as he grabbed at the air in front of one of the monitors, throwing the schematic into the open area off to the side and expanding it. "Where's the current problem? In the radio signal?"

"I believe it's a matter of fine-tuning the frequency, sir," JARVIS replied.

"Hmm." Tony stepped into the holographic field, tapping his chin as he scanned the bright blue design. Pinching his fingers around one small portion, he brought it closer, eyeing it critically as he tapped in commands with his free hand. "Try it now."

"We're getting closer, sir," said JARVIS a few seconds later. "The only problem is that your head would now have to be pointing backwards."

"Hmm. Having eyes in the back of my head would come in handy more often that not," Tony mumbled as he tossed his holographic handful off to the side. He walked towards the opposite end, reaching for a different corner this time. "Let's try this one next."

"Pardon me, sir," JARVIS suddenly said a few minutes later. "But Master Peter appears to have fallen out of his bed."

"What?!" Tony exclaimed. Slamming his palms together, he closed out his holographic program and took off running for the stairs. "JARVIS? Is he all right?"

"If I had to guess, sir, I'd say he's become ill," replied JARVIS.

"Ill?" demanded Tony as he rounded the corner towards Peter's room. "Who the fuck got my kid sick?"

"It could very well be the flu that's been going around, sir," JARVIS said. "I believe it's been reported in the news."

"Peter?" Tony said, nearly choking as he approached the boy, crying and writhing in pain on the floor next to his bed. He carefully lifted Peter onto his lap, brushing his sweat-dampened hair from his eyes. "Peter? Talk to me, buddy. Are you hurt? Tell me what's going on."

"I don't feel so good," Peter said, his words slurring like he was drunk. Tony's heart dropped into his stomach as he pressed his palm to Peter's forehead, which was burning hot.

"Shit," Tony muttered. "JARVIS, the kid's head is burning up!"

"Don' feel so good," mumbled Peter, shivering so hard it was difficult for Tony to keep hold of him. "Head hurts, legs hurt… I hurt!"

"Might I recommend an age-appropriate dosage of a fever-reducing medicine, sir?" JARVIS asked. "While a mild fever can be beneficial during a viral illness, an especially high fever can lead to rapid dehydration and possibly seizures in small children."

"Seizures?!" barked Tony. "Holy shit, JARVIS!" He carefully lifted Peter back onto his bed, tucking George in under his arm. "I'm gonna go get you some medicine, buddy. I promise I'll be right back."

Racing into Peter's bathroom, Tony pulled out the fully stocked first aid kit from the medicine cabinet and tore it open, rifling through its various contents until he found the bottle of paracetamol. He tried to squint to read the appropriate dosage, but the dim bathroom light and the lack of his glasses made it impossible to read. "He's almost fifty pounds, JARVIS. How much of this stuff am I supposed to give him?"

"Two teaspoons, sir," replied JARVIS after a second's pause. "Might I also suggest calling 911, sir?"

"Um, you said this bug's been in the news?" Tony asked, pouring the dark purple liquid into a dosing spoon.

"That is correct, sir. There have been several schools in the Midtown area that have been forced to close due to excessive student absences."

Tony repressed a shudder. "Then the hospitals are already gonna be chock full of sick people. No. Get Rhodey on the phone instead."

"Very good, sir."

Tony vaguely remembered seeing a couple of fleeting news reports on the severity of the approaching flu season amid the usual reports of political scandals and a couple of random suicide bombers, but had shrugged them off like he always did anything having to do with the health of the general public. His heart condition notwithstanding, Tony never got sick; his germophobia wouldn't allow it. He'd always had a strict policy of avoiding sick people… well… like the plague.

Besides that, the Tower had an air purification system that Tony himself had designed to keep out most known harmful germs. It rankled him to no end to think that this fucking flu bug had been smarter than him.

Grabbing Peter's medicine and a glass of water, Tony crossed the room back over to Peter's bed. "Here ya go, buddy," he said, gently raising Peter's head to feed him the medicine. Peter sputtered and choked, but managed to swallow the entire dose, even taking a small sip of water before curling into a ball on his side and huddling under his blankets.

"Don' feel good, Daddy," he mumbled, causing Tony to freeze in his tracks. Surely he didn't mean—

"Tony?" came Rhodey's voice from Peter's television screen on the opposite wall, so suddenly that Tony jumped, spilling some of the water onto the floor. "What's going on?"

"Kid's sick," Tony said, jerking his head towards Peter. "I need you up here. Can you get away?"

Rhodes shot him a confused look. "I'm not a doctor, Tony. You should get him to a hospital if you're—"

"You're a fully trained field medic!" Tony snapped, placing his hand on Peter's head. "With the best combat medical training the Air Force has to offer. So get your ass up here and help me treat my kid!"

"Tony—"

"Rhodey, please," pleaded Tony. "You've heard about the flu bug going around, yeah?"

"Tony, everyone's heard about this flu going around. Practically all the hospitals on the eastern seaboard are full of flu victims. The Air Force has even had to relinquish some of its emergency antiviral stockpile. It's been all over the news, how haven't you heard about it?"

"Well, then that's even more reason why I need you here," Tony said firmly. "Grab some of that and whatever IV fluids you'd need for a kid and get up here ASAP."

Scowling, Rhodes finally nodded. "Fine. But after this, I'm having you go through the damn field medic training."

"Whatever," grumbled Tony.

"I can be there in two hours."

"I know you can fly faster than that," Tony said. "Even that old Mark II's designed to go faster than that."

Rhodey rolled his eyes. "I'm not flying in the suit, Tony. I can't carry an entire mobile medbay with me if I fly in the suit."

"Yeah, yeah, just get here," muttered Tony.

"Daddy," Peter croaked from his bed as Rhodes clicked off, reaching a shaking hand towards Tony. "So cold."

Kid's delirious, thought Tony, even as he grabbed a spare blanket from Peter's closet and tucked it around him. "That better, buddy?" he asked softly. He ran his fingers through Peter's curly hair, trying to soothe him.

"Uh huh," Peter whispered, burrowing so far under the covers that only the very top of his head was visible. "Better."

Tony sat down next to him on the bed, his hand resting on Peter's shoulder, and leaned back against the headboard. "Just try and sleep now, kid. Rhodey will be here soon, and then we'll get you all fixed up."

"My legs hurt," came the muffled voice from the depths of the blankets. "Back hurts. Everything hurts. Don't feel good, Dad."

"Body aches are a common symptom of the flu, sir," piped up JARVIS.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony muttered, fighting back tears at how helpless he felt. The kid's dad must've taken care of him the last time he was this sick. "I know you don't feel good, buddy. When Rhodey gets here he'll be able to help you feel better. Just try and sleep for a bit, okay?"

"Mmm," mumbled Peter. "Throat hurts too."

"Then stop your jabbering and get to sleep. Okay?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Peter was quiet for about twenty minutes, while Tony's eyes alternated between watching the clock and the lump that was Peter under the blankets, making sure he didn't do anything stupid like try and stop breathing.

"Dad," Peter said suddenly, throwing off his heavy blankets in one fell swoop. Tony immediately noticed that his pajama top was now glued to his skin with sweat. "Too hot, too hot, too hot!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Tony said, trying to catch Peter's flailing hands before he managed to hurt himself. "Try and calm down, kid! You need to be resting!"

"It appears that Master Peter's fever medicine has kicked in," said JARVIS. "Perhaps some fresh pajamas and a cold cloth over his forehead would help with his discomfort?"

"Yeah, okay," said Tony, vaguely remembering Jarvis doing something like that for him when he was sick once as a kid. "I'll be right back, Peter."

"Don't go!" Peter cried, grabbing for Tony's hand. "Please! You promised you'd never leave me!"

"I'm just gonna get you some clean pj's, kid," Tony reassured him, ruffling his damp hair. "I promise I'm not leaving you."

"Don't feel good, Dad," Peter said as he flopped back down onto the bed, still clinging to Tony's hand. "Don't go."

Tony's lower lip was starting to shake. Does he really mean…? "Hey," he said softly as he gathered Peter's small body into his arms. "I'm not leaving you. I'm just gonna get you some clean pj's and a cold washcloth. It'll help you feel better, kid, and you can watch me the whole time. Okay?"

Peter's eyelashes fluttered as his bleary brown eyes opened, such a stark contrast against his flushed, pale skin. "Promise?"

"Absolutely," said Tony. Squeezing him close, he planted a quick kiss on the top of Peter's head. "I promise."

"M'kay," Peter finally said.

After sponging the sweat from Peter's body and dressing him in a fresh pair of pajamas, Tony had just gotten him tucked back into bed when he started shivering again, this time so violently that Tony was afraid he'd break his teeth.

"JARVIS, how far out is Rhodes!" Tony barked as he wrapped his arms around the shaking boy. "He's getting worse!"

"Colonel Rhodes has just now landed," JARVIS replied. "He's being admitted into the Tower as we speak."

"Rhodes!" yelled Tony, covering Peter's ears with his hands. "Rhodes, get up here! He's getting worse!"

"Dammit, Tony, don't yell at me!" Rhodey snapped as he rushed into the room, a silver suitcase clutched in one hand. "I got here as fast as I could!"

"Kid's bad, Rhodey," Tony said worriedly. "He's shaking like a leaf, says everything hurts, goes from shivering to sweating in the blink of an eye—"

"It's the flu, Tony," Rhodes said, opening up his suitcase. "I'm surprised the kid's school didn't send a note home about it. All the schools in D.C. did."

"Shit!" Tony exclaimed, slamming his palm against his forehead. "I completely forgot to check his backpack!"

It hadn't taken long after the start of the school year for Tony to realize that he needed to ask Peter on a near-daily basis if there were any notes or other information sent home from school, because Peter simply wouldn't remember to tell Tony otherwise. It also didn't help matters that Peter was already on his third backpack of the school year. Which, from what Peter had told him, was nothing unusual for him.

"Bad word!" Peter whimpered through his chattering teeth. "Dad said a bad word! That's another dollar in the jar!"

"Dad?" Rhodey asked, raising an eyebrow. "You got something you wanna tell me?"

Tony shook his head, his eyes flicking down to Peter then back at Rhodes. "He doesn't mean me," he whispered. "Kid's out of it."

"When we get a hundred dollars in the jar, Dad said he'll buy me the Lego AT-AT," Peter mumbled.

"I'm pretty sure he means you, Tony," said Rhodes.

"Just get him fixed up, will ya?" Tony snapped. "The poor kid is sick!"

Rolling his eyes, Rhodes pulled out a pair of exam gloves, a butterfly needle kit, and a bag of IV fluids. "There's not really much I can do for him," he said, drawing up the sleeve of Peter's pajama shirt. "Unfortunately, treatment for the flu is really only supportive care. You just gotta let the bug work its own way out."

"Then, support him," Tony said, with only a hint of sarcasm. "Just tell me what I need to do."

"Hold his arm steady," said Rhodes. Opening the needle kit, he wiped Peter's forearm down with an alcohol swab and tied a tourniquet around his upper arm above his elbow, looking for a vein to stick.

"Hurts!" yelped Peter as Rhodes jabbed him once with the needle, swearing under his breath as the vein immediately blew out. "Daddy, it hurts!"

"Rhodey, you're hurting him!" Tony cried.

"No kids in the Air Force, Tony!" snapped Rhodes as he prepared a second needle. "Not used to veins this small!"

"Ow!" Peter wailed, the pathetic sound squeezing Tony's heart like a vise. "Hurts!"

"Rhodes!"

"There, I got it!" Rhodes said, handing Tony a roll of medical tape. "Tear off a piece of that and place it right over the needle while I hook up the fluids."

"Hurts!" Peter moaned as Tony carefully taped the needle into place on Peter's arm, propping it up next to him on an extra pillow.

"I know it hurts, buddy," he said. He ran his fingers through Peter's hair, which seemed to help soothe him. "But it's only gonna hurt for a little while, then you're gonna feel a lot better."

"I'm gonna give him the antiviral now, along with something to help him sleep," Rhodes said, drawing up liquid into two syringes. "I'm afraid there's not much else I can do other than that."

"It's okay," Tony murmured. "Anything's better than nothing." As Peter's eyes fluttered closed and the anguished look faded from his face, Tony dropped his head back against the headboard, wincing at the painful tension in his neck and shoulders. "Thanks for coming, Rhodey."

"Like you gave me much of a choice," Rhodes said, but the slight smile on his face belied his harsh words. "But you know, eventually you're gonna have to stop deluding yourself."

"What do you mean?" asked Tony. "How am I deluding myself?"

"I heard that kid call you Dad, Tony," said Rhodes. "I heard it with my own two ears, and I heard it multiple times."

"He didn't mean me," Tony protested. "He's half out of his mind—"

"Tony, I heard him! He very clearly called you Dad, and he was a lot more lucid than you gave him credit for."

Tony looked down at his hand, still stroking through Peter's hair. "You think so?" he asked in a small voice. "I thought maybe he was just… looking for his real father. You know, the dead one."

"You told me yourself the kid doesn't hardly remember his father," Rhodes reminded him. "Tony, trust me. He looked right at you and called you Dad. I'd bet the War Machine armor that he meant you."

"Okay, then I'm gonna adopt him," Tony blurted out. "I'm gonna make it official. I'm gonna call Pepper and have her tell my lawyers to draw up the paperwork, and I'm just gonna do it."

"Whoa, slow down, Tony!" Rhodes protested, holding up his hands. "I didn't mean—"

"Then what did you mean?" asked Tony, his eyes narrowing at his best friend. "What exactly were you trying to tell me?"

"I don't—, I mean—" Rhodey sputtered. "You understand what adopting him would mean, don't you? For you? And for him?"

"What, that he'd be my heir? I think that's kinda the point, Rhodey!"

"But I mean… what if you and Pepper… someday—?"

"I think there's enough money in Stark Industries to go around," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Besides. That kinda thing, if it ever were to happen, would be a long way off." He looked down at Peter, whose small hand was holding fast to the hem of Tony's shirt. "This kid needs me now."

Rhodes shook his head, his eyes wide as dinner plates. "Wow. Who would've thought."

"Yeah. Who would've thought."

As life-changing a decision as is adopting a kid, the process itself turned out to be remarkably simple. It only took a few phone calls and a couple of meetings with the lawyers and the DSS office to draw up the appropriate paperwork, and three weeks later, Tony found himself sitting with Peter in the living room of their apartment in Stark Tower, with Peter smiling so wide his face could've lit up the entire city. Signing the adoption papers under the sparkling lights of the first Christmas tree Tony had put up since 1991, and in the presence of Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, and Rita Wilson, Peter Benjamin Parker officially became Peter Benjamin Parker Stark.

They celebrated with cake and ice cream—peppermint, of course—afterwards, and two days after Christmas, at Pepper's urging, Tony held a small press conference to announce the adoption, during which he pleaded with the assembled reporters to please give his son the privacy he deserved to live as normal of a life as he could.

As it turns out, Tony needed not have worried all that much. Not all that much changed, save for the occasional passers-by pointing at them on the street, but that had been going on before Tony had even met Peter, so he was somewhat used to it by now. Trying to shield the kid from paparazzi and other curious strangers took some getting used to, but in a city where there lived hundreds of other celebrity children, the hype surrounding their news eventually fizzled out and they were able to resume their somewhat normal daily lives.

Unfortunately, since Peter's illness, part of their normal daily lives now included nebulizer treatments for Peter three times a day and carrying around a rescue inhaler. His battle with the severe flu bug had left him with an asthma-like condition that had yet to resolve, forcing Peter to have to withdraw from his tumbling classes for the time being.

And if that wasn't enough, Peter brought a note home from the school nurse in early March, citing concerns that he was having trouble seeing the whiteboard during class. Sure enough, a trip to the pediatric opthamologist the next day revealed that Peter was now near-sighted. Tony offered to get the boy contact lenses in addition to his new eyeglasses, but Peter declined, too squeamish about attempting to place foreign objects into his eyes.

And even with the eye doctor's warning that it would take some time for Peter to get used to his new glasses, Tony was still livid when Peter came home from school the first day with the glasses nearly broken in half. Peter first tried to tell Tony that he'd merely dropped them on the floor during his lunch period, but for how smart the kid was, he was an absolutely terrible liar, and it wasn't long before Tony learned that some punk kid named Flash had ripped the glasses from Peter's face—as a joke, he'd said—and thrown them across the playground during their recess time. It had taken all of Tony's self-control—and a lot of begging and pleading from Peter—to not march down to the school and punch the lights out of that kid.

Yet despite the nebulizers and glasses and occasional nightmares, Tony and Peter managed. Spring arrived, and with it the completion of the top floors of the tower. Tony was given the go-ahead to start wiring in the large arc reactor he'd designed and built to power the building. If successful, the arc reactor would effectively take the tower off of the city's power grid, making it the first completely self-sustaining building in the city of New York.

"Talk to me, JARVIS," Tony said, walking into his brand-new lab located on one of the top floors of the tower.

"We should be able to begin conducting tests on the reactor within the next couple of days, sir," replied JARVIS. "Everything is proceeding according to schedule."

"So we're looking at a light-up date in about two weeks?" asked Tony, tapping his monitors. "That'll make the kid happy."

"It appears so, sir."

"All right, keep going on the—"

"Pardon me, sir," JARVIS interrupted. "But I'm tracking a new communication trail from SHIELD."

Tony's head snapped up in surprise. SHIELD had been quiet for a few months now; pretty much ever since the incident in Harlem. "Oh? What's the old pirate Fury up to now? More little green men?"

"Not exactly, sir. It appears that they've finally had a successful outcome to an ongoing search."

His brow furrowing, Tony tapped the icon on his monitor that allowed him to eavesdrop on the SHIELD communications. "Ongoing search for what, JARVIS?"

"Not what, sir, but who," replied JARVIS. "SHIELD has finally located the final resting location of Captain Steve Rogers. And remarkably, sir, he is still alive."

Chapter Text

Tony gaped at the monitor in disbelief, his mind racing in a million different directions as he tried to process what JARVIS just said.

How in the hell… ? That was nearly seventy years ago. It's impossible!

Isn't it?

"S—, say again, JARVIS?" he mumbled, clearing his throat.

"Captain Steve Rogers has been found frozen in the arctic ice, sir," JARVIS said, his mechanical British voice eerily calm in the face of the shock Tony was feeling. "He's being transported to a secure SHIELD facility in New York."

"Son of a bitch," Tony whispered. He scrubbed at his chin with his palm, his upper lip curling into a sneer as a thousand memories of his father waxing poetic over Steve Rogers washed over him.

"Steve should've never been in that situation without backup."

"Steve Rogers was the best thing I ever did. The only really good thing I ever did."

"I failed him."

When other kids' dads were bragging about their sons to their friends, Howard Stark would brag about Steve Rogers instead. Howard had even once risked arrest, back before he was able to clear the accusations that he'd been selling weapons to the Russians following World War II, in order to recover a vial of Steve Rogers' blood that he had hidden away. Probably so he could try cloning him, or some other such damn fool idea.

Tony hated Steve Rogers. Or rather, he supposed he hated the idea of Steve Rogers, given that he'd never personally met the man himself. It's as if he'd been an evil spirit following Tony around his entire life, taunting him that he could never live up to Howard's impossible expectations.

"What—, um… , what are SHIELD's plans with Rogers, JARVIS?" croaked Tony. "What's Fury gonna do with him?"

"That information is currently unknown, sir," replied JARVIS. "I will of course keep you updated as I'm able to find out more."

"Who's Steve Rogers?" came Peter's small voice from behind Tony, causing him to startle so violently he nearly knocked over the monitor.

"Where the hell'd you come from?" Tony barked as he whirled around, wincing as he watched Peter shrink back from him with wide eyes. "No, no, I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't mean that." He held out his hand, smiling sheepishly at the frightened boy as he drew him into a tight hug. "I'm sorry, buddy. You're so quiet on your feet, you just surprised me is all."

"It's okay," Peter said, his shaky voice muffled against Tony's chest. "I was just coming to say goodnight."

Tony glanced at the clock as he ruffled Peter's hair. "Yeah, it is that time, isn't it. Go on and get ready for bed, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Uh huh."

Tony watched Peter shuffle away, his curly hair sticking up in the back where Tony had mussed it and his polar bear tucked under one arm. Kid's gonna need new pants soon, he thought as he closed down the monitors. Won't stop growing.

"JARVIS, keep me posted on Rogers, will ya?" he said as he exited the lab.

"Of course, sir."

Entering Peter's bedroom, Tony found him sitting in his pajamas at his cluttered desk, bent over a conglomeration of plastic parts and wires with a screwdriver in hand, quietly talking to himself while George watched closely.

"So you see, we need to reconnect this wire here, and then tighten this, and then…" he paused, giving the screwdriver a one-quarter twist. "And then, hopefully that'll work."

"Ah," Tony said as he stepped over to the desk, causing Peter to jump and drop the screwdriver. "What'cha working on?"

"Oh, something I found a few days ago outside school," answered Peter. "I'm trying to fix it."

"Outside the school? What, was it just sitting there holding a sign that said 'take me home'?"

"Not exactly," Peter said, biting his lip. "It was kinda sitting… in the trash."

Tony shot him a confused look. "And why were you digging through the trash at school?"

"I wasn't digging," Peter retorted. "I saw it sticking out of one of the bins, so I grabbed it. It's a video game system. One of the first Nintendos, I think. There were even a couple of games in there too." He pointed to two large cartridges off to the side, the faded labels reading Super Mario Bros and Donkey Kong.

"Um…" Tony mumbled, confused. Peter hadn't ever shown interest in playing video games before, and the mess of parts spread out over the desk looked like they were older than Peter himself. "Okay," he said slowly. "But you realize if you wanted to play video games, all you had to do was ask. As long as it's not too violent, of course."

"Oh, it's not for me," Peter said, picking up the screwdriver. "I thought if I could fix it, I'd bring it over to Auntie May's hospital for the kids' floor. She was always saying they didn't have enough things for the kids to do there during the day."

"Ah," murmured Tony, his heart swelling in pride at Peter's thoughtfulness. Even though he could now afford to buy Aunt May's hospital, he hadn't let his newfound status as the son of Tony Stark go to his head in the least. If anything, he was even more humble than ever.

"Want some help?" Tony asked. He knew he ought to be getting Peter to bed, but he so enjoyed working on projects together with him that he couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Peter looked up at him, his big brown eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled. "Sure!"

"All right, move over and let your old man take a look," Tony said, pulling Peter's extra chair over and adjusting the desk lamp. As he eyed the mess of wires and plastic, Tony shook his head in amazement. Peter had managed to rewire nearly the entire console so that it would not only be compatible with today's televisions and monitors, but also so that the console itself could be used with wireless remote controls, rather than the tethered remotes it came with. This would make it easier for the kids confined to their hospital beds to be able to play.

"I think we got it, Dad," Peter happily said over an hour later, way past his usual bedtime. "Can we bring it by the hospital this weekend sometime?"

"Yeah, sure," replied Tony. While he was in no hurry to see any of May Parker's former nursing colleagues again, there was no way he could say no to a request like that. "How about we go on Saturday morning? Then we can stop by Delmar's for lunch if you want. Sound good?"

"Yeah!" Peter exclaimed, giving him a toothy grin. "That sounds great!"

Tony grinned right back at him. He couldn't help it; the kid's smile was infectious. "All right, then it's a date."

"Dad?" Peter said a few seconds later, the smile fading from his face.

"Yeah, Pete?"

"I'm sorry I surprised you earlier. I didn't mean to."

"Nah, it's okay," Tony said. "But next time just cough or clear your throat or something, so I know you're coming. Okay?"

"Uh huh," Peter answered, still looking uneasy. "But… it's just that…"

"What?"

"You looked upset. What were you upset about? And who's Steve Rogers?"

Tony sighed heavily, dropping his chin to his chest. There was no point trying to brush the kid off; he could be damn persistent when he wanted to be. "He's someone my dad used to work with, back during the last big war. For a long time everyone thought he was dead. Including my dad."

"But… now I'm guessing he isn't?" Peter asked.

"Nope. Apparently not."

Peter cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "But wouldn't he be really old by now? Like, really old?"

"Yeah, he would," said Tony. "But this guy is… special. He doesn't age like the rest of us."

"Whoa!" exclaimed Peter. "So is he a superhero too?"

"Yeah, I guess," Tony agreed grudgingly. "He saved a lot of people during World War II."

"Really?" Peter asked, his eyes wide. "That's so cool! What's his superhero name?"

Tony's lips twitched as he tried to keep from smiling. Peter's childish enthusiasm for anything related to superheroes or superhero-ing was just too damn cute. "Captain America."

"Hmm," Peter said, tilting his head as he wrinkled his nose. "I like Iron Man better. It sounds cooler. More… badass."

"Language, young man!" exclaimed Tony, grinning despite himself. "Don't let my bad habits rub off on you. You're only supposed to pay attention when I do something good."

"Hey! Ned says that all the time and he doesn't get in trouble!" Peter protested.

"Well, then just don't say it in front of Pepper, or I'll get in trouble. Deal?"

"Deal," Peter said with a nod.

"Good. Now, go brush your teeth."

"Yeah, yeah," Peter grumbled as he slid off his chair and headed for the bathroom.

"You ready for your math test tomorrow?" Tony asked a couple minutes later as Peter climbed into his bed, setting his glasses on the bedside table next to his Lego Iron Man. "Or did you spend all your studying time tonight tinkering around with the Mario brothers."

"No, I'm ready," Peter assured him. "Piece of cake. And they're the Super Mario brothers, Dad. Not just the regular Mario brothers."

"Mmm. I still think Iron Man sounds more badass," Tony said, winking as he brushed Peter's hair off his forehead and leaned down to kiss it. "Now, go to sleep. Young geniuses need their rest."

"Uh huh." Peter burrowed down into his blankets, with George the polar bear tucked securely under his arm as he closed his eyes.

"I love you, Peter," Tony said softly. "Sleep well."

"Love you too, Dad. G'night."

Tony smiled, still somewhat shocked at the ease of which those words fell from his lips. "I love you." So simple, but yet before Peter came along, so utterly terrifying. Before Peter, the only person to ever hear those words from Tony was his mother.

Checking his watch, Tony headed back up to his lab. It was almost time for his nightly video chat with Pepper. He settled into his chair, leaning back and closing his eyes as he scrubbed his palms over his cheeks.

I am one lucky son of a gun, he thought.

Because while Howard Stark may have been obsessed with the past—to the point of often ignoring his present and future—Tony knew exactly what he had here and now.

He had a son whom he loved more than his own life.

And, even more importantly, his son knew it.

Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the kid this excited. After practically a billion calculations, four successful simulations, and a lot of blood, sweat, and tears—and swearing, but only on his part—it was finally time to activate the arc reactor for the Tower. Tony smiled behind his mask as he remembered the way Peter's face had lit up when he asked if he wanted to input the last of the final commands before he flew off.

"How's it looking up there, Pete?" Tony asked, his voice strong and clear through his Iron Man helmet as he fused two thick cables together.

"You know, you kinda sound like Darth Vader right now, Dad," came the excited reply. "It's cool!"

"Hey now, we've discussed this! I'm way cooler than Darth Vader. Now, will you please look at the screen in front of your face and tell me how the numbers are looking?"

"Um… just double-checking," Peter mumbled over the comm. "Everything looks good from here!"

"Everything seems okay, Tony," Pepper added. "Hurry up and finish. We're waiting for you up here."

"Just got two connections left," Tony replied. "Keep the champagne cold for me." Finished with his lasering, Tony closed up the encasement for the cables and sealed it shut.

"It's working!" Peter yelped a few seconds later. "Dad, it's working! The lights just dimmed for a couple seconds and came right back on!"

"Of course it's working," Tony said as he took off from under the water, shuddering a bit. That harbor really was disgusting. "I designed it. You know I don't accept failure."

"Hey, I helped!" Peter protested, and Tony grinned, picturing the indignant look on his boyish face. "Give me some of the credit!"

"I'll give you your credit when you're old enough to need it, young man," retorted Tony, but playfully enough so Peter would know he was joking. "You should just be thankful I let you stay up late to watch since it's a school night."

"It's not that late," Peter said in a small voice.

"I know it's not, buddy," Tony said gently. "I'm just messing with you. You got your bubbly grape juice ready?"

"Yep! Pepper poured it for me already."

"Good. Be back in five."

"We'll be waiting!"

As he flew over the crowd of reporters and television cameras clustered around the base of the Tower and touched down on his specially designed landing pad, Tony grinned as his eyes lighted on Peter through the glass wall, bouncing up and down on his feet next to an amused Pepper.

"Sir," JARVIS cut in just as his robotics went to work relieving him of his armor. "Agent Coulson from SHIELD is on the line."

Of course he is! Tony thought grudgingly. SHIELD probably wants me to build them their own damn arc reactor now.

"Grow a spine, JARVIS," he said instead, the last of his armor disappearing into the platform behind him. "We're busy celebrating tonight."

"Dad!" Peter exclaimed as soon as he stepped inside. "It was so cool! You sounded just like Darth Vader, and then the lights flickered a few times, and then they came right back, and—"

"And then everything was all good in the world," Tony said with a wink. Giving Peter's shoulder a gentle punch, he helped himself to a glass of champagne, clinking the glass against Peter's before walking over to check out the monitor readings. "And everything is all good with the world!" He turned to Pepper, holding open his arms. "Honey, looks like we're in business! Stark Tower has just become a beacon of self-sustaining, clean energy."

"Sir," said JARVIS. "I'm afraid Agent Coulson is insisting. The telephone—"

"Who's Agent Coulson?" asked Peter. "Another superhero?"

"No," answered Tony. "JARVIS, tell him I'll talk to him another time—"

"Sir, I'm afraid my protocols are being overridden," JARVIS said.

"How can they do that?" Peter asked just as the secured, private elevator doors opened and Phil Coulson stepped out, carrying what appeared to be a large black tablet.

"Who're you?" demanded Peter, stepping in front of Tony and causing Coulson to chuckle.

"Another security breach?" Tony hissed, glancing at Pepper. He placed his hand gently on Peter's shoulder, drawing the boy to stand next to him. "You know, if you really needed to talk to me that badly, you could always set up a, what did you call it?, consulting appointment—?"

"We need you to come in," Coulson said, that ever-present smirk on his face.

"That's funny," Tony said sarcastically, still gripping Peter's shoulder. "I clearly remember being told that I wasn't a good fit for your… program."

"What program?" asked Peter, glaring up at Coulson. "And who're you?"

"Phil!" Pepper said, with what Tony thought appeared to be false enthusiasm and she came up behind him. "It's so nice to see you again!"

"Who's Phil?" both Tony and Peter said at the same time. Tony was the first to recover. "How do you know his first name?"

Coulson looked over at Tony, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps we could speak somewhere privately?" He held up the black tablet. "I need to get you up to speed."

"Absolutely not—" Tony started.

"That's okay, I need to get going anyway," interrupted Pepper. "I need to get to D.C. and work on the zoning for the next three buildings."

"But you weren't heading there until tomorrow!" Tony protested, backing away slightly when Coulson tried to hand him the tablet. "I don't like being handed things."

"Here," Pepper said, pushing her champagne glass into Coulson's hand. Taking the tablet, she grabbed Tony's glass from his hand and replaced it with the tablet. "I don't mind being handed things. And, I might as well head to D.C. tonight if you need to get caught up on the stuff for the Avengers."

"Who're the Avengers?" asked Peter, frustrated. "What's going on here?"

"Which I know nothing about!" Pepper said with a grimace. "Absolutely nothing!"

"Hold on!" yelled Tony, causing Peter to jump. He huffed out a sharp breath, squeezing Peter to his side as he glared at Coulson. "Just, hold on please. What's going on? And why tonight?"

"We've had a breach," Coulson said in a loud whisper, and for the first time, Tony could see that he wasn't exactly his cool, unflappable self. There was real fear in the man's eyes, and his usual smirk seemed almost plastered to his face. "Something of great value has been stolen."

Tony cocked his head, his eyes flicking briefly down to the tablet clutched in his hands. "So… why'd you come to me?"

"You're not the only one we're calling in," Coulson said through pursed lips. He glanced down at Peter. "Can we discuss this in private, please, Mr. Stark?"

"Dad?" Peter asked, his brown eyes huge behind his glasses. "What's going on?"

Peeking inside the tablet, Tony's stomach dropped as he scanned over the screen, immediately recognizing the cube-like structure from his father's old SHIELD notebook, the men/ gods/ aliens/ whatevers behind the attacks down in New Mexico, and Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner.

What the hell…?

"Um…" he mumbled through the lump in his throat, slamming the tablet closed. There was no way he could allow Peter to see that he was at all unnerved by any of this. "Pete, I think we might need to get you set up at Ned's house for a couple days. I need… um… to go out of town."

"What? No!" Peter cried, his eyes filling with tears as his hands wrapped around Tony's arm. "Please don't send me away, I wanna stay with you!"

His son's pained voice pierced Tony's heart like a shiv, and his jaw clenched as he looked down at him. "Peter—"

"No!" Peter yelped, his fingers digging hard into Tony's arm. "Please, don't go!"

"Peter," Tony said, dropping the tablet down onto the desk with a clang. He knelt down in front of the boy, looking slightly up into his eyes. Has he really grown that much in only a year?

"Look," Tony started. "I promise I'm not leaving you, okay? Think of it more like a business trip. You told me Ned's dad goes on a lot of business trips, right?"

Peter inhaled a shaky breath. "Yeah? So?"

"Okay, so this is just like that. Only a bit more last-minute than usual."

"Promise?" Peter asked, biting his quivering lower lip.

"Yeah," Tony said slowly, watching Coulson wince out of the corner of his eye. "Should only be a couple of days. You got your new phone, right?"

"Uh huh," Peter replied, tapping the rectangular-shaped bulge in his front pocket.

"Okay, so I'll call you and let you know what's going on… when I can," Tony said.

"Once a day?" asked Peter. "At least?"

"If he's not too busy," piped up Coulson, tapping his foot. "Right, Mr. Stark?"

"How 'bout this," Tony said. "If I'm not back in two days, I'll call and let you know what's going on."

"Fine," Peter grumbled, his shoulders sagging. "I'll go and pack."

"Don't forget your inhaler," Tony called after Peter as he shuffled out of the room, getting only a half-hearted shrug in response. "Kid forgets the thing half the time. More than half the time, actually."

"Kids have a lot of things on their minds," Coulson said. "At least, that's what people tell me. Who have them."

"Especially genius kids like Peter," said Pepper. She leaned in, kissing Tony on the lips. "I'll be back in a couple of days."

"Yeah, okay," Tony murmured. "Be safe."

"It was nice to see you, Phil," Pepper said as she stepped into the elevator.

Tony waited until the doors closed before turning to Coulson. "So apparently my "narcissistic, doesn't play well with others" label doesn't apply anymore?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fury wants you to assist Dr. Banner," Coulson said. "He's being… retrieved as we speak."

"Banner? Retrieved?" Tony asked, remembering what Rhodey had told him about that floating prison out in the Atlantic. "From where?"

"Somewhere out in India, last I heard," Coulson said flippantly. "Romanoff was sent to look for him. I'm just here to get you, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah," Tony said, his upper lip curling at the mention of Agent Romanoff. "Look, I gotta get my kid settled, then I'll need the night to look all this over—"

"Just catch up with us tomorrow," Coulson said, heading for the elevator. "We'll be waiting."

"Yeah, I'm sure you will be," muttered Tony under his breath. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Tony hurried down the hall to Peter's room, catching him just as he zipped up his backpack.

"Did you remember your—"

"I got my inhaler," Peter shot over his shoulder. "I got two of 'em."

"Toothbrush?" Tony said pointedly.

"Yeah, I got that too."

"And your science homework?"

"Yes, Dad," Peter muttered. He stuck out his bottom lip. "I don't wanna go."

"It's only for a couple days," Tony said, trying to sound reassuring. "SHIELD just needs a smart person to answer some questions for them."

"Hmph," grumbled Peter.

"Hey! Who else do you know that's smarter than me?" Tony asked, feigning hurt.

Peter turned, the corners of his lips twitching. "No one."

"That's right. So that also means that I'm smart enough to not do anything stupid while I'm gone. Understand?"

"I guess."

"That's a good kid," Tony said, ruffling Peter's hair. "C'mon, it's already late."

"You know," Ned said excitedly from his spot on the floor a few feet away from Peter. Ned's mother had shooed the two boys off to bed almost as soon as Peter arrived, but, as usual, Ned had insisted on a complete play-by-play of what had happened to bring Peter to his house after bedtime on a school night. "You really shouldn't be so upset. I mean, my dad goes on business trips at least twice a month, but they're not superhero business trips. All he does is stay at fancy hotels and go to a bunch of boring meetings."

"My dad's just answering some questions for people," Peter mumbled, not looking up from his phone. "It's nothing exciting." Or so he says.

"Whoa, you got one of the new StarkPhones?" Ned exclaimed. "My dad wants one of those, but he says he's waiting until they come down in price a bit first."

"My dad made it for me," Peter said with a shrug. "I can ask him if—"

"Hey, what's that?" Ned asked, pointing to the blinking green dot on the screen.

"It's my dad," Peter said through clenched teeth. "I figured out how to program JARVIS to monitor the electromagnetic signature from the circle over his heart."

"You're tracking him?" asked Ned, his eyes widening in surprise. "That's so cool! He'd be so proud of you!"

"He doesn't know, Ned!" Peter hissed. "He can't know."

"But… why not?"

"Because Master Peter believes Mr. Stark would be upset if he discovered Master Peter's tracking ability," JARVIS's voice suddenly piped up from the phone's speaker. "And he does not wish for Mr. Stark to be more concerned for him than he is already."

Ned's jaw dropped open, so wide Peter was afraid it had become unhinged completely. "Dude. That is by far the coolest thing I have ever heard! You have your very own AI! Oh my God, I could die right now on this floor and be happy!"

"He's not mine," Peter said, grinning despite himself and shaking his head. "He's my dad's. Well, I guess we share him. But this subroutine is all mine."

"What else can—?"

"JARVIS?"

"What else can JARVIS do? That'd be so cool if he could like do your homework for you and stuff."

"This is it so far," answered Peter. "My dad won't allow him to give me homework answers, but he does help me with questions sometimes." A few minutes later, satisfied that his father had simply returned to the Tower for the night, he clicked off the phone. "But I haven't really had enough time to program anything else."

"Go to sleep, boys!" Ned's mother's voice floated through his closed bedroom door. "You have school tomorrow!"

"Okay, Mom!" Ned called in response. "We should go to sleep," he whispered to Peter, burrowing down into his sleeping bag. "We don't wanna make her mad."

"Yeah, okay," Peter said. He laid down on the pillow and cuddled George to his chest, knowing that sleep would be extra hard to come by on this night. His father may have tried to make light of that guy Coulson's request back at the Tower, but Peter saw something flare up in his dad's eyes when he looked at that tablet that he hadn't seen since he'd been so sick with the flu last fall.

It was fear.

Dad had hidden it well, but Peter had noticed it anyway. And if whatever that something was was bad enough to scare Iron Man, then Peter thought he had every right to be scared too.

Pouring himself yet another cup of coffee, Tony meandered back to his workstation, plunking himself down in his chair so hard that some of the coffee sloshed over the sides of his cup and onto his lap.

"Dammit," he muttered, quickly brushing the scorching droplets onto the floor. He huffed out a sharp breath, leaning in as he studied the schematics of the cube SHIELD called the tesseract.

Recovered by his father during Howard's extensive search for Steve Rogers, the tesseract had been in the custody of SHIELD ever since, while their scientists studied its potential as a source for clean, sustainable energy.

Hmm, Tony thought, tapping his chin. That sounds rather familiar.

Scowling, he touched the screen off to his right, expanding the schematic. He could only imagine how frustrated Howard must have been with trying to study this remarkable cube, given the limitations in the technology of his day.

Moving over to the next monitor, Tony tapped on the picture of Dr. Bruce Banner, rereading the section that discussed the scientist's involvement in the project that led to him getting doused with gamma rays. From what Tony had been able to find out, Dr. Banner had agreed to participate in that program because he'd been romantically involved with General Ross's daughter, who was also a scientist working on the program. Now that Betty Ross was apparently nowhere to be found, and SHIELD was not going to be involving General Ross in this mess—a smart move on their part—they were planning on bringing Banner in instead.

And surprisingly or not, Tony was looking forward to meeting him. He figured anyone who would go into hiding to try and escape the clutches of Thunderbolt Ross had to be at least an ally of his.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed against the fatigue headache threatening to break forth from his temples. It was after four in the morning, and the vast city was still dark outside the windows of his lab. He'd managed to go over everything Coulson had left with him a couple of times, and figured he should try and catch a couple hours' sleep, but knowing deep down it would be futile. Decent sleep evaded him even during the best of times; it surely wouldn't show up now when the world was under a potential alien threat that he had the chance to help fight off.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Tony swiped his fingers across the monitor, focusing in on the section covering Steve Rogers. His jaw tightened at the sight of the tall, muscular, blond-haired man, everything that Tony wasn't. What the hell did Fury expect Rogers to do, anyway? As far as Tony knew Rogers wasn't a scientist, so therefore wouldn't be particularly useful in locating the tesseract, his previous experiences with the cube during the war notwithstanding.

Perhaps Fury was just doing Rogers a professional courtesy. After all, the super soldier had to be feeling a bit out of sorts having been defrosted only a couple weeks ago.

Losing himself in his glowering, Tony jumped when his phone suddenly rang, surprised to see the sun rising behind the surrounding skyscrapers. "Yeah?" he grunted.

"We've tracked down the Asgardian, Loki," came the voice of Phil Coulson. "Director Fury sent Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers to retrieve him."

"Yeah?" Tony said gruffly. "So why're you telling me?"

"Well," Coulson said after a short pause. "I just thought you might want to join the party."

"Hmm. Where are they heading?" asked Tony.

"Germany. Stuttgart," answered Coulson.

Tony grinned as he got to his feet. "I've always liked Germany."

"Thought so," said Coulson. "Better leave soon, or you'll miss all the fun."

"Don't tell 'em I'm on my way," Tony said as he clicked off. Chugging the rest of his coffee, Tony switched off the monitors, secured the lab, and headed out the glass door towards his suit-up platform, hoping that Fury had a spare toothbrush and a change of clothes wherever he was hiding out.

"Does that mean he's moving?" Ned asked, pausing in the act of pulling on his socks to point at Peter's phone. "The map on the screen just completely reset a second ago, and now the dot's moving."

Peter, who was just finishing up his morning nebulizer treatment, could only shrug, reaching with one grabby hand for the phone to see for himself. His eyes widened as they landed on the blinking green dot, indicating that his father was on his way somewhere that wasn't anywhere near the Tower. Or even near New York.

"Is he out over the water now?" Ned asked, peering over Peter's shoulder.

"Looks like it," Peter tried to say around his nebulizer mask.

"Well, maybe they needed him to explain something to someone out there on a ship or something," Ned suggested, shoving his homework into his backpack. "Is your dad good at explaining things to people?"

"I guess," Peter grunted, coughing slightly as he set down the empty nebulizer. He inhaled a deep, slow breath, hating the nausea and the shaky, anxious feelings he always got after each of his treatments. Being almost six months out from his nasty bout with the flu his lungs were finally starting to improve, but the doctors still wouldn't let him stop the treatments, or resume his gymnastics classes as of yet.

And it didn't help at all that Flash Thompson thought it hilarious to swipe Peter's inhalers during their PE classes. Dad had bought him at least ten of the things when they were first prescribed, knowing Peter's tendency to misplace things that were important. But Peter hadn't had the heart to tell him he'd already lost all but three of them; four of those to Flash.

"Do your hands always shake like that when you're done?" asked Ned, his brow furrowed in concern.

Peter clenched his trembling hands into fists, embarrassed. "Yeah, for about thirty minutes afterwards. I hate it."

Ned gave him a sympathetic look, which Peter appreciated even though it really did nothing to help. "C'mon, my mom's probably got breakfast ready."

"Yeah, okay," replied Peter. Even though he wasn't hungry in the least, he knew from bad experience that not eating something after his nebulizer treatment only made him more nauseous, sometimes to the point of throwing up, which was the absolute last thing he wanted to be dealing with right now. He managed to choke down a couple of pancakes and some orange juice, which at least settled his stomach down and helped to alleviate some of the shakiness.

Getting through the school day was another matter, however. The lack of sleep the night before had him nodding off in three of his classes, earning him a reprimand from two teachers and a swat on the back of his head from Flash. Every chance he had he pulled out his phone, hoping to see that the blinking dot had reappeared. He would need to work on expanding the phone's tracking ability as soon as he could find the time.

"Where's your dad now?" Ned asked as soon as the final bell rang.

Squinting at the phone screen, Peter breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw the blinking dot. "Looks like he's out over the water again."

"But you don't know where he went in the meantime?"

Peter pursed his lips. "No, the electromagnetic signature isn't that strong. I'm gonna see if I can increase the tracking range next time though."

Ned nodded as he zipped up his backpack. "Well, at least you know where he is again."

"Yeah," Peter whispered. "At least."

"So then what's wrong?" asked Ned. "He said he'd only be gone for a couple of days, right? Why's that so bad?"

Peter blinked back tears, thankful that the classroom had emptied out with the bell, which meant that Flash was already gone. The last thing Peter needed was that horrible boy to see him crying. "Because I don't think he's out there working as Tony Stark. I think he's out there as Iron Man. And if he's out there working as Iron Man, it means that something bad's going on."

Tony stuffed another dried blueberry into his mouth, tapping his foot impatiently as he checked on the progress of his decryption program running in the background, the rather tense conversation he'd just had with Steve Rogers still echoing through his head.

Who the hell does he think he is? Tony thought angrily. Dude just shows up after seventy years and expects to start running things when he doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on?

And what the hell is with that outfit?

Across the spacious laboratory, filled with nearly every technical gadget Tony could want, Bruce Banner was inputting commands into the monitor in front of him, outwardly nonplussed from their conversation only minutes ago that ended when Rogers stormed from the room, peacock feathers blowing in the breeze.

Drawing in a deep breath, Tony leaned against the stool set up by his own workstation, watching as Banner methodically worked through another one of his complex calculations. He could tell by the slight stiffness to Banner's movements that he was still mulling over their earlier conversation, and Tony allowed himself a slight grin, realizing that Peter's perceptiveness seemed to be rubbing off onto Tony more than he'd originally thought.

"You know," he said carefully. Even though he no longer considered Banner a direct threat, he was still cautious about potentially startling the man. "You should come and work for me. I've got a great setup there in Stark Tower; the entire top ten floors are mainly research and development. I'd love to see what you could add to the mix." Sliding off the stool, Tony walked over towards Banner's workstation, holding out the bag of dried blueberries. "Plus, I bet my kid would love to meet you. He's got a thing for superheroes."

"Is that what you think I am," Banner asked, his voice a mix of mirth and disbelief as he selected a blueberry. "I'm not sure what kind of bedtime stories you tell your kid, but—"

"Actually, I've never told him about you," Tony admitted. "In fact, last year when you and Ross had your… disagreement—"

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Banner chortled. "Most of the time disagreements don't end up with buildings falling down and craters in the streets, in case you didn't know."

"In Harlem," Tony continued as if he hadn't heard him. "We got the hell outta dodge because I didn't want Peter to know what was going on. Kid's been through enough, you know? But I gotta say, I was wrong about you."

"Well, that's nice of you to say and all," said Banner with a smirk. "But I'm probably still not fit to be around kids all that much."

"No?" Tony countered. "And what exactly were you doing in over there in India?"

Banner shook his head. "That's different. That was—"

"Oh? How was it different?"

"It was away from here!" Banner snapped, driving his finger into the monitor so hard that it swung away from him. "Away from… all of this."

"Look," Tony said gently. "All I'm asking is for you to think about it. Don't you think it'd be nice to stop having to run?"

Banner didn't answer, but Tony could practically see the wheels spinning inside his head. "I didn't know you had a kid," he finally said.

Tony smiled, like he always did whenever Peter was mentioned. "Yeah," he answered. "Got him last year."

That caused Bruce to whirl around, a confused look on his bespectacled face. "You just got him last year? What, like a new car or something?"

"It's kinda a long story," Tony said, shrugging. "But yeah, I've only had him about a year. Made it official about two weeks before Christmas."

"Mmm-hmm," Bruce said, still looking confused. "How old is he?"

"He's eight," said Tony proudly. "And the absolute dorkiest, nerdiest, cutest, and sweetest thing you've ever seen, which is why he'd be head over heels to meet you."

Bruce gave him a side-eye. "Thanks. I think."

Just then a beeping noise sounded from Tony's monitor. "Ah hah!" he said in a triumphant voice. "Now let's see what JARVIS has found about our new SHIELD friends."

Peter shoved his math notebook off to the side, bringing his arms to the table and laying his head down, trying to ignore the way his glasses were digging into his temple.

"Need some help?" Ned asked, looking up from the chair next to him.

"No, thanks," answered Peter. The work itself wasn't difficult; Peter had always excelled at math and science, and he was nearly done with the list of problems due for tomorrow anyway.

"Look, I'm sure your dad will turn up again soon, Peter. He did the last time. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Peter mumbled, removing his glasses. He rubbed at his tired eyes. "I just don't like it when I don't know what's going on."

It'd been shortly before dinner that the blinking green dot had once again disappeared from Peter's phone screen. A quick request to JARVIS as to where his father had gone was met with an, "Mr. Stark is currently beyond the limits of our tracking abilities", and Peter's stomach had been tying itself into knots ever since. He was barely able to eat enough at dinner to avoid hurting Mrs. Leeds' feelings.

"He'll turn up again soon," Ned repeated. "He said he'd only be gone for a couple of days, right?"

"Yeah."

"So… that's tomorrow. And then when he gets back you can ask him what he was up to."

Peter's eyebrows knitted together and he squinted, trying to bring his friend into better focus. "But he won't tell me! There's so much that he doesn't tell me! Half the time when I ask JARVIS a question about my dad's work, he says I'm not allowed to know the answer. That I'm too young."

"My dad doesn't tell me all that much about his work, either," Ned pointed out. "I think it's just a dad thing."

"Well, I don't like it," Peter grumbled. "I don't like not knowing what's going on. And I don't like it when my dad's scared. He doesn't know that I know, but sometimes he stays awake for two or more days at a time, just 'cause he's afraid to go to sleep."

"Why?" asked Ned, bewildered. Besides building with Legos and talking about building with Legos, sleeping was one of Ned's favorite things to do. "And how do you know this?"

"Because sometimes it's hard for me to sleep too," Peter admitted. He let out a heavy sigh, his breath catching at the end, reminding him that he still needed to do his evening neb treatment. "Sometimes when I try to sleep… all I see are the bright lights of the blasts from the drones, at the Expo. They were so bright, almost blinding against the night sky. And the sound…" Peter covered his ears, trying to block out the ear-splitting, earth-shattering noise in his head. "I'll never forget the horrible sound. The cracking of cement and the glass shattering; it was like a million lightning bolts striking right next to me all at the same time. And I heard Auntie May's voice screaming my name, but it sounded like it was so far away, and I was looking for her but I couldn't find her. And then… this giant drone walked right up to me, and it just stood there, almost like it was scanning me. Then it lowered its huge gun, and I thought, 'this is it, I'm gonna die.' But I didn't. Because my dad saved me. He dropped down out of the sky right behind me at the last second and blasted the drone away."

The kitchen was silent for a long time, save for the ticking of the wall clock over the stove. "Wow," Ned finally whispered. "Dude, you've never told me any of this."

"I haven't told anyone this," Peter said, his voice muffled against his arms. "Not even my dad."

"You don't think he'd wanna know?" asked Ned. "My mom always wants to know when I have nightmares. She says it helps to talk about them."

Peter shrugged. "He's got enough to worry about."

"Dude! You're his son! Of course he'd wanna know!"

"Adopted," Peter choked out.

"So? Why does that matter? You think it matters to him?"

"No," answered Peter. "I don't."

"Then… what?" Ned prodded.

"Look!" Peter snapped, barely stifling a cough. His lungs always seemed to act up more when he got upset. "He worries about me enough. With my stupid breathing problems and the fact that I can't keep a backpack or a pair of glasses longer than a month. He doesn't need—"

"But that's just normal kid stuff!" Ned exclaimed. "You know how many calculators and pencils I've lost this year? I think I set a new record. My dad has to buy them in bulk!"

Peter didn't answer, trying to focus instead on the sound of the ticking clock. He could feel Ned's eyes on him, knowing without looking that his friend's mouth was hanging open like it often was. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. He'd said too much already.

"Well," Ned finally mumbled, piling his books up on the table. "We should get ready for bed. It's getting late, and we have a history quiz tomorrow."

"Yeah," Peter wheezed, coughing into his elbow. "I gotta do my neb treatment first."

"Sure," Ned said. "Go on. I'll bring you a snack."

Thirty minutes later, after finishing his breathing treatment and eating a few crackers, Peter burrowed down into his sleeping bag on Ned's bedroom floor, trying to get comfortable. His hand were still shaking slightly as he pulled his phone out of his backpack, checking once again for the blinking green dot, fighting back more tears when he saw that it wasn't there.

Please come back, Dad, he thought. Please. I can't lose anyone else.

The helicarrier was a whirlwind of activity as Tony worked to repair his damaged helmet. All around him people were shouting questions and orders, trying to figure out how to repair their broken communication systems. Tony ignored them for the most part, gritting his teeth in anger and determination, trying to ignore the fact that he was still reeling from the seemingly useless death of Agent Coulson.

How dare that goddamn Asgardian bastard try and set up shop on my Tower. How dare he! If that fucker so much as touches any of my stuff…

As soon as the helmet lit up, Tony set down the soldering iron and folded up the protective glasses. Rogers was off collecting Romanoff and Barton, so they'd at least have some backup going in to what could amount to be a pretty major skirmish, but Banner and Thor, arguably their two strongest allies, were still nowhere to be found.

"We're in position, Stark," Rogers' voice said over the comm.

"Yeah, go on and go," Tony replied, heading to the vault to retrieve the rest of his suit. "I'll meet you guys there."

"Copy that," said Rogers.

"JARVIS," Tony grunted as he pulled on his armor. The absence of his usual robotic assistants made the process far too awkward and long for his current patience level. "Where is Peter right now?"

"Master Peter is currently at school, sir. There are approximately thirty minutes remaining in his school day," JARVIS replied.

"Good." Peter's school was located ten blocks from Stark Tower, with Ned's house being around four blocks in the opposite direction. With any luck, he wouldn't even have to know what was going on.

"JARVIS, make sure Peter steers clear of the Tower for the time being," Tony said, tightening the main bolt around his left arm.

"Very good, sir," JARVIS said.

"And go ahead and start prepping the Mark VII," Tony added. "I might be needing it today."

"Sir, that suit is still far from ready—"

"Then work fast, dammit," snapped Tony. "This Mark VI has been beat to hell and is ready to be retired!"

"I'll do my best, sir," said JARVIS.

"That's usually good enough." And with that he pulled his helmet on and marched up to the hangar just as the Quinjet carrying Barton, Rogers, and Romanoff took off. Pursing his lips in determination, Tony stepped to the edge of the hangar and took off after them.

"So what, did your new dad already get tired of you, Parker?" jeered Flash from his desk clear across the classroom right after the final bell rang. "Can't say I'm surprised! I'm sure Tony Stark knows a hopeless case when he sees one!"

"Just ignore him, Peter," Ned warned from behind him, nudging Peter with his elbow. "You know he's just trying to rile you up."

"He should learn to keep his mouth shut," Peter croaked, even as tears stung his painfully dry eyes. Two nights in a row without much sleep and his eyes felt like they were coated with sand.

"That would be too much work," grumbled Ned. "You know how much he hates actually doing anything."

"Better be careful, Parker!" Flash called from the doorway. "I've heard Ned's mom has a nasty temper. Wouldn't want you to get kicked out of yet another family!"

Peter choked, turning his head so Flash couldn't see the tears spilling down his cheeks. "Oh, go to hell, Flash!" he heard Ned say.

"Go to hell, Flash!" Flash mimicked. "How long did that take you to think up?" Stifling a sob, Peter waited until Flash's maniacal laughter had faded away down the hall before he dared to turn around.

"Is he gone?" he asked Ned. The last thing he needed was for Flash to ambush him as soon as he walked out of the school.

"Yeah, pretty sure," Ned answered, reaching into his front pocket for his phone. "Um, my mom says she's gonna be late picking us up. Stuck in bad traffic eight blocks away."

"Can we just start walking then?" Peter asked, wiping his running nose on his sleeve. He'd just as soon not have Ned's mother see that he was crying, because he didn't at all feel like having to explain why.

Ned cocked his head, thinking. "Yeah, why not? I've never actually walked home by myself before, but since you're with me, it should be okay. I've got a key to my house in my backpack."

"Yeah," Peter said. "Besides. If your mom's caught in traffic, it could be a long time before she's able to get here anyway."

"Yeah, okay," said Ned. "Let's go."

Stepping outside the school building, Peter's gaze was immediately drawn to the sky as the eerily familiar sound of the Iron Man armor flew overhead.

"Hey! There's your dad!" Ned exclaimed. "Looks like he's heading home!"

Peter shielded his eyes with his hand against the bright sun as he watched his father approach Stark Tower. "His armor's acting up," he said worriedly. "Looks like one of his foot repulsors isn't working right."

Ned shrugged. "So maybe he's going back home to fix it."

"Yeah," murmured Peter. "Listen. Can we go there instead of your house? Please? I just… really wanna see my dad."

"I don't know, Peter. My mom won't like it if I don't head straight home, and—"

"Please!" Peter cried, hating how pathetic he sounded. But he knew he wouldn't be able to survive another night away from home without at least seeing his dad. He was so close to the breaking point already. "Please? I just wanna see my dad!"

"Okay, okay," Ned said, holding up his hands. "But if we get in trouble with my mom, I'm gonna blame you."

"Fine," Peter said, tightening his backpack straps before stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Then let's go."

"So my dad told me last week that we'll be visiting my grandparents in July this year instead of August," Ned said in the middle of the fourth block, huffing for breath. "So I should be around for your birthday this time. Are you gonna be back here by then?"

"Should be," mumbled Peter, not taking his eyes off his phone screen. The blinking green dot indicated that his father was still inside the Tower. "Dad likes to come back here around the beginning of August. Says he needs time to get used to the city again before school starts up."

"Dude, I can see why! I mean, if I lived in a house on the beach like that, I don't think I'd ever wanna come back here," Ned gushed. "I mean, you could like dive out your window and into the ocean!"

"And probably break your neck on the rocks," Peter pointed out.

Ned shot him a confused look. "Dude, that's why you'd aim for the water, instead of the rocks! Duh!"

The barest hint of a smile tugged at Peter's lips, and he glanced over at his friend. "I'd love to see you try!"

"Well, if your dad invites us out there again, maybe I will!" Ned said, grinning widely. "I kinda hope he does. My dad still talks about how much fun that trip was."

"Hold up," Peter said suddenly, stopping so short that Ned bumped into his arm. "Dad's moving again!"

"What? Where's he going now?"

"Um…" Peter stammered. He hurried over to stand under an awning, dread carving a hole in his chest as he gaped at his phone. "Um, he's going down!"

"Huh? What d'ya mean he's going down?"

"Like, straight down!" Peter squeaked, his lungs contracting more with every word. "Like he's—"

"No, look!" Ned interrupted, pointing to the screen. "It's fine now. Maybe it was just a glitch. Sometimes the cell towers have to reboot."

Peter whipped his backpack off his back, digging around in the front pocket for his inhaler. "I swear, Ned, it looked like he was falling!" he cried, trying to inhale and only managing to choke as he shoved his inhaler between his teeth.

"And I'm telling you that everything looks fine now," Ned replied. "You're getting yourself sick over nothing!"

Peter closed his eyes, leaning against the cement bricks of a convenience store, sputtering as he tried to take a deep breath. "Maybe we should've waited for your mom."

"Too late now," Ned said with a grimace. "We're almost to the Tower."

"Yeah, let's keep going," Peter said, taking Ned's proffered hand to help him stand. "If anything maybe JARVIS can tell us what's going on."

But they'd only managed maybe another half a block before a thunderous roar sounded across the tops of the buildings, and Peter looked up just in time to see a beam of light shoot from the roof of the Tower and literally split open a hole in the sky. A few seconds later, something that looked like a cross between some sort of elephant and a scaly, scary-looking dolphin with legs flew through the hole.

"Holy shit!" cried Ned, his hand shaking as he pointed. "What the hell is that?"

"It's an alien!" shouted Peter.

"What the hell kind of alien is that?" yelled Ned. "I thought aliens were supposed to be small?!"

Thinking back to the aliens he'd inadvertently seen while his dad was working, Peter shook his head. "Not all of 'em." He bit his lip, fighting against the nearly overwhelming urge to panic. "C'mon, let's get to the Tower!"

"Dude!" Ned said in a panicked voice. "I'm not going anywhere near that Tower! That's where they're coming from! Oh, my mom is gonna kill me!"

"Okay, so we go a block over and circle around," Peter said, tugging on his friends hand as another ear-splitting roar sounded from above. "C'mon!"

Running across the street, the two boys stuck as close to the buildings as they could as they maneuvered closer to the Tower, managing to barely avoid a chunk of falling concrete as they came upon an alleyway littered with damaged taxicabs.

"I don't think we're gonna make it to the Tower," Peter sputtered between gasping breaths. "Let's just wait it out here for awhile."

"Peter, my dad hates taxis," Ned said, clutching his sides.

"So does mine," Peter snapped as he climbed through the shattered back windshield, careful to avoid any broken glass. "But Uncle Ben always said that New York taxis were the safest cars on the road, so…"

Once they were in the relative safety of the taxi, Peter clamped his hands over his ears, watching in horror as more and more of the massive aliens floated through the hole in the sky. Every now and then he could pick up the distinct sound of Iron Man's repulsors, and even through his panic, it filled Peter with pride to know that his father was likely the one leading the charge against the invasion.

"How long do you think this is gonna take?" Ned asked.

Peter opened his mouth to reply but was immediately drowned out by yet another ear-splitting roaring sound, different from that of the aliens. Sticking his head out of the taxi's window, Peter could just barely watch over the top of a building as one of the huge alien dolphins flipped completely over on its head and then exploded, showering a two block radius with blasted alien body parts.

"Eew!" Ned screamed, shuddering. "That was completely disgusting!"

"I'll bet you ten bucks that was my dad!" Peter said proudly. "He just blew that thing to pieces!"

"It probably was your dad," agreed Ned, still with the horrified look on his face. "But Peter, it's still gross."

"Yeah, you're right. It was pretty gross."

For a moment all the noise seemed to stop, as if the aliens were so shocked that one of them had been destroyed that they were now trying to regroup.

"Do you think that's it?" Ned asked after a moment. "Should we try to—"

But Ned was cut off by the nearly earth-shattering sound of thunder, and Peter's head snapped up just in time to see a huge bolt of lightning attack the hole in the sky from an adjacent building. "That must be Thor!" Peter shouted, nudging Ned with his elbow. "He's the god of thunder!"

"How do you know that?" Ned shrieked. "Have you met him?"

"No, but my dad's been studying him," Peter said. "He came here a year ago, around the same time as when the Hulk destroyed part of Harlem."

"The who?" asked Ned with wide eyes. "My dad told me the thing in Harlem was a military training exercise that went wrong!"

Peter shook his head. "No, it was the Hulk. He was fighting another alien in Harlem that night. My dad's been studying him too."

Ned looked at Peter in shock. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I see things in my dad's lab sometimes," Peter admitted sheepishly. "He gets so absorbed in his work, he doesn't always hear me coming."

"Dude, that is dangerous! You could get in so much trouble if he catches you, don't you—"

The rest of his sentence was lost as a group of about twenty of the alien foot soldiers suddenly appeared at the opposite end of the alleyway, their massive weapons trained on a group of NYPD officers who were facing them down on the opposite end. Peter felt his arms and legs go numb as the squawking, scaly aliens started running down the alley, aiming directly for the taxi where he and Ned were hiding.

"Peter," Ned squeaked, his hand grabbing at Peter's backpack, trying to pull him down.

"I know!" Peter cried as he curled into a tight ball on the floor of the taxi. "Just try and stay still, maybe they won't see us!"

The brawl between the police officers and the aliens seemed to go on forever, and Peter's limbs felt frozen in place by the time a huge, round shield embossed with a giant white star sailed through the broken front window of the taxi, embedding itself into the backseat where Peter had been sitting only moments ago.

Realizing that the alleyway had once again fallen silent and the sharp smell of ozone filled the dusty air, Peter managed to uncurl his body just in time to see none other than Captain America himself walk up next to the taxi, likely, Peter realized, looking for his shield.

"C—, Captain, s—, sir?" he said, cautiously poking his head out of the window and waving a shaky hand. "Y—, your sh— shield's in h—, here, sir."

The Captain turned, shock registering on his face as his blue eyes washed over the two boys huddling inside the taxi. "Thanks, kid," he said kindly, reaching a hand inside and yanking the shield free. "Are you boys all right?"

"Uhhh," Ned stammered. "Uh huh, Captain, sir. We—, we're fine."

"Okay, but you two should get indoors as soon as possible," Captain Rogers said, hooking his shield onto his arm. "It's not safe to be in the streets right now."

"Uh huh," stuttered Peter. "Just… um… C—, Captain?"

"Yeah, kid?" the Captain said, turning around.

Peter inhaled a shuddering breath, blowing it out through his teeth. "Don't tell my dad that you saw me out here. Promise me you won't."

Captain Rogers' eyebrows knitted together, and his lips curled into a slight smile as he gave Peter a two-fingered salute. "No problem, kid."

"Stark, do you hear me?" Nick Fury's voice called over the comm, and Tony could swear the old man sounded genuinely worried. "You got a missile headed straight for the city."

Dodging yet another one of the goddamn aliens, it took Tony a few seconds to process Fury's words. "Say again, Fury?"

"The World Security Council has ordered a nuclear strike against the city. The payload will wipe out Midtown."

"What?!" Tony yelled as he repulsed an alien through the wall of a building. "Damn you, Fury, my kid's in Midtown! Not to mention the millions of other people!"

"Why the hell do you think I'm telling you this, Stark?" Fury yelled into his ear. "You gotta do something about it!"

"How long do I got?"

"Three minutes," Fury replied. "Max."

Holy shit! "JARVIS, put everything we've got into the thrusters, it's time to step out in front of the bus!" Tony barked, shooting off from the ground like a rocket.

"I can close the portal!" Natasha Romanoff's raspy voice floated across the comm. "Can anybody copy? I can close it!"

"Do it!" yelled Rogers.

"No!" screamed Tony. "Not yet!"

"Stark, these things are still coming!" Rogers called. "We gotta stop 'em!"

Tony's nostrils flared as his eyes lit upon the missile heading towards them. "We got a nuke heading for the city, and I know the perfect place to put it." Right up their goddamn alien ass. Nobody messes with my kid!

"Stark," Rogers said quietly over the comm. "You understand that it might be a one-way trip?"

"Yeah," Tony replied. He inhaled a shaky breath, his heart thumping erratically. "Yeah, I understand. But I gotta do it." Even if it means I might never tuck Peter into bed again with his goofy polar bear. Even if it means I might never see him smile, or hear him laugh, or help him wash his hair ever again. Even if it means I might never again smell Pepper's perfume, or kiss that spot on her neck that makes her knees weak. Or get the chance to ask her to marry me.

I have to do it because I have to save them.

"Good luck, Stark," Rogers said.

Pulling up underneath the sleek missile, Tony reached up and grabbed on tightly with both hands, skipping off the top of the Tower and grunting with the effort of guiding it up towards the shimmering portal in the sky. "JARVIS," he murmured, blinking back tears. "If I don't make it back, make sure and tell Peter and Pepper that I love them. And that I'm sorry."

"I will, sir," JARVIS said quietly. "Good luck."

Flying through the portal, Tony released the missile, watching with wide eyes as it hit and destroyed the lead alien ship, the resulting explosion taking out the rest of the fleet. His twisted heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest at the terrifying sight. As a child and young adult, Tony had always had an interest in going to space, believing it to be a vast, wide open area of beautiful nothingness.

But now, after this, he had absolutely no desire to ever see space again.

All he wanted to do was go home.

Peter ducked behind the broken remains of what appeared to have once been a bank as another one of the aliens flew past them on its flying jet ski. "C'mon!" he said, pulling hard on Ned's shirt, trying to get his friend to move. "We're almost to the Tower!"

"Peter!" Ned gasped, pointing towards the sky. "Look!"

"What?" Peter asked as he looked up just in time to watch his father fly overhead, aiming directly for the huge hole in the sky with a huge white rocket attached to his back.

"What's he doing?" Peter cried. "Where's he going?"

"I bet he's trying to blow up the aliens!" Ned exclaimed. "That's so cool! He really is a superhero!"

But Peter barely heard him. All he could see was his dad disappearing from his sight through a giant hole in the sky. All around him he could hear the sounds of the continuing battle, hear the screams of the people and the deafening roars of the aliens. It was just like the Expo all over again. And he was alone and helpless, just like he'd been then.

"No!" Peter screamed, so loud he felt his throat tearing and his lungs searing from the dust strewn across the air. "No, please, don't go! You promised you'd never leave me!"

"Peter!" Ned yelled, grabbing his shoulders, but Peter shook him off, letting out another bloodcurdling scream that sent Ned to his knees as he covered his ears. Peter sucked in a panicked breath, desperately wanting to run and hide from the immense wave of grief threatening to drown him, but his feet felt like they were rooted in place and he was unable to move. Just like he'd been at the Expo.

"You promised!" he gasped, sputtering and choking as he collapsed to the ground, cradling his head in his hands. "You promised!"

"Peter!" Through the ringing in his ears, Ned's voice sounded like it was miles away. "Peter, look!"

No! I don't wanna see anymore, I can't take it! he thought. Instead, he garnered the rest of his remaining strength and raised his head to see his father falling back towards the ground.

"He's coming in too fast!" Peter yelled, scrambling back up to his feet, watching in stunned disbelief as the huge green Hulk skipped up one of the nearby buildings and caught his dad, carrying him safely back to the ground.

"Dude!" breathed Ned. "That Hulk guy just saved your dad's life! That's so badass!"

"I gotta get to the Tower," Peter croaked, his legs shaking so badly he was surprised he could walk at all. "I gotta… I gotta get home."

"Yeah, okay," Ned said, grabbing onto Peter's elbow to steady him. They half-stumbled, half-ran the short distance in a tortured silence, with Peter's heart hammering in his chest so loudly he was surprised Ned couldn't hear it.

"There they are!" exclaimed Ned as they finally crossed the street closest to the Tower. Peter could see Dad lying flat on the ground with his mask several feet away, but he was moving his arms and legs. Captain America was crouched down next to him, smiling, while the tall Thor and the huge Hulk stood nearby.

"Daddy!" Peter choked out as he ran towards the ring of superheroes, pushing past Captain America and dropping to his knees next to his father, his dazed brown eyes widening at the sight of him.

"Kid, where'd you come from?" Dad asked, curling his armored left arm around Peter's waist.

"School," Peter sobbed, wrapping both arms around his dad's neck and laying his head down over the arc reactor in the center of his chest, the soothing sound of its low-pitched hum calming his own vibrating heart. In that moment he decided he'd never heard anything so wonderful in his entire life.

"I'm all right, Pete," Dad said, ruffling Peter's hair as he sniffled. "I'm all right."

Peter wasn't sure how long they laid there on the ground while he cried, but it wasn't until Ned awkwardly cleared his throat that Peter made any attempt to get back up.

"Um, Peter, my mom's only a couple blocks away," Ned said, his phone in his hand and his eyes anxious. "So I'm gonna go find her. You okay here?"

"Uh huh," Peter said as Captain Rogers helped his father sit up. Peter immediately climbed onto his lap. "I'm good now."

"I will see young Starkson's round friend safely to his mother," said Thor, clapping his hand on Ned's shoulder so hard he nearly knocked him over. "But then we must deal with Loki when I return."

"Uhh," Ned mumbled, hiking his backpack up on his shoulder. "Thank you, Mr., I mean, Mr. God, I mean, Mr. Thunder."

"You are most welcome, young one," replied Thor, and Peter couldn't help but chuckle at the look on pure hero-worship on Ned's face.

"Um, and if it's not too much trouble, Mr. Thunder, sir," Peter heard as Thor led Ned away. "I'd love it if you could autograph my math notebook…"

"Pete," Dad said quietly into his ear. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, bud, but what the hell are you doing here?"

"Um… it's kinda a long story," mumbled Peter. He burrowed even further into his father's arms, not an easy task with him still wearing his armor. "And you probably won't like most of it."

"Ah huh. That's what I thought," Dad chastised, but Peter knew he was only half-serious.

"I was so scared," Peter confessed, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. "So scared that I'd lost you! Those monster aliens, they were so scary!"

"Yeah," answered Dad, and Peter felt his armored fingers curling into his hair. "I was scared too, buddy. I was scared too."

"Um…" Captain Rogers said, clearing his throat. "I hate to break this up, but we still have—"

"We're not finished yet," Thor interrupted as he stepped back into the circle, raising his heavy metal hammer and looking up at the top of the tower. "Loki."

"Oh, yeah," Dad grumbled as he slowly got to his feet. "But then we're all gonna go get something to eat. My treat, of course." He quirked an eyebrow when no one responded. "Isn't anyone else hungry, or is it just me? You can't tell me that the food on that damn helicarrier was the best that SHIELD could've offered."

"I'm hungry," Peter said, wiping the tears from his eyes. He glanced sheepishly up at Captain Rogers, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the recognition in the tall man's eyes, breathing out a quick sigh of relief when the Captain only smiled and winked at him.

"Sure," Captain Rogers said. "Besides. It looks like some introductions need to be made."

Tony kept his hand firmly on Peter's shoulder as they walked along the battered sidewalks to the restaurant a couple blocks from the Tower, with Banner, Thor, Romanoff, Barton, and Rogers following closely behind. Loki, who they'd found about twenty minutes ago practically embedded into the floor of Tony's lab, was now being held in a specially designed holding cell in the subbasement of the Tower, and both the tesseract and Loki's scepter were securely locked in Tony's personal vault. Thor had informed Tony that he would require the tesseract to transport he and Loki back to Asgard, and the scepter would be turned over to the custody of SHIELD, once Fury managed to recover from his ass-kicking from the World Security Council.

"So tell me, Peter, son of Stark," Thor said once they were seated at the restaurant, a sandwich shop whose owner was busy sweeping up debris from the battle in between filling food orders. "What is it like being the only son of the Earth's metal man?"

"It's Iron Man," Tony corrected through a mouthful of shawarma. "Iron Man, not metal man, and—"

"It's good," Peter piped up in his small voice, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as his big brown eyes locked with Tony's. "I mean, to me he's just my dad."

"I didn't know you had a kid, Stark," Rogers said from Tony's right, his pale face still covered in grime from the battle. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, it's not like you really gave me a chance, now, did ya, Rogers?" Tony said, a slight edge to his voice. "Banner and I talked about him, didn't we Banner?"

"Ah, yeah," Banner said sheepishly, shaking his head and pulling on the hem of the t-shirt he was wearing. Once he'd shrunk back down from his Hulk size he realized he didn't have any clothes to change into, so he'd been forced to borrow some from Tony. "Yeah, we talked some."

"I asked Dr. Banner to come and work for me," Tony whispered to Peter, earning a wide smile from the boy. "Ah, you like that idea?"

"He saved your life," Peter answered. "Yeah, I like that idea!"

Tony smiled, squeezing Peter's shoulder. "Well, then you'll have to help me convince him. Deal?"

"Deal," replied Peter.

"So, Stark," piped up Romanoff. "Looks like you're gonna need to decontaminate your fancy-shmancy new building now that Loki threw his full-bore, god of mischief tantrum up there. Not to mention the fact that most of your name is gone from the front."

"Yeah," added Barton, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Sorry 'bout that. Kinda."

Tony breathed in through his nose, resisting the urge to shoot back with a not-so-nice reply. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of Agent Romanoff, and Barton the archer hadn't yet endeared himself too much either, seeing as how it was mainly his fault that Tony's Mark VI suit got beat to hell. "Eh," Tony said with a shrug. "I actually kinda like just the big A. Makes it more… mysterious, don't you think?"

"So, what're you gonna do now, Mr. Rogers?" asked Peter through a mouthful of French fries. The skinny kind, of course.

"You don't have to call him Mr. Rogers, Pete," Tony cut in. "He doesn't wear sweaters or play with puppets, so—"

"You can call me Steve, Peter," Rogers said, smiling and showing off his perfect white teeth. "And to answer your question, I'm not sure. I mean, New York is home, but this isn't exactly the New York that I remember."

"Where are you from, Mr—, I mean, Steve?" Peter asked.

"Brooklyn," answered Rogers.

"I'm from Queens!" Peter said excitedly. "It's where I lived before my dad got me."

"I had some friends from Queens," Rogers said, winking at Peter. "I'll bet it doesn't look anything like what it used to, though."

"Dad, maybe Steve could come and live with us in the Tower too, if he doesn't have anywhere else to go?" Peter asked, bouncing in his chair as he turned to Tony. "Wouldn't that be a good idea? We have plenty of space!"

"Um," Tony sputtered, choking on an ice cube and trying to ignore the surge of petty jealousy that flashed throughout his exhausted body. It was just like Peter to invite someone to come and live in his house only moments after being introduced. The kid had a heart of gold, and Tony knew better than to try and mess with that. He'd find out soon enough that the world wasn't all trampolines and Legos and mini Iron Man boots.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Tony said, plastering his media smile on his face as he looked up at Rogers. "So, Rogers, what do ya say? Kid's right, I got a lot more space than that budget hotel room Fury's got you holed up in now. Wanna come live in my neighborhood?"

"Please, Steve?" asked Peter. "Then you can watch my dad work too! And Dr. Banner!"

Um, no. I wouldn't go that far—

"I wouldn't want to be in anyone's way," Rogers said, glancing sheepishly at Peter. "And I know Mr. Stark is very busy—"

"Oh please?" Peter begged. "I can introduce you to my school friends! Some of them are from Brooklyn!"

"C'mon, Rogers," Tony said, even as he clenched his left hand into a shaky fist under the table. Damn arm was bugging him again. "Don't make the kid beg. His voice can get high enough to shatter glass, and I think we've had enough of that today already, don't you think?"

Rogers narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide if Tony was joking or not. Finally, he nodded. "If you're sure I won't be in the way."

"Nah," Tony scoffed, grinning despite himself when Peter squealed in excitement. "You can have an entire floor to yourself if you want. Plenty of space to set up the home gym of your dreams. Plus, the rent's cheap. Or at least that's what the landlord tells me."

"Okay, then," said Rogers, winking at Peter. "Thank you."

"Yay!" shouted Peter! "Thank you, Mr—, I mean, Steve!"

"You're welcome, kid," Rogers said, laughing, and Tony felt another flash of that damn irrational jealousy ripple through him before he was able to push it down.

Kid's just being his normal, friendly, helpful self, Tony thought, tightening his grip on Peter's shoulder. That's all.

Of course, it was as if Peter could sense his discomfort, because as soon as he'd shoved the last of his French fries into his mouth he climbed onto Tony's lap, laid his curly head down against his chest, and proceeded to fall asleep, his skinny arms wrapped around Tony's torso. Tony had no idea how in the hell lying against his chest piece could be at all comfortable, especially with the kid's glasses askew and pressing into the side of his head, but there was absolutely no way he was going to protest.

Today Tony had been a hero, saving millions of people from a certain and horrifying death. But as he shifted Peter slightly in his arms, hearing him sigh in his sleep as Thor bragged about the banquets held for returning heroes of war on Asgard, none of that seemed to matter anymore. Not even the unpleasant thought of having to share a ninety-plus story tower with Steve Rogers could take away from the serenity of this moment.

Because as long as he could remain the hero of one particular little boy, nothing else would matter.

Chapter Text

The loud screech of an electric drill jarred Tony awake, sweating and gasping for breath. Pushing himself upright on his chair, he squinted at the monitor in front of him, rubbing at the painful crick in his neck.

"What's the time, JARVIS?" he grunted, scrubbing at his face.

"It is currently 6:30am, sir," JARVIS replied. "Master Peter has just awoken, and work has resumed on the damaged floors of the Tower."

"'Kay," Tony replied. He ran a hand through his hair, shivering at its greasy feel and his general overall feeling of ickiness. How long had it been since he'd had a shower?

"Might I remind you, sir, that it is Master Peter's first day of school?" JARVIS said. "He will be expecting you to accompany him."

"Yeah, sure," Tony mumbled, even as he was dreading the thought of appearing in public, and especially with Peter. The entire summer he, Steve, and Bruce—who had both moved into the Tower about a week after the incident with Loki—had been hounded by reporters wanting to hear their first-hand accounts of the Battle of New York. It had gotten so bad by the beginning of July that Tony had taken Peter and fled to Malibu for about four weeks, despite the fact that the Tower wasn't yet repaired and that he still felt uneasy about leaving Steve Rogers relatively unsupervised. Not to mention the Department of Damage Control venture he'd started leading to ensure that none of the Chitauri remnants left behind from the invasion made it into the wrong hands. Or rather, that he'd been trying to lead. Tony had learned way back during his days of designing and building weapons that doing anything in conjunction with the Department of Defense was often akin to repeatedly banging one's head against a brick wall.

"Might I suggest a shower and a change of clothes before you accompany Master Peter to school, sir?" said JARVIS. "You've now slept in that chair for the past three nights. If you call dozing off out of sheer exhaustion while working, sleeping."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Tony, slowly pushing himself up to his feet and bringing his arms up over his head to stretch, groaning as various joints popped in protest. "Good idea."

"Are you okay, Dad?" Peter asked, looking up from his cereal bowl as Tony walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, showered and dressed with his beard nicely trimmed. He was still able to at least look the part of the Tony Stark that everyone thought they knew.

"And a good morning to you too, young man," Tony replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee and pointedly ignoring Peter's question. He smiled down at his son, ruffling his hair. "How 'bout you? Ready to tackle the fourth grade?"

"Not really," Peter said with a heavy sigh. "I'd rather have about three more months of summer vacation. Or maybe three more years."

"You and me both, Pete," Tony said, sipping his coffee. He sat down on the stool opposite Peter, frowning at the dark purple circles under his brown eyes. "More trouble sleeping last night?"

"Yeah, a bit," answered Peter with a shrug, but Tony wasn't fooled by his causal tone. For nearly the entire summer break Peter had been suffering from intermittent nightmares and insomnia, begging Tony to sit with him on his bed until he fell asleep, sometimes joining him in his lab in the middle of the night, and in general not wanting to let Tony out of his sight whenever possible. Peter had even asked to accompany Tony to his meetings in D.C. regarding the cleanup, often just sitting on the floor outside of the meeting rooms so he could be as close to him as possible.

Pepper had suggested at the beginning of summer break that they hire a therapist for Peter, saying that it would be helpful for him to work through some of his fears, but Tony had vehemently shot down the idea. He'd been suspicious of therapists ever since Obadiah Stane had brought him to see one after his parents were killed. Instead of helping Tony to cope with the sudden loss of his mom and dad and the lack of closure he felt because of it, the only thing that particular therapist managed to do for him was reinforce his drinking problem.

"Do you still want to go to the gym after school?" Tony asked Peter. "'Cause you don't have to if you're too tired. Might be asking a bit much on your first day."

"No, I wanna go," Peter said emphatically. He looked down at his cereal, poking at it with his spoon. "I think it'll help. I've missed it."

"Well, okay, if you're sure. Just make sure you have your inhaler handy, yeah?" Tony said, taking another sip of his coffee. With his lungs finally doing better, Peter's doctor had given him the go ahead to drop his nebulizer treatments down to only once a day and to resume his gymnastics classes, as long as he promised to keep his inhaler with him at all times. Tony had offered to build Peter his own gym at the Tower and hire a private instructor but Peter declined, saying he preferred working with the teacher at the gym by his school, who was a former Olympian. After a lot of back and forth Tony had acquiesced but it still worried him, knowing he would be a lot less likely to be able to shield the boy from nosy reporters at a public gym, even with Happy watching over him.

"I'm sure, and I will."

"All right, then," Tony said, checking his watch. "Better finish up so we can get going." It was still early; Peter's school didn't start until 8 am, but Tony preferred to get Peter there earlier rather than later. With any luck, they'd be able to miss most of the paparazzi.

"Yeah, okay."

Two separate trips back up to their apartment to collect forgotten items later—including Peter's inhaler—Tony and Peter piled into the backseat of the black Audi sedan so Happy could drive them to school. Peter had taken to sitting in the middle ever since the battle so he could be closer to Tony, and currently had his right arm hooked around Tony's elbow and his head resting against his arm, his narrow shoulders trembling with nerves. Tony wove his fingers into Peter's hair and rubbed his scalp, trying to help him calm down.

"We don't have to do this today, Peter," Tony said quietly, so Happy wouldn't overhear. "We can have you start school next week, or find some other way—"

"No, it's okay," Peter whispered, even as he tightened his grip on Tony's arm. "I'd rather just get it over with."

"All right. But you call me if you need anything. Anything at all, no matter what. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," replied Peter. But Tony was unconvinced. In addition to his rather frequent nightmares, Peter had been increasingly withdrawn at times over the summer, almost as if he was afraid to bother Tony with what he assumed to be his petty, little boy issues.

Pressing a kiss to the top of Peter's head, Tony patted his hand, cursing how helpless he felt to protect his son. Sure, he'd been able to prevent that missile from destroying most of New York, saving Peter's life along with countless others, but he still couldn't protect Peter from another asthma attack, or from losing yet another pair of glasses. And it still took everything that Tony had in him to not demand the expulsion of that damn kid in Peter's class who's entire life seemed to be devoted to making him as miserable as possible.

They were only two blocks away from the school when Tony noticed the first news van, conspicuously parked in an alleyway, its antennae raised for live broadcasting. His jaw clenched as he realized what it likely meant. They were about to be bombarded. Again.

"Head for the back of the school, Hap," Tony commanded, his fingers tightening in Peter's hair as he gritted his teeth. Goddamn vultures. While he hated having to deal with the press most of the time, he knew it was expected of him given who he was. But for them to go after Peter—and around his school, no less—was just… appalling.

"They're trying to block the road, sir," Happy said, peering over his shoulder at Tony as he slowed the car to a stop, still a half a block away from the school. A sudden knock on Tony's window caused Peter to yelp, and he buried his face in Tony's side. With the heavily tinted windows Tony knew the reporters couldn't actually see them inside the car, but somehow that didn't seem to make it any better when it sounded like the car was being bombarded with baseball-sized hail.

"Then run 'em over if you have to!" Tony snapped. "The principal promised me he'd keep the school grounds clear of the press, so once we get there we should be okay."

"Daddy," Peter whimpered, his voice muffled against Tony's side. "Make them go away!"

"I will, buddy," Tony said, even as he realized there really wasn't anything he could do. Pepper's influence on the press only stretched so far, and with controversy still surrounding the events of the Battle of New York and the existence of the Avengers in general, she had already exhausted the limits of her ability to keep the media off Tony's back. It didn't help that at least a third to a half of the press were from foreign countries, over whom Pepper had no control at all.

It took over fifteen minutes for Happy to drive the last half a block into the back parking lot of the school, and another five minutes for Tony to pry Peter loose enough from his body to get them both out of the car. A private security guard stood outside the back entrance, hired by Tony to ensure that no reporters attempted to sneak their way inside the school. Tony had seen his two counterparts stationed outside of the front entrance as they'd passed.

Peter clung tightly to Tony's hand as they walked through the nearly empty hallways to his new classroom and greeted his teacher, a kind, middle-aged black woman that Tony had met a couple weeks prior during the back-to-school night. After reiterating with her that Peter be allowed to contact Tony whenever he needed, he helped Peter unpack his supplies into his desk and then exited the classroom to deliver a spare inhaler to the school nurse's office.

"Now you listen to me," Tony said once they were done in the nurse's office. He crouched down in front of Peter, gripping his shoulders. "Happy's gonna pick you up this afternoon, so you just sit tight in that classroom until he comes and gets you. I don't want you leaving the school without him, do you understand?"

"Uh huh," Peter murmured, biting his bottom lip. "I understand. It's just…"

"It's just, what?" Tony prodded.

"I just wish you could come pick me up instead. Happy always yells at the other kids to stay away from us when he picks me up. It's embarrassing. He does it the whole way down the hall, and all it does is make everybody look at me funny."

Tony rolled his eyes, not at all surprised given Happy's tendency to be both a bit trigger-happy and his absolute lack of understanding of the inner workings of children. "All right, I'll talk to him again about that. And you know I'd much rather pick you up than be stuck schmoozing with the DoD folks all afternoon, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," Peter said in a quavering voice. "But I don't understand why you need to talk to them every single day."

"Because if I don't, who knows what kind of trouble they'd get themselves into," Tony said with a grimace. "Those government types can't tie their own shoes without having a committee meeting. Without me they'd never get anything done, and we absolutely cannot have any of those Chitauri artifacts falling into the wrong hands. Right?"

"I guess not," replied Peter, shrugging.

"Come here," Tony said, pulling Peter into a hug. "I promise it won't always be like this, Pete. We just gotta wait till the hubbub dies down some more."

"I don't like hubbub," Peter muttered against his shoulder, and Tony chuckled.

"Me either, buddy. Me either." He pulled back to look at his son's face, ruffling his hair. "You gonna be okay?"

"Uh huh," Peter murmured.

"Course you are," Tony said, winking. "You're my kid."

"So," Tony said, stepping into the brand-new laboratory he'd helped Bruce Banner design. "What fun project has SHIELD sent your way today, Doctor?"

"Oh, don't you know," Bruce replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Still working on adapting your repulsor technology to their helicarriers, and now they've sent me a whole new set of data from the goons studying the scepter that they want me to double-check. Same old, same old. SHIELD says 'jump', I say 'how high'. Seems like they've forgotten that I'm only supposed to be theirs half the time."

"Well…" Tony said slowly. "Still beats treating measles victims in Calcutta. Doesn't it?" He swept his arm across the vast lab. "I mean, I know working in a rickety shack with rags for doors and windows can't compare to this, but—"

"I have absolutely no complaints about the accommodations, Tony," Bruce said with a chuckle. He shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Or most of the work I'm doing, if I'm honest. I just… never thought I'd be in this position ever again. After what happened—"

"I'm not at all like Thunderbolt Ross," Tony said firmly. "Look around you; there's nothing here that emits anything close to a gamma ray, and I would never put a fellow scientist in harm's way for my own personal benefit." He tapped his fingers on the counter. "Especially after the whole saving my life and everything."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. "It's not you I'm worried about, Tony."

Tony huffed out a sharp breath. "Look. Even after what happened onboard that helicarrier, I still don't think Fury has it in for you. He doesn't seem like the type to hold grudges."

"Mmm," said Bruce. "Well, it was nice of him to allow me to come here, at least, instead of forcing me to scrub floors on the helicarrier to pay for the damage I caused."

"Yeah," Tony mumbled, thinking back to that submersible prison out in the Atlantic, whose cells sounded remarkably similar to that cell on the helicarrier. "Plus, you can't deny that both the food and the company here are top-notch. I mean, where else are you gonna have your very own miniature cheerleader?"

Laughing, Bruce tapped a command into his monitor, recording some numbers on a tablet resting on the counter. "Yeah, that's true. I gotta admit, Tony, your kid is pretty cute. And it is nice to have one around who's… seen the other guy and still isn't afraid of me."

"Yeah, he's the best," Tony said with a grin. "You know, if you would've asked me two years ago if I'd ever see myself willingly with a kid, I'd've laughed in your face. Loudly. And probably while drunk off my gourd."

"Well, two years ago I was working in a bottling factory in Brazil and trying to not get my ass kicked on a daily basis," replied Bruce, eyeing Tony warily. "And completely obsessed with trying to find a cure for my… problem."

"Seems like we've both changed for the better," said Tony.

"Yeah," Bruce said, sighing. "Thank you, Tony. For giving me a chance."

"Nah, don't mention it," Tony scoffed. "Just offer to babysit every now and then, and we can call it even. Pepper and I could use a night out once in awhile. It's bad enough I only get to see her on the weekends."

"Aahh," stammered Bruce. "I'm not sure if that's such a good idea." He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. "And, if you don't mind my saying, you look like you could use some decent sleep more than a night out. You look tired, Tony. Run down. Like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Tony's back stiffened as he pursed his lips, mortified that his issues were apparently so obvious that Bruce would notice. Peter must be rubbing off on Bruce for all the time they've been hanging out together lately. "Yeah, well, couldn't we all use more sleep than we get?"

"Look, I didn't mean any disrespect," Bruce said, raising his hands. "I just… know what it's like. To not be able to sleep all that great."

"It's my kid," Tony muttered, shaking his head as he clenched his left hand into a fist. "Peter's been having nightmares. Well, he kinda always has had nightmares, ever since I got him, but they've gotten worse… since…"

"Have you tried having him talk to someone?" asked Bruce. "Pardon me, I don't mean to overstep anything, but isn't he really too young to be dealing with that stuff already?"

"Kid's seen more than his fair share of horrors, that's for sure," Tony said quickly. His fatigued-addled brain didn't feel like trying to explain his distrust of therapists at the moment. "But we're working through it. We'll be fine. I'll make sure that he's fine."

Bruce gave him a skeptical look. "Well, okay. But you don't want something like that to get away from you. Trust me, I know."

"We'll be fine," repeated Tony, checking his watch and turning towards the door. "And on that note, I'm late for what I'm sure will be another exhilarating conference call with the DoD. I'll catch ya later, big guy."

"Sure thing!" Bruce called as the door closed. Tony paused just outside, leaning against the wall as he scrubbed at his eyes with his palm, his heart beating a staccato rhythm against his chest piece. For how much Tony hated to admit it, Bruce was right. He wasn't sleeping. When he wasn't awake trying to help Peter get to sleep, he was awake trying to come up with ways to help protect him, along with Pepper and everybody else. And every time he would finally succumb to the overwhelming fatigue and try and close his eyes… all he would see was the massive alien fleet out there in space, just waiting for its chance to invade and kill everyone on Earth.

And in his nightmares, they always came for Peter first.

Drawing in as deep a breath as he could, Tony let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. There had to be some way he could better protect the people he loved. Because even though the Avengers had won the Battle of New York, deep down Tony knew that this was only the beginning. That the Chitauri were just a warm-up exercise.

That there was something else out there that was even worse.

"Sir, if I may—" said JARVIS.

"You may not," Tony snapped, poking at his monitor with his right index finger while inputting rapid commands into his keyboard with his left hand. While the Mark VII suit had worked well during the Chitauri invasion, it had also gotten beaten to hell during the battle, and so one of Tony's first priorities once things had settled down afterwards had been to build a new suit. That had only taken a couple of weeks, after which Tony questioned, why stop there? Having a backup is always good, right? So he built another one. And then another, because having two backups is always better than one, isn't it?

And then, during yet another night where Peter was riddled with nightmares, the idea came to him. What if he could build an entire legion of armors, each with slightly different features for different types of combat, that could be controlled remotely via a heads-up display or via JARVIS himself on Tony's command? Then he could, in a way, be in more than once place at any given time.

The idea had taken root quickly, and Tony had started work the very next night. He had already designed and built four of the suits when Peter came home with a pair of broken glasses and his first black eye.

Peter tried to tell Tony that he'd merely bumped into something at the gym, but being the terrible liar that he is, it didn't take much for Tony to learn that he'd "accidentally" had a ball thrown at his face by Flash Thompson during their PE class at school that day. Tony had been livid; it had taken every ounce of his strength to not fly directly to that goddamn kid's house and blast him into the next dimension. In the end it was Steve—in addition to Peter crying and begging him not to go—who was able to talk him down, telling Tony that one black eye was not worth going to prison over. The fact that Flash was given detention for the next week was only a minor condolence.

"Sir, I must insist," said JARVIS. "It is now past the time to pick Master Peter up at his tumbling gym, and—"

"What?" Tony snapped, gaping at the clock. Had he really been working all day on this already? Kicking his chair out of the way, Tony closed down his monitors and raced out of the lab. "Dammit, JARVIS, why didn't you say so?"

"I did try, sir," JARVIS said, with only a hint of reprimand in his voice. "Please do not be alarmed. Master Peter is simply waiting inside the gym, per your request."

"Yeah, yeah, tell him I'm on my way," muttered Tony as he grabbed his car keys, cursing the fact that Pepper's Head of Security just had to go on paternity leave last week, requiring Happy to step in to the role temporarily. And the fact that he couldn't simply fly to the gym in the suit.

But, if Pete had his own Iron Man suit, then… Hmm…

Much to Tony's dismay—and Peter's—the hounding from the press hadn't let up at all in the six weeks since the start of the school year. Tony likened it to insanity the way they crowded around not only the entrance the to Tower, but also near Peter's school and the gymnastics building as well. Even now as he approached, Tony could see them milling around near the front door, craning to get a peek inside.

Parking his Audi a half a block away, Tony assumed his usual devil-may-care expression as he walked towards the entrance, not an easy task after having been awake for the last forty-plus hours. He could feel his shoulders trembling with effort as he snaked his way through the throng of reporters yelling his name and entered the gym, spotting Peter sitting with his coach, Mr. Connor, next to the parallel bars, the pensive expression melting from his face as his eyes landed on Tony.

"Dad!" Peter exclaimed, rushing over to Tony and wrapping his thin arms around his waist. "I was getting worried!"

"I am so sorry I'm late," Tony said, patting Peter on the back and offering his free hand to the coach. "Got stuck at work, and then the traffic." He jerked his head towards the entrance. "I just—, I don't know—"

"It's all right, Mr. Stark," Mr. Connor said kindly. "I understand how demanding the press can be at times."

"It's ridiculous," agreed Tony. "I mean, it's been months now, you know? Give the kid a break, at least!"

"Yes, sir," said Mr. Connor. "Please understand that I understand."

"Dad," whined Peter. "Can we go now? I'm hungry!"

"Yeah, sure." Gripping Peter's shoulder, he clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders, wincing slightly at the tight knot of tension between his shoulder blades. "Just stay right next to me and you'll be fine, okay?"

"I know, Dad. Happy tells me the same thing when he picks me up."

But as soon as he opened the door and stepped outside, chaos erupted.

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, can you tell us anything new about the possible continuing alien threat in New York?"

"Do you truly believe all the aliens have been accounted for, Mr. Stark?"

"Mr. Stark, what are your thoughts on legislation relating to possible Avenger registration coming before the Senate Armed Forces Committee?"

Tony gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on Peter's shoulder as he barked out a, "No comment!" from the corner of his mouth.

"Dad," Peter said worriedly two steps later, covering his ears with his hands. "Why are they so loud today?"

"Just keep walking," Tony muttered.

"Mr. Stark, how has it been adjusting to being both a superhero and a father?"

"Mr. Stark, do you ever worry for your son's safety now that Earth has been invaded twice by aliens?"

"Mr. Stark, have you heard the rumors that the Department of Damage Control has been responsible for putting several area salvage contractors out of business?"

Tony could see the car, roughly thirty paces away. All they had to do was keep walking towards it and they would be fine.

But not two seconds later the toe of Peter's shoe found a crack in the sidewalk and he pitched forward, causing Tony to lose his hold on his shoulder. Before either of them could recover, Tony's eyes caught sight of a large hand wrapping around Peter's arm, and an anger the likes of which he'd never felt before in his life filled him to such an extent that he literally saw red. Tony's fist immediately reared back and connected directly with the man's nose, the sickening crack that followed echoing throughout the street.

Silence fell over the crowd as the reporters backed away, their faces wearing nearly identical stunned expressions. Shaking out his fist, Tony dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out an embroidered handkerchief and tossing it at the bleeding reporter. "Do not ever touch my son again," he said in a low, menacing voice, gripping Peter's jacket so tightly he was surprised the fabric was still intact. "Or I'll break a lot more than your fucking nose."

"Daddy!" Peter squeaked once they'd arrived at the car, his lower lip trembling. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"

"It's not your fault, Peter," said Tony as he leaned against the car, trying to take deep breaths. "None of this was your fault."

Tears started rolling down Peter's cheeks. "But if I hadn't tripped, then you wouldn't've had to—"

"I said it's not your fault!" Tony snapped, his heart breaking a little at the frightened look that flashed across Peter's face. "No, no, don't look at me like that. I'm sorry, buddy." He wrapped his arms around Peter, wincing at the throbbing pain in his knuckles. He'd have to call Pepper and give her a heads up on the incident as soon as possible. "If they hadn't been there in the first place, then none of this would've happened."

"I know," Peter sputtered. "But still!"

"But still nothing," barked Tony. "It's my job to protect you from whatever I perceive as a threat. And that's what I'm gonna do, and I'm gonna do it without hesitation. Do you understand me?" Another tear rolled down Peter's round cheek, and Tony pressed the pad of his thumb to it, brushing it gently away.

"Do you understand?" he asked again, this time in a quieter voice.

"Yeah," replied Peter, sniffing. "I understand."

"Good. Now, let's get home before my hand swells up too much for me to drive."

Tony was lucky. Thanks to Pepper's quick action, the reporter Tony clocked declined to press charges, instead choosing a small monetary settlement and the complete coverage of his medical bills.

But the incident only reinforced Tony's obsession with creating his new armor, and by the beginning of November, with his available materials running dangerously low, Tony was starting to panic. Peter's sleep had grown progressively worse as the weeks dragged on, to the point where he was regularly falling asleep in class. And Tony, fueled with vast amounts of caffeine, would often stay awake for as many as three days at a time, trying to come up with yet more designs for his suits. He was also working on a way to summon the suit in individual pieces if he so chose, thinking it a good way to keep his armor hidden should the need arise.

"Pardon me, sir," said JARVIS suddenly, causing Tony to knock over his coffee cup. "But Captain Rogers is on the line."

Swearing, Tony grabbed a towel to mop up the brown liquid, blinking his exhausted eyes at the monitor in front of him. What the hell had he been working on again?

"Go ahead and put him though," he muttered.

"Tony?" came Steve's voice a second later. "I'm sorry to bother you, but—"

"Yeah?" Tony croaked. "What do you want?"

"I've got Peter down here; he was helping me learn how to use my computer, and… well, he fell asleep in the chair while I was fiddling with it, so—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll come down and get him," interrupted Tony. He squeezed his scratchy eyes closed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just give me a minute."

"Are you sure? I don't mind bringing him up there, it's no trouble."

"No, no," Tony said warily. "Don't try and move him. You have to wake him up a certain way or else he freaks out. I'll come down and get him."

"All right," replied Steve.

Stepping off the elevator that led to the quarters of Steve Rogers, Tony cringed as the wispy sounds of The Glenn Miller Band wafted through the closed door, such a stark contrast to his own usual AC-DC and Black Sabbath playlist. No wonder the kid fell asleep. Cap's listening to goddamn elevator music.

"I'm sorry to have to bother you, Tony," Steve said as he opened the door.

"Peter's never a bother," Tony said firmly, his eyes quickly scanning the apartment, which was roughly half the size of his own. Since he'd last been there Steve had apparently done some decorating. Next to the kitchen by the east windows stood a fully stocked art cabinet, with a large easel and drawing pad slightly off to the side. An old-fashioned Victrola sat in one corner, a large pile of vinyl records stacked beside it, along with a couple boxes of old hardcover books. Opposite the kitchen was the home gym, complete with free weights, three punching bags of different sizes hanging from the high ceiling, and an old, manual treadmill.

It looked like the perfect place for the man out of time.

"Where'd Fury find all this stuff?" Tony asked, jerking his head towards the Victrola.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. Some old SHIELD warehouse, I guess. They had my room decked out like the 1940's when I came to, so… "

"Hmm," Tony mumbled. "So, you starting to adjust then? I mean, to life in the twenty-first century?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Steve replied, cocking his head. "Peter's been a big help, actually. He's been really patient with explaining stuff to me, showed me how to work the television and the stove, and your fancy telephones. Things like that."

"Yeah, he's the best," said Tony, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel another caffeine-crash headache coming on. "Doesn't get that from me, that's for sure. Now, on that note, where is he?"

"Oh, yeah," Steve said. He pointed down the short hallway. "He's in the office, I guess? Is that what you guys call them? My mom used to call it a den, but… anyway. He was trying to explain… goggle—?"

Tony smirked. "You mean, google?"

"Yeah, that's it. He was trying to explain it to me and by the time I'd typed in my first search, he was slumped over in the chair, sound asleep. I thought he looked pretty tired when he got here." Steve leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Tony. "You're looking a little rough yourself, Tony, if you don't mind my saying so."

Tony pursed his lips. "Yeah, we've both been having some trouble sleeping lately. You know, lots of stuff going on. But that's nothing you need to be concerned about. We'll be fine."

"Is there something I can do to help?" asked Steve. "I hate to think about Peter struggling and not try to help him."

"There's nothing," Tony said quickly, as politely as he could muster. "Just let me grab him and we can be outta your hair—"

"No!" came a loud, anguished screech from down the hall, causing Tony's heart to leap into his throat. Bursting into the office, his stomach dropped at the sight of Peter curled into a tight ball on the padded desk chair, obviously trapped in yet another one of his nightmares.

"Peter," Tony said firmly, his arms wrapping around the boy and pulling him onto his lap. "Pete, it's okay. Wake up, buddy, I'm here."

"No, don't go!" Peter cried, his hands pinching Tony's skin as he grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. "You promised you'd never leave me!"

"I didn't leave you, Pete," Tony said, weaving his fingers into Peter's messy curls. He maneuvered Peter's head so it was resting over his chest piece. Peter found its low humming noise soothing for some reason. "I didn't leave you, buddy. I'm right here."

A few seconds later Peter's eyes flew open, and he looked up at Tony in disbelief. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, bud. I'm here."

"What…?" Peter asked as he scanned the room, his eyes landing on Steve. "What's going on?"

"You were helping me with my computer, Peter," Steve said gently. "Remember?"

Peter shook his head. "No. I was back on the street, by the Tower." Tears pooled in his brown eyes, and his entire body shuddered as he looked up at Tony. "Watching you fly through the hole in the sky with the rocket on your back."

Almost instantly Tony broke out into a cold sweat, his lungs seizing in his chest and making him gasp for breath. He had tried talking to Peter about the sequence of events that had led to he and Ned appearing at the very end of the battle the way they did, but Peter's explanation had been a bit skimpy on the details, and Tony hadn't pressed him for more. The poor kid had been having enough trouble sleeping as it was, and Tony had been afraid that if he badgered him about it, it would only make things worse.

"Oh God, Peter," Tony said quietly, tightening his arms around the boy. "Buddy, why didn't you tell me you saw that? I promise, it wasn't what it looked like. I was—"

"You were trying to blow up the aliens!" cried Peter. "Right?"

"Yes, but—"

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, sputtering and coughing as he yelped, "But you promised! You promised you'd never leave me, and I saw you fly through that hole… and everything was so loud and the aliens were roaring and people were screaming, and…". He let out a huge shudder, covering his ears with his hands. "I didn't know if you were ever coming back!"

"Peter," Steve said in his Captain's voice. "Your dad was trying to save you. He was trying to save all of us." He paused, looking at Tony for permission to continue. "That rocket was trying to destroy New York, and your dad saved all our lives when he flew it into space. He was the only one of us who could've done it."

Gasping and sniffling, Peter looked back up at Tony, fat tears still streaming down his cheeks. "But… what if you hadn't come back? What would've happened to me? I would've been alone again!"

"Nothing's gonna happen to you, Pete," Tony said, burying his nose in Peter's hair. He could smell the scent of the boy's green apple shampoo, which Tony found surprisingly calming. "I'm not gonna let that happen ever again."

"But what if you can't help it?" Peter whimpered. "What if those aliens come back? Or—, or—, something even worse?"

It was as if Peter had read a transcript of Tony's thought process ever since the Chitauri invasion, and Tony froze, the blood ice-cold in his veins. Tony was the only member of the Avengers to actually see the massive fleet out there in space, and it had haunted nearly his every waking—and sleeping—moment since. The Chitauri were not the only threat to the Earth; there was something out there that was much, much bigger. It was almost like Tony could feel it.

"Well," Tony murmured, looking rather helplessly at Steve, who only shook his head. "Then it's up to us to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Us? You mean the Avengers?" asked Peter.

"Yeah," said Tony. "The Avengers."

"The Avengers are a team, Peter," said Steve. "And teammates look out for each other. And I promise that we'll look out for your dad, if that time comes and he needs us to."

Tony inhaled a deep, quivering breath, trying to calm his stuttering heart. He really needed to start laying off of the coffee. "And I promise to protect you, Peter. No matter what." He cupped Peter's face, brushing the boy's tears away with his fingers. "I'm so sorry you had to see what you saw. But you have to know I would absolutely do it again if it meant saving you. You and Pepper are more important to me than my own life, do you understand?"

Peter's lower lip shook as he nodded. "Uh huh."

"All right." Tony kissed Peter's forehead and got to his feet with him still in his arms. "And now, I think we should go back upstairs and get you in bed."

"No!" Peter yelped. "Please, I don't wanna go back to sleep! I'll only see it all over again!"

"Peter, you can't stay awake forever," Tony warned him. "It's not good for you!"

"Why not? You do it! You stay awake for days at a time, working!"

"I'm also an adult, Peter," Tony said, cringing at how corny it sounded. "I'm allowed to do things like that. You, however, are a child, and therefore are not."

"But—"

"No more buts, kid. Now, let's get out of here so Steve can listen to his big band music in peace, yeah?"

"I'm very grateful for your help today, Peter," Steve said gently. "Maybe after you get some good sleep you can come back again?"

"Uh huh," Peter replied, his head resting on Tony's shoulder as they approached Steve's front door. As soon as the door closed behind them Peter lifted his head, his nose wrinkling. "Hey Dad, wanna know something kinda funny?"

Tony's lips curled into a slight smile. "Sure, bud."

"Steve didn't even know what a mouse was for!" Peter exclaimed. "He said they didn't have computers when he was a kid!"

"No, they didn't," Tony said with a chuckle. "They didn't really even have televisions when Steve was a kid. Or Legos."

"Is that why he likes to draw so much?"

"Probably part of the reason," Tony said, huffing slightly as the elevator opened into their apartment and he eased Peter down. "Now. I think it's time for a bath, young man, and then straight to bed for you."

Peter stuck out his bottom lip. "Can I at least have a snack? I'm hungry."

"Yeah, go ahead."

But thirty minutes or so later, as Tony sat next to Peter on his bed, his hand resting on the boy's shoulder as he cuddled George in his arms, Tony felt the same panicked feeling he'd had in Steve's apartment come rushing back. He had promised that he would protect Peter, at the cost of his own life if need be. But how in the hell could he do that when he didn't know what he needed to protect him from?

"Tony, you're getting upset over nothing," Pepper's sultry voice said from Tony's video screen. "There's no reason for you to be concerned, it was just a business meeting. I have them multiple times a day, you know."

"Ah huh," Tony muttered. "If it was only another business meeting, then why did Happy feel the need to call me and warn me about this guy? He said the dude looked like a high-class pimp when he walked in. And his security guy looked smarmy as hell too."

"Oh my God, Tony. Aldrich Killian may be many things, but I really don't think he's a pimp," admonished Pepper. "And I hope Peter's not around right now, because he doesn't need to be hearing you say things like that."

"Pete's in bed already," Tony said. "He wanted to stay up and talk to you, but he was nodding off during dinner so I tucked him in early."

"Yeah," Pepper said, pressing her lips together. "About that. I still think we should have him talk to—"

"Don't go there, honey," Tony warned. He could feel his blood pressure starting to spike. "I'm telling you—"

"Someone," Pepper finished, scowling. "He obviously needs some help, Tony, and—"

"And I said no, Pepper!" Tony snapped. "No shrinks for the kid! End of discussion!"

"So what, you're just gonna let him struggle for who knows how long? Like he's been struggling for who knows how long? The kid's been through a lot, Tony. He needs help!"

"I am helping him!" barked Tony.

"Oh yeah?" countered Pepper. "Like you're helping yourself? You look like hell, Tony! When was the last time you got any sleep?"

"Um…" Tony sputtered. He rubbed at his eyes, struggling to remember. How long had it been?

"That's what I thought," Pepper said, softer this time. "Tony, how can you expect Peter to get better when you're not? You know how much that kid adores you. He can see what you're doing. And if it's okay for you to repeatedly run yourself into the ground, then he's gonna think it's okay for him to do the same."

"I'm not—"

"Yes you are, Tony. I can see it from here. You don't think I notice when you order yet another set of your armor plating to be shipped out to New York? How many of them are you up to by now? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

Um… forty? With two more almost completed? "Something like that. What did this Aldrich Killian want, anyway?"

Pepper's brow furrowed, and she gave a slight shake of her head. "Oh, he said he ran a think tank that had come up with a revolutionary idea. He wanted us to invest money in it so he could get it off the ground."

Aldrich Killian… Aldrich Killian… The name sounded eerily familiar. "And?"

"And I said no. It was a rather fascinating presentation, but it seemed just a little too dangerous to me. Too… potentially weaponisable if it fell into the wrong hands."

"Hmm," muttered Tony. "What was it called?"

"Extremis," replied Pepper. "Killian said he'd discovered how to unlock a dormant part of the brain and 'recode it'."

"Huh," said Tony, wracking his brain. He knew he'd heard the name Extremis before, somewhere, but his mind felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls for how well it was working at the moment. Maybe I really do need to get some more sleep.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You have that look on your face again."

"What look?"

"The 'if I don't get some sleep soon I'm gonna keel over and die' look."

"Pepper, I'm telling you—"

"If not for yourself, then do it for Peter!" Pepper snapped. "You're of no use to him when you're half out of your mind with fatigue!"

"It's not that simple, Pepper!" shouted Tony, slamming his fist down onto the counter, choking as he tried to breathe. "Nothing's been the same since the battle. I can't sleep without—." He paused, raking his hand through his hair. "What I saw, the threat is imminent. It's coming; it's only a matter of time, honey. And I have to protect the people I care about the most. And that's you, and that curly-haired, nerdy, adorable kid of mine who loves Legos and Star Wars and doing flips. But I don't know if I even can protect you. What we saw here, and what I saw out there, there's no comparison. Honey, out there is so much worse."

Pepper was quiet for a moment before sighing heavily. "Look. Peter has how many days of school left before Christmas break?"

Tony groaned. "I don't know, five? Six? Something like that."

"Okay. So on his last day of school you're gonna pick him up and drive directly to the airport. And the two of you are gonna spend two weeks out here with me, and we're gonna decorate the tree and bake cookies and drink eggnog—"

"Pete doesn't like eggnog," Tony interrupted.

"Then he can have hot chocolate," Pepper said, without missing a beat. "And you're both gonna do nothing else but take it easy for a change. Is that understood?"

"We'll see."

"Yes, we will," Pepper said firmly. "Now, I need to get going. Happy has something he wants to go over with me before I head home."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Tony. "Tell Happy that Pete misses him."

Laughing, Pepper nodded. "I will."

"G'night, honey."

"Goodnight."

Shutting down the monitor, Tony heaved out a heavy sigh, scrubbing at his dry eyes with his palm. Two weeks of the Malibu sun and sea air did sound amazing, and he had little doubt that Peter wouldn't jump at the chance to get away from New York for a stretch either. Maybe they should just go, Steve Rogers and the DoD be damned.

After checking on Peter, Tony shuffled to his bedroom, flipping on the television as he pawed through his dresser drawers for a clean t-shirt. How long had it been since he'd dropped off the laundry?

"And so here you have yet another terrorist attack on American soil," came a snarky voice from the television. Tony's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he listened closer to the late-night talk show host's tirade. "And the only response from President Ellis is to take the War Machine armor and give it a new name and a flashy new paint job?"

"Paint job?" Tony grumbled under his breath, jerking back in surprise as a picture of the new Iron Patriot flashed across the screen. "What the hell?"

Rhodey had mentioned something about a couple of recent suicide bombings when they'd had lunch together the last time Tony had been in D.C., but with Peter along he hadn't wanted to say too much more. And Tony could vaguely remember hearing about another one last fall, but he'd forgotten about it after Peter had gotten so sick.

"JARVIS," Tony said, still staring at the television. "Call Rhodey. I wanna know what the hell's going on."

"Colonel Rhodes is unable to take your call at this time, sir," JARVIS replied a moment later. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"Nah, I'll just try him again tomorrow," grumbled Tony. He flopped backwards onto his bed, groaning as his exhausted body melted against the mattress. He was asleep before he could take another breath.

"Ow!" Tony exclaimed around the bloody gauze pad stuck between his teeth, shaking out his left arm. Who would've thought subcutaneous implants would hurt so damn much?

"Forty-six," said JARVIS.

"Ah!" Tony yelped through his clenched teeth, again shaking his arm.

"Forty-seven," JARVIS said. "Sir, please, may I request just a few hours to calibrate—"

"Nope," muttered Tony as he positioned the implanter approximately an inch or so away from the last spot, shooting in the forty-eighth and final implant. "Ow!" Setting down the implanter, he blotted the blood spots away and tapped his forearms together.

Okay. I'll have to think of something else for Peter if this ends up working. That hurt way too damn much.

"Micro-repeater implanting sequence complete," Tony said, looking towards the stand where he'd mounted his his video camera. "This is a test of the Mark 42, autonomous prehensile propulsion suit."

"Very well," said JARVIS. "I've also prepared a safety briefing for you to entirely ignore."

"And I will," Tony shot back, grimacing as he noticed the blood spattered on the floor. It was high time that he brought DUM-E out here to New York, especially since he and Peter got along so well. "All right, let's do this. JARVIS, drop my needle."

As the funky chords of an old arrangement of Jingle Bells filled his lab, Tony held out his left arm, trying to summon the Mark 42 gauntlet from where it rested on a table across the room. After a few frustrated tries, the gauntlet took off from the table, flying towards Tony and attaching itself to his arm, covering the skin up to his elbow. The shoulder piece came next, sliding down to cover the rest of his arm.

So far, so good. Turning, he held out his right arm, successfully summoning the right gauntlet in a more timely fashion.

"All right," he said with a grin once the right gauntlet was in place. "I think we got this. Send 'em all."

But unfortunately as Tony's heart rate increased, a result of excitement and way too much caffeine, so did the speed at which the rest of the armored pieces flew at him. Tony was able to catch most of them, grunting and groaning as they slammed against his body, but had to duck out of the way twice to avoid having his head taken off, resulting in two broken windows and the destruction of his brand-new record player.

"C'mon," he said to the golden-colored mask, hovering in the air over the table as if it was taunting him. "I ain't scared of you."

Flying towards him, the mask turned upside down at the last second, forcing Tony to flip in order to catch it, causing the platform to crack as he slammed back down. Blinking and gasping, Tony activated the HUD, pride flooding his veins as the display came on-line. It works!

"Yeah. I'm the best," he said proudly.

"Dad?" came Peter's small voice from the doorway, a split second before one of the spare armor sections slammed against Tony's lower back, knocking him off the platform and flat onto his face as the armor scattered away from his body.

"Daddy!" cried Peter as he ran over to him. "Oh my God, are you okay?"

"Oohh," groaned Tony, more out of embarrassment than pain, although there was plenty of that too. "Yeah, Pete, I'm okay."

"Are you sure," Peter asked frantically, his small hands clutching Tony's shoulders, trying to help him sit back up. "I heard crashing sounds and breaking glass. What're you doing in here?"

"Just working," Tony said as he stripped his helmet off. "Testing out my new suit."

Peter's eyebrows knitted together as he shook his head. "Well, it looked like the suit was attacking you."

Tony let out a laugh, clutching his side when a sharp pain shot across his ribcage. "No, Pete. I promise it wasn't attacking me. I designed it to attach in pieces like that."

"Why?" asked Peter.

"Well…" Tony stammered. "Because it's more portable that way. And then I'm not dependent on any robots or funky bracelets to summon it when I need it."

"Oh," Peter mumbled, his lower lip starting to shake. "But, Daddy… why do you think you're gonna need it? Didn't you kill all the aliens?"

Tony's heart broke a little at the underlying fear in Peters voice. He was trying so hard to be brave, far harder than any nine-year old kid should be required to. Tony wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he cuddled Peter close. "Yeah, buddy, I did. But… I'm just trying to make sure that I'm prepared… if…"

"If what?" Peter asked, his voice muffled against Tony's chest. "If more aliens come?"

"Yeah," answered Tony with a heavy sigh. He buried his nose in Peter's hair, smelling the soothing scent of his green apple shampoo. "That's right. I gotta protect you, buddy."

Peter was silent for a moment. "I know. But I wish you didn't have to worry about it so much."

"Pardon me, sir," JARVIS cut in. "But Miss Potts is on the line."

"Yeah? Put her through!"

"Tony!" Pepper's frantic voice sounded from the wall screen, causing Tony's heart to jump into his throat. "There's been an explosion! Happy, he's hurt, and—"

"Are you all right?" Tony demanded as he got to his feet, clutching Peter's shoulder.

"I'm fine, Tony! But Happy's in the hospital, and he's hurt, and no one knows how it happened! There's no evidence of an explosive, or—"

"What do you mean—?" Tony started, realizing halfway through the sentence that it didn't matter how Happy had gotten injured. All that mattered right now was the fact that he was, and also that Pepper was now unprotected. "Never mind that. Where are you right now?"

"I'm at the house, I just left the hospital. They say Happy's critical but stable, whatever that means."

"All right, then I want you to stay put until I get there. JARVIS?"

"At your service, sir," replied the AI.

"Lock down the house. No one goes in or out without my express permission. I'm gonna send a security detail to the hospital to watch over Happy, and I'll be there in less than three hours."

"Tony, I don't think—"

"Yes, Pepper, it is. Just… stay put."

"Daddy—!"

"JARVIS, get Banner and Rogers on the line," barked Tony as soon as Pepper clicked off.

"Yes, sir."

"Daddy!" Peter cried, his small hands clinging to Tony's arm. "Please, I wanna come with you!"

Tears pricked Tony's eyes at the anguish in his son's voice, and he gripped Peter's shoulders, turning him to face him. "Peter, you can't. I gotta get there as fast as I can, which means I gotta fly in the suit. And as much as I wish you could, you can't fly with me."

"But—!"

"Tony?" Bruce's sleepy voice said from the half of the huge monitor, just as Steve's head filled the other half, looking far more wide awake. "It's after midnight, what's going on?"

"I need you guys to look after Pete for awhile," Tony stated. "There's been an accident out in California and I need to get there ASAP."

"Is Pepper okay?" Steve asked. "I saw a report on the evening news about an explosion—?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Tony said impatiently. "But I gotta make sure she stays fine, so I gotta go like, right now, and I need you guys to watch Peter."

"Of course, Tony," said Steve. "I'll be right up."

"Yeah, okay, but give me a few minutes," Bruce said, stifling a yawn. "I'm not too presentable right now."

"Nah, Bruce, go on back to bed," Tony said, remembering that Steve didn't really need to sleep all that much. "You can catch up in the morning. Pete's just gonna go back to bed anyway."

"No, I'm not," Peter said quietly, causing guilt to swell in the pit of Tony's stomach. "I won't be able to sleep without you here."

"I'll be right up, Tony," Steve repeated. "Just give me a couple minutes."

"Thanks," Tony whispered. As soon as the screen went blank he crouched down in front of Peter. "Look, buddy. You only have a couple more days of school before Christmas break. Once I've made sure that there's no danger out in Malibu, I'll have Steve or Bruce bring you out there to join me. But I gotta go right now, Pete. I need to make sure Happy's okay, and Pepper… she doesn't have anyone to watch over her now, so I need to make sure she's protected. Okay? Steve and Bruce will take good care of you while I'm gone."

A lone tear slid down Peter's round cheek as he sniffed. "Okay."

"It should only be for a few days at most," Tony said, trying to sound optimistic. He hated having to leave Peter behind, and felt even worse about making him cry, but he didn't see any other options at this point.

The elevator opened then, revealing a somber Steve Rogers. "Hey, Peter, Tony," he said, his eyes widening slightly as they swept around the messy lab. "Was there an explosion up here too?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned about," Tony said quickly, rolling his eyes. "Just listen closely. JARVIS wakes Peter up for school. He can get his own breakfast, but you'll need to help him with his dinner. Make sure he has his inhaler and glasses when you drop him off at school. The tumbling gym is already closed for the holidays, so you don't need to worry about that. And make sure he gets to bed on time, and that he has his polar bear, can't forget the polar bear. And he'll need you to sit with him until he's asleep."

"Got it," said Steve with a nod.

Drawing Peter into a tight hug, Tony kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his hair to try and stem the massive waves of guilt flowing through him. "I love you, Peter. And I'll see you soon. You be good for Steve and Bruce, yeah?"

"I will," Peter sobbed, nearly cracking Tony's heart in two. "Just… I hope Happy's okay."

Tony ruffled Peter's hair as he got back to his feet, pressing his palm against his throbbing side. Damn inconvenient time for a broken rib! "Me too, bud. Me too."

"C'mon, Peter," said Steve, nodding at Tony as he reached for Peter's hand. "Let's… um… get you back into bed, okay?"

Choking on a sob, Peter nodded, waving at Tony as Steve led him down the hall to his room. As soon as they were out of sight Tony summoned his armor, which went far better the second time around for some reason. Stepping outside onto his platform, he drew in as deep a breath as he could and took off into the night, heading towards California.

Chapter Text

Peter huffed out a frustrated breath as he flopped over on his bed, hugging George tightly to his chest. Through the huge floor to ceiling windows on the far side of his room he could just barely make out the faintest hint of daylight starting to peek through the surrounding skyscrapers. It was almost time for JARVIS's alarm to wake him up for school, although he couldn't remember the last time that he'd still been asleep when it went off.

"I'm awake, JARVIS," Peter croaked a minute later as he pushed himself up into a sitting position and reached for his glasses, nearly poking himself in the eye as he attempted to jam them onto his face. No sense in the alarm going off if he didn't need it.

"Good morning, Master Peter," said JARVIS. "And congratulations on making it to the last day of school prior to your Christmas break."

"Thanks," mumbled Peter. Sliding off the bed, he shuffled into the bathroom to brush his teeth, grateful once again for the tiny lights embedded in the tile floor which allowed him to forgo the harsh overhead light first thing in the morning. After learning that he was afraid of the dark, Dad had the soft lights installed along the walls of both his bedroom and the bathroom, giving both rooms a faint, ambient glow. He'd also programmed JARVIS to play the soothing sounds of falling rain during the night as background noise, hoping it would help Peter with his nightmares. Which it did, surprisingly.

Or at least it did until the Battle of New York happened.

Stumbling into his closet, Peter grabbed at the first t-shirt and pair of jeans he could see, checking after he'd pulled on the t-shirt to make sure it wasn't on inside-out or backwards. He'd managed to make it to school one day about a month ago with his shirt on inside-out, and Flash still hadn't let him forget it.

"JARVIS, where's my dad?" asked Peter as he slid on his shoes.

"Mr. Stark's current location is the Malibu house," replied JARVIS.

"Okay. Thanks," Peter replied. He wanted to ask if his father had managed to get any sleep during the night, or even if he could talk to him, but he knew it would be futile. JARVIS refused to divulge any information on his father's work or condition unless Dad specifically told him it was okay to do so, and he'd been particularly quiet about his projects lately. And, if there was any possibility that he might actually be asleep now, Peter did not want to risk waking him. It was only around 3:30 in the morning out in California.

"Good morning, Peter," Steve said, looking up from his sketch pad as Peter wandered into the kitchen, the smile fading from his face as he took in Peter's glum face. "Were you able to sleep at all?"

Tears sprung into Peter's eyes, gritty and dry from the lack of sleep, and he looked away, embarrassed. "Not really. Maybe a bit, but I don't know."

Steve let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Peter. I know it's hard on you with your dad away."

Peter shook his head, clenching his jaw as he reached for his cereal box and a bowl. "It shouldn't be, though," he muttered. "Plenty of the other kids' moms and dads have to go away sometimes. Why do I have to be such a pansy about it?"

"Who says you're a pansy?" asked Steve, his brow furrowing. "Someone at school?"

"No," said Peter, but as soon as the word left his lips he knew Steve wouldn't believe him. His dad always said he was a terrible liar. Which, he supposed, wasn't really such a bad thing. And Auntie May had always told him he had an honest face, whatever that meant.

"Actually, yeah."

Understanding filled Steve's eyes, and he set down his pencil, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I know it probably doesn't help all that much, but I know what it's like to be—"

"A pansy?" interrupted Peter, biting his lip as milk sloshed over the side of his cereal bowl and he fought against the urge to curse. He didn't swear all that often—Dad didn't allow it, and he knew Steve wouldn't appreciate it much either—but he hated how clumsy he was sometimes. Especially when he was so tired that he could barely see straight.

"No," said Steve firmly, his large hand wrapping around Peter's wrist as he attempted to tear off a paper towel. "I know what it's like to be bullied."

"Oh," Peter mumbled, feeling somehow even worse by the confession. Of course he knew that Steve Rogers hadn't always been the tall and strong super soldier that he was now. Peter had read up on both Bruce and Steve before the battle and during the week before they moved into the Tower. According to his SHIELD file, when he first joined the Army Steve Rogers had been a short, skinny, sickly kid from Brooklyn. It wasn't until he got his special serum that he transformed into Captain America.

"Yeah," Steve said as he mopped up the spilled milk. "I don't think there was a single alley or street corner in Brooklyn where I didn't get beat up at least once."

Peter shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "I'm sorry. That sounds horrible."

"It was at the time," Steve said, winking. "But now it's just… part of my history, I guess. Part of me."

"Yeah, 'cause now you could beat the snot out of anyone you wanted to," said Peter quietly, his eyes firmly trained on his cereal bowl. Whereas I'm still a skinny, shrimpy, sickly kid who can't even sleep without a nightlight.

"Yeah, I probably could," Steve said, his eyes narrowing. "But not all problems should be solved by fighting, Peter. Sometimes you just need to find a way to work together, no matter your differences, because there's something even worse that's out there."

"Hmph," Peter grunted.

"It also helped me to have a friend," Steve continued, a rather glum expression washing over his face before being replaced with a slight smile. "A really good friend who always had my back. And who just happened to be a lot bigger than me. Or, at least he was before the serum."

"I have a friend like that," said Peter. "His name's Ned. And he is bigger than me, but we don't really get into fights. It's more just… being mean. Flash is just mean."

Steve clapped his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Does your dad know about this kid who's mean to you?"

Peter felt his face redden and he looked down, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Yeah. Well… kinda."

"Kinda?" asked Steve, quirking an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well… I don't always tell him everything," Peter confessed quietly. "Only when I have to, like if my glasses get broken or something. He gets really mad when stuff like that happens, and…"

"Not mad at you, surely…?"

"No, no," said Peter, shaking his head. "Mad at Flash. He's… well, he's threatened to… beat the hell out of him a few times if he didn't leave me alone."

"Ah," Steve said, and Peter was relieved to see no judgement in the man's expression. "But still, Peter. You don't think your father would want to know if you're struggling?"

"My dad worries about me enough," Peter said firmly. "And I know I'm smarter than Flash, so I can handle him. Even if I don't like to."

"Hmm," said Steve. He picked up his pencil, glancing down at his sketch pad with a critical eye. "Well, don't forget that you're not alone. I'm here, if you ever need someone to talk to. Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

They were silent for a few minutes while Peter finished his cereal and packed up his backpack and Steve worked on his drawing, which appeared to be a strikingly accurate rendition of the rebuilt Stark Tower. Since it was the last day of school before Christmas break, Peter only had a half day today.

"Ready?" Steve asked once Peter had pulled on his jacket. "You might want to wear some mittens or gloves too, it's pretty cold out there this morning. And you also need to grab your helmet."

"Yeah, okay," Peter replied. Hurrying back to his room, he rummaged around in his closet for his mittens before grabbing his Iron Man helmet, which now barely fit over his head. He'd need to make a new one soon.

Everything had happened so quickly two nights ago when Dad needed to leave that no one had stopped to think about how Peter would get to and from school. There was a school bus, but Dad didn't allow Peter to ride on it, saying it wasn't as safe as he wanted. There were plenty of cars available down in the Tower garage, but Bruce didn't have an active driver's license anymore and Steve had never even learned how to drive a car, preferring to use motorcycles instead. He was in the process of taking a driver's ed course in the afternoons, but hadn't yet taken his driver's test, so it had been kind of a scramble the previous morning with trying to figure out how to get Peter to school. Bruce had suggested just taking a taxi but Peter declined, not in any hurry to get back into a cab after that scary incident in the alleyway during the Battle of New York.

In the end they had decided that Steve would just take him on his motorcycle, a vintage one that SHIELD had given him. Peter rode in front of him on the bike wearing his Iron Man helmet, which was as good as any regular motorcycle helmet, and while it had been a little more scary than Peter had anticipated, he was actually looking forward to it again. Nothing like rolling up to the school riding on a motorcycle with Captain America to impress the other kids.

It was cold this morning, so much so that Peter's breaths came out in small puffs of white as Steve carefully maneuvered the motorcycle through the Midtown streets. Nodding at the security guards as they entered the school, they were about halfway to Peter's classroom when the principal, Mr. Morita, came running down the hall towards them.

"Captain Rogers," he said, panting slightly as he offered his hand. "Forgive me, I'm usually over on the high school side in the mornings, but I heard that you dropped Peter off yesterday, and I just wanted to come by and introduce myself."

"Hello," Steve said politely as he shook Mr. Morita's hand, and Peter could see Steve's eyes narrowing, like he was trying to place him. "I'm sorry, sir, but you look awfully familiar—"

"Jim Morita," Mr. Morita said with a proud smile. "He was a Howling Commando, sir. And my grandfather."

"Oh!" Steve sputtered. "Of course! Wow! You look so much like him!"

"I've heard so many stories about you, Captain," Mr. Morita said. "I'd love it if we could sit down sometime and talk. Perhaps sometime after the holidays?" He glanced down at Peter, offering him a smile. "I know you're quite busy right now with Mr. Stark out of town."

"Yeah," said Steve, still with the same dumbfounded look he usually wore when Peter was trying to explain how to work a new gadget. "Yeah, I'd like that very much, Mr. Morita. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir. It's nice to finally meet you." With a final nod, Mr. Morita turned and walked back down the hall, heading for the high school wing.

"The Howling Commandos," said Peter as they continued down the hallway. "That was your special Army unit, wasn't it? That attacked all the HYDRA bases during the war?"

"That's right," replied Steve, sounding impressed. "Did they teach you about that here in school?"

Peter shook his head as they arrived at his classroom. "No, we haven't learned that much about World War II yet. I asked my dad and JARVIS about it."

"Hmm. You're pretty resourceful," Steve said. "I wouldn't think a lot of of kids your age would be interested in something like that."

Peter shrugged. "I'm interested in anything that my dad's interested in," he said. "He says that's a good thing. Or at least he does most of the time."

"Well, I'm sure your dad's right about that," said Steve with a grin. "I'll see you this afternoon, Peter. Enjoy your day."

"Bye," Peter said, entering the classroom and breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw that Flash wasn't yet there. He didn't really feel like hearing his insult of the day quite yet. It was bad enough when he'd had a full night's sleep.

After hanging up his jacket and unpacking his backpack, Peter crossed his arms on his desk and laid his head down, closing his eyes and hoping there'd be enough candy during the class party today to help him stay awake.

Tony hated hospitals. The way they looked like they were designed by people with no sense of imagination. The way they smelled like a horrible combination of strong disinfectant and death. And the sounds. The incessant beeping of monitors, the static of the calls over the intercom, the squeak of the nurses' shoes against the polished linoleum floors. Pretty much everything about them made Tony twitchy.

And yet, as he sat in his chair against the wall of Happy's private ICU room, watching as the nurse fiddled with his IV's and adjusted his blankets, it wasn't exactly the same jumpiness he was used to feeling whenever he set foot inside a hospital.

It was rage.

As soon as he'd arrived at the Malibu house, after ensuring that they were indeed on a complete security lockdown, he'd gotten Pepper tucked into bed and headed down to his lab to do some preliminary research on this Mandarin, who was claiming responsibility for the explosion in which Happy was injured. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of information that had been made available to the public, and after exhausting several of his usual methods of obtaining classified information without satisfaction, Tony had given up and called Rhodey, asking him to come out so they could discuss the issue.

"Oh, could you leave that on?" Tony said, startling the nurse as she attempted to switch off the television. "Downton Abbey is one of his favorite shows. He thinks it's elegant."

"Oh, sure," replied the flustered nurse. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were there, Mr. Stark."

"It's okay," replied Tony as he got to his feet. It was time to go and meet Rhodey. "Also, please make sure everyone wears their badges. Happy's a stickler for that sort of thing. Plus, my guys won't let anyone in without 'em." Tony had stationed a total of ten security guards around the hospital, with two standing guard right outside the door.

"Yes, sir," said the nurse with a slight smile. "Of course."

"Thanks."

"You look like hell, Tony," Rhodey said as Tony sat down across from him at the burger joint only a few blocks away from the USAF base at El Segundo. "When was the last time you got any decent sleep?"

"Oh come on, now I gotta hear it from you too?" Tony protested. "Give me a break, will ya? Why can't people just say 'hello' anymore?"

Rhodes shot him a scowl. "Okay. Hello, Tony. You look like hell. There, is that better?"

Rolling his eyes, Tony opened his menu, trying to find anything that sounded even remotely appetizing. "So," he said. "What's with the Iron Patriot? I mean, Iron Patriot? Really?"

"President Ellis thought War Machine sounded too aggressive," Rhodes said with a sigh, looking over his own menu. "Iron Patriot sounds more… patriotic. Less violent. It… tested well with focus groups."

Tony could only stare at him in disbelief. "I am Iron Patriot," he finally growled, his voice thick with sarcasm. "It sucks, Rhodey."

"It's a done deal, Tony!" snapped Rhodes. "Just deal with it and move on!"

"Whatever," Tony grumbled, plastering on a smile as the waitress came to take their orders.

"So, are you gonna tell me what's going on with you?" Rhodes asked once the waitress walked away. "What're you doing out here, Tony? And where's Peter? I can't believe you'd leave him behind in New York."

Tony's stomach clenched at the mention of Peter. He'd only been away less than two days, and yet he already missed the boy terribly. "I couldn't bring him out here without knowing if it was safe. And now, if this really was another Mandarin bombing, then…" His voice cut off as his heart seemed to flutter in his chest, as if it was skipping every other beat, and a cold sweat broke out over his body, causing him to shiver. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to take slow, deep breaths. He couldn't afford to think like that. Peter was fine; JARVIS had informed him the second he returned to the Tower from school earlier in the day. Right now he was down in Bruce's lab, helping him with the design of the repulsors for the SHIELD helicarriers. He was as safe as he could be without Tony there with him.

"How many bombings have there been now?" Tony asked, ignoring the suspicious look Rhodey was giving him.

"It's classified, Tony," Rhodes said. "You know I can't say—"

"Rhodey, cut the bullshit. My patience level is at absolute zero right now."

"There's been nine," Rhodes said, letting out a heavy sigh. "The public's only aware of three, but—"

"Nine?" said Tony, raising his eyebrows. "Guy's determined, isn't he."

"Yeah, and Ellis is scared. He's too proud to admit it of course, but this guy's got him rattled."

"So, why didn't he come to me for help?" asked Tony. "Or us? The Avengers?"

"Because the President wants to handle it internally," Rhodes said, not without a hint of sarcasm. "He wants it to remain inside the Pentagon. Strictly government business."

"So, essentially what you're saying is that he doesn't trust SHIELD? Or the Avengers?" Tony said sharply. "I mean, why should he? We only just saved the fucking world a few months ago, it's not like it was that big a deal."

"Keep your voice down, Tony!" Rhodes hissed, his eyes scanning across the crowded restaurant. "I don't know why he doesn't want you guys involved. Either he just doesn't, for whatever stupid political reason or reasons, or someone close to him has convinced him that he shouldn't."

Tony's heart was thudding erratically again, and he reached for his water glass, taking such a large gulp that he nearly choked as he swallowed. "And in the meantime, how many other people are gonna be blown to bits while he tries to figure it out? Goddamn it, Rhodey! Happy could've been killed! And what if Pepper had been with him?"

"There's nothing I can do about it, Tony," Rhodey said through clenched teeth. "And once again, it seems like I've told you too much."

"Too much? How is giving me information on a madman who attacked someone I consider family telling me too much? Christ, Rhodey! If it'd been two days later, Peter could've been with Happy!"

"Oh my God, Tony! It's not like the Mandarin was specifically targeting your family! As hard as it might be for you to believe, not everything always revolves around you!"

Tony's head snapped back as if he'd been slapped. "Wow. Why don't you tell me how you really feel there, Rhodes? I didn't realize just how miserable I've been making your life all these years."

Rhodes shook his head, reaching for his soda cup. "Look. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean that. There's just a lot of pressure right now. Ellis is gunning to find this guy ASAP, and he wants the Iron Patriot to bring him in. And he wants it done publicly, for the whole world to see."

Breathing in deeply through his nose, Tony glanced around at the other patrons in the restaurant. There was a family at a nearby table, a mom and a dad and their two children, and the little boy with brown curls and glasses reminded him so much of Peter that Tony's heart lurched. What if they had been out here when the explosion happened? What if Pepper or Peter had been there shopping with Happy? Tony felt his hands start to shake, and he clenched them into tight fists under the table. He could not afford to think like that right now. He needed to concentrate.

"What's the big deal?" Tony croaked. "Why's he want it done so publicly? It's not like it's an election year."

"No one likes to get caught with their pants down, Tony," Rhodes said with a sigh, swirling around the ice in his cup. "Which is how Ellis felt after New York. I guess this is his way of trying to fix that."

"Goddamn politicians," muttered Tony. "See, this is exactly why you guys could use my help. No one can get anything done when all you're looking for is your next ass-kissing."

"Drop it, Tony," said Rhodes, his voice threatening. "Please. I'm telling you, as your friend, to just drop it. There are some things you just can't control."

Clenching his jaw, Tony got to his feet, giving Rhodey a tight smile as he peeled off enough money to cover their meal. "Yeah. Thanks for the advice." Then he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"Tony!" Rhodes called just as Tony unlocked his car. "I know that look. Please tell me you're not gonna do anything stupid. I don't need the added stress. Not now, okay?"

Tony pursed his lips as he slid into the driver's seat, donning his glasses. "I may be many things, Rhodey, but stupid isn't one of them."

"Do you want anything else to eat, Peter?" Steve asked as he finished what had to be at least his tenth slice of pizza. "You haven't had all that much."

"No," Peter said, pushing his plate away as if it had hurt his feelings. He usually loved pizza, especially New York pizza, but lately everything he ate just seemed to sit in his stomach like a lead rock. It didn't help that Steve had eaten nearly two entire pizzas all by himself. Which, according to him, was nothing new. Something about his super soldier serum made his metabolism extra fast, so he was pretty much always hungry.

"All right," Steve said gently as he gathered up the plates, stacking them in the sink. "Then I was thinking since Bruce is busy working tonight, maybe you could teach me how to play chess before you go to bed? You said it was one of your favorite games, so I just thought—"

"Yeah, okay," said Peter. He really didn't feel like doing anything except sulking, but it had been a long time since he'd last played, and Steve had been asking for him to teach him for awhile now. He and Dad had played some when they were in Malibu over the summer, but that now seemed like a lifetime ago. "Sure. I'll go get the board set up."

Dad always said that chess was a strategic, methodical game, and Peter agreed. Uncle Ben had taught him how to play shortly after his fourth birthday, telling Peter it was a good way to avoid thinking about unpleasant things for awhile and just concentrate on how to beat your opponent. Peter enjoyed it so much that he and Ben had had a standing Friday night game, complete with stove-popped popcorn and lemonade, right up until the night that he and May were killed.

Since then, he and Dad played every now and then, mostly while they were in Malibu since Dad was less stressed out when they were there. But since the aliens came and Dad stopped sleeping, Peter couldn't remember the last time they'd played together.

"Ready?" Steve asked, settling his large frame on the opposite side of the board. "Which color am I?"

Peter hesitated, his eyes sweeping over the board. He always played the white pieces because Dad liked the black ones better, but since Dad wasn't here, it felt wrong somehow for Steve to be using his pieces. "I'll be the black ones," he said, turning the board around. "Is that okay?"

"It's fine, Peter," Steve said with a slight smile. "Whatever you want is fine."

He tried hard to smile back as he picked up one of the white pawns, but it likely only came out as a sort of a grimace. "Okay. So, white always goes first, and the pawns always start. On the first move they can go one or two spaces, but they can only attack diagonally, like this."

"Okay," said Steve, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Got it."

"Good," Peter said, placing the pawn back and picking up one of the knights. "These are called knights, and can move in an L-shape."

"All right," Steve said with a nod. He reached for a rook, picking it up and eyeing it. "What about this one?"

They ended up playing for almost two hours. Peter was impressed; Steve was a remarkably fast learner for someone who'd never played before. And by the time the game was over, Peter even felt like he was in somewhat of a decent mood.

But as soon as the board was packed up and JARVIS informed them that it was time to get ready for Peter's 9pm bedtime, that leaden feeling down in the pit of Peter's stomach came rushing back. He missed his father terribly whenever he wasn't around, but nighttime was always the worst. Dad always sat with him on his bed while he fell asleep, his hand resting comfortably on Peter's shoulder. On especially bad nights Peter would even curl up on on Dad's lap with his ear pressed against his chest piece, allowing the soft humming noise to lull him to sleep. And while Steve had tried to help the night before, it just wasn't the same. His taller body dipped the bed too much, and his hand felt too heavy on Peter's shoulder. Steve just wasn't his dad.

"So I was thinking," Steve said once Peter had crawled into bed. "Maybe tomorrow you could show me around your old Queens neighborhood while Bruce is working? I still haven't made it out there yet."

"Sure," Peter said, burying his nose into George's plushy head and thankful that Steve couldn't see his sour expression in the dim light of his bedroom. He really didn't feel like going anywhere tomorrow, except maybe out to Malibu, but he knew Steve was just trying to help distract him, and right now he was too tired to argue.

And maybe Steve was right. Maybe getting out of the Tower would do him some good.

"Great," replied Steve. "The weather's supposed to be pretty nice tomorrow, so it'll be a good day to be out on the bike."

"Sounds good."

"Mr. Stark is on the line for Master Peter," JARVIS said suddenly, causing Peter to shoot up off the bed so fast he ended up with a head rush.

"Yes, please, JARVIS!" Peter exclaimed, his heart pounding. "Let me talk to him!"

"Hey, buddy," Dad said as his tired face filled the screen. Peter noticed right away that his new Iron Man suit was standing behind him, slightly off to the side. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," Peter choked out, tears springing to his eyes at how nervous his father looked. He barely noticed Steve excusing himself and leaving the room. "I'm fine. But you don't look fine at all, Daddy. What's wrong? Is it Happy?"

"No, no, Happy's still the same," Dad said with a heavy sigh. "Still in his coma. Doctors say he'll just come out of it when he's ready."

"Well…" Peter said. "That's good news, I guess. Isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose. Listen, Pete… where's Rogers? I want him to hear this too."

"What—?" Peter said, interrupted as JARVIS called Steve back into the room. "What's wrong, Dad? Please, tell me!"

"Rogers?" Dad said as soon as Steve walked in. "Everything okay out there?"

"Yeah, we're doing fine, Tony. What's going on?"

"I'm placing the Tower on lockdown," Dad said. "No one goes in or out until I've determined that it's safe to leave. All right? I just wanted to give you a warning first so you didn't get zapped when you tried to go out for a run or something."

"But why?" Peter cried, tears slipping from his eyes. "Dad, please tell me what's going on?"

"Not gonna happen, bud," he replied, shaking his head as his eyes flicked over to Steve. "You can talk to Bruce when you have a minute, Rogers. He's got the scoop."

"But, Daddy—!"

"Pete, if I'm right, this is all gonna be over soon. Like real soon. I just need you to trust me, okay? I'm only trying to keep you safe."

"And I just want you here!" Peter sputtered, burying his face into George's head. "I just wanna be with you! And you won't let me!"

"We'll keep Peter safe, Tony," Steve said, and Peter felt Steve's hand squeeze his shoulder. "I promise."

"This should all be over in a few days, tops," Dad said. "And I promise, buddy, as soon as it is, I'll bring you right out here. Okay?"

Peter shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed as more tears rolled down his cheeks. "Promise?"

"Absolutely," Dad said firmly. "Bruce and Steve can even come if they want."

"But—, what're you gonna do?" asked Peter, sniffling.

Dad pursed his lips. "I'll tell you when it's over, Peter."

His father's ominous tone filled Peter's heart with dread, and he shivered, clutching George even tighter to his chest. He knew there was no sense in trying to argue, but he also knew now there was absolutely no chance that he would get any rest until he was back with his dad.

"Okay," Peter whispered. "Just, please… whatever it is… be careful."

"I will, Pete," Dad said, his lips twitching into a soft smile. "I love you, bud."

"I love you too."

"Take care, Tony," Steve said gently. "Let us know if we can do anything."

"You just take good care of my kid," Dad replied. "That's best thing you can do for me. I'll talk to you guys again when I can."

"Bye," Peter said as the screen clicked off. Collapsing onto his bed, he curled his body into a tight ball, flinching when he felt Steve trying to tug his blankets up over him.

"It'll be okay, Peter," Steve said soothingly, patting his shoulder. "Your dad's a really smart guy. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

"I know he's smart," Peter choked out, his voice muffled against his mattress. "And I know he knows what he's doing. And that's what scares me the most."

The television screen had barely clicked off when Tony released the breath he'd been holding and pitched forward, barely catching himself on the counter as his shaking knees gave way. "JARVIS," he croaked. "Ensure the Tower's on lockdown."

"I have completed the lockdown procedures, sir," JARVIS replied. "Captain Rogers is currently with Master Peter in his room, and Doctor Banner is currently located in his laboratory."

Tony pressed his clenched left fist to his mouth, trying to inhale as another huge wave of dizziness swept over him, nearly causing him to lose his hold on the counter as he stumbled into his nearby armor. "JARVIS, what the hell's wrong with me? Am I having a heart attack or something?"

"Your heart is functioning within normal parameters, sir," replied JARVIS a second later. "My diagnosis is that you've experienced a severe anxiety attack."

The unexpected words caused Tony to blink, and he nearly laughed out loud at how absurd it sounded. "Me?"

"Yes, sir. And dare I say that I highly doubt this is your first such attack?"

But Tony, still fixated on hearing the word 'anxiety' associated with him, barely heard what JARVIS said. He was Tony Stark, dammit, and Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, former playboy, philanthropist, and father—did not have anxiety.

Maybe he shouldn't have called Peter. Tony always got upset seeing him cry, and it was even worse when he knew he was the cause of the boy's tears. But he couldn't not talk to his son. It was eating him up inside to even be away from him right now.

"All right, then," Tony said. "Tell me how to fix it."

"Reducing your level of stress is paramount, sir," said JARVIS. "If that doesn't work, then there are medications available via prescription that may help manage the various symptoms."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Tony. There was no way in hell he was going on any mind-numbing medications, and reducing his stress level seemed like a hopeless cause at the present time. He was just going to have to deal with it until this crisis was over. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on his breathing.

"All right, JARVIS. Show me what you got," Tony said a few minutes later, stepping out of the suit and over to the open area in his lab.

"Very good, sir," replied JARVIS, and a second later a complete holographic layout of the Chinese Theatre appeared in front of him. "I've compiled a more complete Mandarin database, drawn from recent SHIELD, FBI, and CIA intercepts."

"Yeah, yeah. Anything interesting about the blast itself?" asked Tony. "I've already exhausted my limited patience with this asshole who talks like a Baptist preacher."

"The heat from the blast was in excess of 3000 degrees Celsius," answered JARVIS. "Quite a bit hotter than a conventional explosion. Any subjects within 12.5 yards were vaporised instantly."

Tony tapped his chin as he walked along the holographic street. "So really hot, but not all that big. But no bomb parts were found within a three mile radius of the Theatre?"

"That is correct, sir."

"All right," Tony muttered. "Talk to me Happy."

Gulping as a holographic image of Happy lying helplessly on the ground appeared in front of him, Tony followed his eyeline, walking over to a section several feet away where there lay a pair of dog tags partially buried under some debris.

When is a bomb not a bomb?

"Any military victims, JARVIS?"

"Not according to public record, sir."

"Okay, bring up the thermogenesis signatures again," Tony said as he climbed up onto the top of his large speaker, looking down over the entire hologram. "Take away the known locations of Mandarin bombings and factor in 3000 degrees."

"Accessing satellites and plotting the occurrences now."

"Rose Hill, Tennessee," Tony said, pointing to the large red bar on the left side of the map. "You sure that's not one of his?"

"It predates any known Mandarin attack, sir," said JARVIS. "The incident was the use of a bomb to assist a suicide. But the heat signature is remarkably similar."

"Hmm," Tony said, thinking. "Ever been to Tennessee, JARVIS?"

"Creating a flight plan for Tennessee."

"Tony?" Pepper's voice called over the intercom. She must have just finished with her evening conference call and was waiting for him to eat dinner. "Are you coming up?"

"Yeah, be right there," Tony replied. He huffed out a sharp breath as he clapped his hands together, closing out the hologram. "JARVIS, recheck security at the Tower."

"The Tower is secured, sir. As is this structure."

"Is Pete doing okay?"

"Master Peter is quietly resting in his room. Captain Rogers is still with him."

"Thanks," whispered Tony. And while he harbored some sliver of hope that Peter was actually sleeping, Tony knew that he likely was not, knowing him as he did. Peter didn't sleep well when Tony was with him, and it went even more downhill when he wasn't.

"You are most welcome, sir."

After securing the Mark 42 in its special storage locker, Tony shut down his monitors and exited the lab.

"Hey, Peter?" Bruce's kind, somewhat raspy voice said from the doorway. "Um, Steve is getting dinner ready in the kitchen. If you're hungry, that is."

Peter wasn't hungry, not in the least, but he was so tired of being constantly asked if he wanted something that he nodded anyway. "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," Bruce said, pausing awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds before turning and walking away. Peter watched him go out of the corner of his eye, his lower lip quivering. He really only wanted to be left alone, but both Steve and Bruce were making that impossible. It's as if Dad gave them specific instructions to make sure he never was alone.

Clutching George to his chest, Peter slid off his bed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he padded his way towards the kitchen. Steve had become the defacto chef since Dad had been gone, saying he enjoyed experimenting in the kitchen since the food in this time was so much better than in his own. So far he'd managed to make a halfway decent pot of macaroni and cheese, but his fried chicken recipe needed a bit of tweaking before he attempted it again.

Today it appeared that Steve was making breakfast for dinner, if the smell of frying bacon that filled the kitchen was any indication. Almost against his will, Peter felt his stomach growl. Bacon was one of his favorite foods, right up there with pizza, skinny French fries, and peppermint ice cream.

"How do you like your eggs, Peter?" Steve asked as he entered the kitchen, taking his usual stool at the bar. "Scrambled? Sunny-side up?"

"Um, scrambled please," Peter said, watching as Steve took two eggs into his large hand, cracked them both against the side of a pan, and expertly dropped them in, discarding the shells into the trash can.

"My mom always called a breakfast like this 'comfort food'," Steve said, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. "And since she was a really smart lady, I thought I'd try it out tonight."

"Auntie May liked breakfast too," Peter said. "She was a nurse, so she'd cook early in the morning for me and Uncle Ben before she left for work."

"Oh really?" said Steve with a smile. "My mom was a nurse too."

"Yeah, I know. I read that in one of the SHIELD databases, " Peter said, clapping his hand over his mouth as soon as the words left it. "Oops, I mean—"

"Peter?" Bruce asked from the stool opposite him, looking up from his tablet with wide eyes. "Are you supposed to have access to SHIELD's databases?"

Peter squeezed his eyes closed, hating himself for blurting out something so incredibly stupid. "Probably not," he mumbled, looking timidly up at Bruce. "But—"

"You're a bit young to be poking around in those databases, aren't you, Peter?" Steve asked as he flipped over the eggs. "Does your dad know about this?"

"I only looked in the personnel ones. My dad has the rest locked down so I can't get to them," Peter said in a squeaky voice. "After Mr. Thor came to New Mexico, and after Dr. Banner showed up, and after they found you in the ice. I just… wanted to learn some more."

"More than what, Peter?" asked Bruce.

"More than what my dad was telling me," Peter confessed, keeping his eyes firmly trained on the counter. "He was upset, and I don't like it when he's upset. I wanted to see if I could help him."

Steve and Bruce exchanged a look. "And what was Tony upset about?" asked Bruce.

Peter hesitated, not really wanting to tell them but realizing he was pretty much backed into a corner. "Well, he doesn't like that Air Force guy, General Ross, like at all, so he was mad that he was causing trouble again. It's why we left New York in a hurry right after Auntie May and Uncle Ben's funeral. And Mr. Thor scared him because he's from another planet, which is just kinda scary by itself. Or at least it was before we got to meet him.”

"Well, Ross is a bit of a… jerk," said Bruce, glancing sheepishly over at Steve. "And it is a bit weird to be visited by aliens, even if they turn out to be… nice aliens. But why was he upset about Steve?"

"I'm—, I'm not sure if I should tell you that," Peter said softly.

"You're not in trouble, Peter," said Steve, sliding Peter's scrambled eggs onto a plate along with some bacon and two slices of buttered toast. "And you don't have to tell me anything that you're not comfortable telling me. But if there's something I've done to upset Tony, I'd like to know so I can try to fix it."

Sighing, Peter raised his head. "It's not really anything that you did," he said. "It's just… you knew his dad? Mr. Stark?"

Steve's eyebrows knitted together. "Yeah, I knew Howard. We worked together at the SSR. Why?"

"Well…" Peter stammered, tracking his finger along a line in the marble counter. "Mr. Stark wasn't very nice to my dad when he was a kid, and he told me you guys were friends, so… I thought you weren't gonna be nice to him too. But that was before I met you, so it shouldn't count. Right?"

"No, it doesn't count," Steve said, still with a confused look on his face. "But I can't understand why Howard would… never mind. It doesn't matter right now. Go ahead and eat, Peter. Eggs and toast always taste better when they're hot."

They ate in a semi-comfortable silence, the only sounds the scraping of silverware and the din from the television in the living room, playing the early evening news. One thing Peter had learned about Steve was that he always wanted to know what was going on. He called it being aware of his surroundings, which Peter assumed was a remnant of his days as a soldier.

"Did the eggs taste okay?" Steve asked as Peter brought his plate to the sink. "I added some cream and a bit of vanilla when I was making them, so…"

"Yeah," Peter mumbled. "They were yummy, thank you."

"Mine were yummy too, Steve, thanks," Bruce said with a wink. "But now I gotta get back to work for a couple more hours. More data coming in from SHIELD for me to go over."

"Yeah, okay," Steve said, turning to Peter. "Let's get these dishes done, and then maybe you can help me some more with my computer?"

"Yeah, sure," Peter said with a shrug. More busywork, which meant that he would have even less time to work on expanding his tracking subroutine for JARVIS. I should really learn to just keep my mouth shut, he thought. Now they'll really never leave me alone.

Once the dishes were washed and dried—Steve preferred to wash them by hand over using the automatic dishwasher for some reason—Peter and Steve exited the kitchen, heading across the living room towards the elevator. They'd just about arrived at the doors when something on the television caught Peter's eye.

"What—?" he mumbled, gaping as an aerial shot of the Malibu house covered the huge screen. A wave of panic washed over him as he counted not one, but three different news helicopters hovering about over the ocean next to the mansion. "Um, why's our house on the news?"

"JARVIS?" Steve asked as his large hand cupped Peter's shoulder. "What's going on at the house? Is Tony okay?"

"Mr. Stark and Miss Potts are currently entertaining a visitor at the Malibu house by the name of Maya Hansen," replied JARVIS.

"Who's Maya Hansen?" asked Peter, trying to keep his knees from shaking. Dad had told him their Malibu address was a secret from the press, so it didn't make any sense as to why all those helicopters were flying around all of a sudden. "Is she a famous person or something?"

"Maya Hansen is a botanist who is employed by a group called Advanced Idea Mechanics," JARVIS said. "They have been developing a method of regenerating damaged tissue known as Extremis."

"Regenerate damaged tissue?" Steve asked. "You mean, like regrow it?"

"That is correct, Captain."

"But why are the reporters at our house?" Peter cried, tipping sideways into Steve's side. "It doesn't make any sense that there would be reporters flying around just because some plant lady is talking to my dad!"

"I am unable to determine why there are helicopters in the vicinity," said JARVIS. "Please stand by."

"JARVIS, can you tell us what they're talking about?" asked Steve. "It seems like too much of a coincidence that this botanist just shows up at the same time—"

"Pardon me, Captain," JARVIS interrupted. "But it appears that someone has leaked the Malibu address to the press."

Steve's hand tightened on Peter's shoulder, gripping it nearly to the point of pain. "Where'd the leak come from, JARVIS?"

"I am currently unable to determine the origin of the leak, Captain. Please stand by."

Tears of panic welled in Peter's eyes, spilling down his cheeks. "JARVIS, can I talk to him? Please? They need to get out of there before—"

But his voice cut out as the image shifted to a wider angle, and Peter watched in horror as a missile, eerily similar to the one Dad had flown through the wormhole in New York, launched from another helicopter that had just flown into the frame.

"NO!" Peter screamed, so loud that his ears started to ring. His knees gave way as he realized the missile was heading directly for the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean in the back. "Daddy! Look out!"

"JARVIS, what's happening?" Steve yelled. "Who's firing on the house?"

"Please stand by, Captain," JARVIS said. "I am a bit preoccupied at the moment."

"Oh my God, they're trying to kill him!" cried Peter as another missile slammed into the lower concrete support beams, causing the entire back section of the house to collapse. He covered his ears as the sickening sound of rapid machine gun fire from another helicopter blasted through the speakers, as if it was just outside instead of on the other side of the country.

"Peter!" Bruce cried as the elevator doors opened and he rushed into the room. "Peter, you shouldn't be seeing this!"

"No, don't touch me!" Peter yelped, kicking and flailing his elbows as Bruce tried to pull him away from the television. "JARVIS, please, make it stop!"

"Miss Potts and Miss Hansen are both clear of the structure," JARVIS said. "Mr. Stark is now attempting to escape."

"Is he wearing his armor, JARVIS?" Bruce asked.

"Mr. Stark is operating the Mark 42 prototype armor," replied JARVIS, just as the huge grand piano flew from the house and landed on top of the leading helicopter in a fiery explosion. "However, that suit is not yet equipped with Mr. Stark's standard combat armament."

"Fury says they can't scramble anyone who could get there in time to help," Steve called over the deafening noise of the machine gun fire, his phone in one hand. He dropped down to his knees on the floor next to Peter. "Peter, you really shouldn't be watching this—"

"Don't touch me!" Peter screamed, searing his throat with the force of it. "They're trying to kill my dad! Who's trying to kill my dad?"

"I don't know, Peter," Steve said helplessly, watching as yet another missile cut through the building on the garage level, causing several of the cars to drop down onto the cliff. Every few seconds Peter could just barely make out an armored figure running through the house, trying to dodge the machine gun bullets.

Peter had never felt so helpless in his entire life. Somehow, watching his father be attacked like some crazy reality television show gone horribly wrong was even worse than watching him fly through the wormhole. At least he'd been in control of himself then. Peter's eyes were so blurred with tears that he could barely see, but he couldn't bring himself to look away or even to blink, too afraid that it would be the last time he'd ever see his dad alive.

"There's another one!" Bruce called as another of the firing helicopters was hit with an explosive and burst into flames. But any elation Peter might have felt was short-lived as the now disabled helicopter started heading directly for the house, and his dad.

"Look out!" Peter cried weakly as the remaining section of the house started to slowly collapse into the ocean, with his dad clinging desperately to one of the steel support beams just as the screen went black. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid he was going to pass out. "Oh my God, please make it stop!"

"Peter," said Bruce, wrapping his arms around Peter and holding him tightly against his chest. "Take a deep breath, little guy. Just try and breathe. There's nothing you can do right now. You need to try and calm down or you'll just make yourself sick."

"I can't!" Peter sputtered, trying in vain to escape from the older man's ironclad grasp. But Bruce, although not nearly as strong as Steve—at least in his normal, non-Hulk form—was still much stronger than he, and after a few seconds of trying to fight back without effect Peter simply collapsed into a sobbing heap against him. "I don't want him to die, Bruce! Please don't let him die!"

The TV screen was now showing an in-house anchorwoman reporting on the incident, with the words Missiles Launched at Tony Stark's Malibu Residence, is Iron Man Dead or Alive? crawling across the bottom of the screen as the woman's rather mechanical, monotonous voice speculated on the odds of whether or not Tony Stark could survive such an unexpected and brutal attack.

"Steve, turn it off," Peter heard Bruce say as he patted Peter's back. "We don't need him hearing anymore of that."

"Yeah," Steve whispered as he turned off the TV. "JARVIS? Is… um… what's Tony's status?"

"Mr. Stark is currently following a predetermined flight plan," answered JARVIS.

Peter's ears perked up at the AI's response. If the suit was flying that must mean his dad was still alive. Relief flooded his body and he choked on a sob, rubbing his nose against Bruce's shoulder.

"Where's he heading?" asked Steve. "And what about Pepper, and their guest?"

"Miss Potts and Miss Hansen are currently out of range," JARVIS said. "However, they both managed to get clear of the structure prior to its destruction."

"And where's Tony going?" Bruce asked. "Is he on his way here? Is he all right?"

"Mr. Stark is currently unconscious," replied JARVIS. "The flight plan was programmed for Rose Hill, Tennessee."

"What's in Tennessee?" asked Peter, scrubbing his palm across his eyes. "Why would he want to go there?"

"JARVIS, can you override it?" Steve demanded. "Have him come here instead?"

"The power levels in the Mark 42 are already dangerously low," JARVIS said. "I'm afraid I am unable to alter the flight plan."

"How bad is he hurt?" cried Peter.

"Mr. Stark has sustained a multitude of cuts and bruises, and there was some additional slight trauma to his left arm."

"JARVIS, please, have him come here!" begged Peter. "He needs help! We can help him!"

"As I said, the power levels on the Mark 42 are dangerously low. Any attempt to alter the course could result in them bottoming out completely. I will of course keep you updated on Mr. Stark's course and condition as I am able."

Fresh tears welled up in Peter's eyes, spilling down his cheeks and wetting Bruce's shirt. Bruce didn't seem to mind though, and just kept patting his back, reminding him every now and then to keep breathing, in and out, in and out. His voice eventually got so quiet and soothing that after awhile Peter even felt himself starting to drift off.

It was dark outside the large windows of the apartment by the time Peter managed to peel his eyes open again. Instead of the floor, he was now lying on the couch, with Bruce's hand resting on his back between his shoulder blades as he and Steve spoke back and forth in loud whispers. Peter drew in a deep breath, trying to not move and give away the fact that he could hear their conversation.

"There's gotta be something we can do to help!" Bruce said angrily. "Surely Fury can see that Tony needs it!"

"I agree," answered Steve. "But Director Fury said even despite the attack he's been specifically ordered by the president to not get involved. Neither SHIELD nor the Avengers are allowed to intervene since the Mandarin has been classified by the government as a terrorist."

"But that doesn't make any sense!" Bruce hissed. "Why wouldn't the president want our help?"

"I don't know, Bruce. You're right that it doesn't make any sense. But if Fury says that we can't intervene, then—"

"So were just supposed to sit here and do nothing? We lost contact with Tony over an hour ago! It's not fair to the poor kid to just sit here on our asses when we could be helping him!"

"I didn't say we were going to do nothing," Steve said firmly. "I've already gotten in touch with a Colonel Rhodes per JARVIS's recommendation. He's going to keep us updated on what he's doing in regards to locating the Mandarin."

"And what about Tony?" asked Bruce. "We don't really know where he is, or how badly he's hurt."

"JARVIS said he'll let us know as soon as the suit regains enough power for him to get a lock on Tony's location. So I think until we hear otherwise, we should assume that he's trying to repair the armor."

"Okay. But what about those people who attacked him?" Bruce asked. "What're we doing about them?"

Peter let out an involuntary whimper, and he felt Bruce pat his back. "What're we doing about them?" Bruce asked in a quieter voice.

"Well," Steve answered. "Fury said that SHIELD wasn't allowed to formally intervene. But he never said that we weren't allowed to use their available resources. So I say we compile as much information as we can while we wait for Tony to contact us. We can start with this Maya Hansen woman and why she just happened to be at the Malibu house when the attack occurred."

"All right, Captain," Bruce said firmly. "When do we start?"

Chapter Text

"Sir," Tony heard as he came to, his head pounding in sync with the master alarm blaring inside his helmet. His eyes blinked open once, then again, grateful that it appeared to be dark outside.

"Sir!" JARVIS's voice said again, more urgently this time.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony mumbled, each word bringing with it a fresh shot of pain across his forehead. "Kill the alarm, JARVIS, I got it!"

"Sir, that's the emergency alert triggered by the power dropping below five percent," said JARVIS.

"What… ?" Tony grunted, his eyes widening in shock as he realized he was still flying at top speed, and on a direct course for the highway.

"Aahh!"

Tony braced himself as well as he could, but the first impact seemed to jar every single bone in his body and he screamed, unable to control himself as he shot back up off the street and through a line of trees before he was able to bounce to a stop in a snow-covered field of some kind. Pushing himself onto his back, Tony groaned in pain as he removed his mask, blinking in confusion at the eerily calm snowflakes falling gracefully around him.

"It's snowing, right?" Tony said through his gasping breaths. "Where are we, upstate?"

"We are five miles outside of Rose Hill, Tennessee," replied JARVIS.

What. The. Hell?

"Tennessee? Why? JARVIS, this is thousands of miles away! I gotta get back, I gotta see if Pepper's okay, and—"

"I prepared a flight plan," said JARVIS, and Tony swore he sounded like he was actually upset. "This was the location."

"All right, then we have to get back!" Tony snapped, groaning as he attempted to sit up. "Open the suit, J."

"I—, I think I may be malfunctioning, sir," JARVIS said, the suit squeaking as it opened away from the front of Tony's body. Tony immediately shot up, shivering violently as a massive wall of frigid air smacked him straight on, nearly knocking him backwards again.

"Oh, that's brisk!" Tony exclaimed. He rubbed his hands together, bringing them to his mouth to try and warm them and wincing as that damn sharp, tingling pain shot down the length of his left arm. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I think I'll just cozy back down here for a—"

"I actually think I need to sleep now, sir," said JARVIS, and Tony's throat tightened as the AI's voice seemed to fade away into the night. In all the years since Tony had created him, JARVIS had never once not been there when Tony needed him.

"JARVIS," Tony begged, his heart stuttering against his chest piece as he glanced frantically around the desolated countryside. "Don't leave me, buddy."

But Tony's plea was met with only the sound of the harsh wind. Hot, salty tears sprung to Tony's eyes, burning his bruised eyelids. He was sitting in a field of snow covered in fallen leaves and tree branches in the middle of nowhere, his body battered and broken with only the moon to illuminate his way. He had no mode of transportation besides his own two feet, no telephone with which to contact Peter to let him know he was okay, and now no armor and no JARVIS.

A numbness Tony hadn't felt since his days of excessive drinking crept over him and he shivered, fighting against the nearly overwhelming urge to either scream or cry, both of which he knew would do absolutely nothing to help his current predicament.

He was truly alone.

"All right. Now, can you please repeat what you just said in English, please?" Steve said, and Peter could tell he was trying hard to suppress his impatience. It hadn't taken Peter long to discover that Bruce—much like his father, and even he himself if he was honest—tended to shift into technobabble whenever he was either overly excited or anxious about something. And Steve, for all his ability to quickly pick up on things and make split-second tactical decisions, still wasn't one to understand much technobabble.

Bruce pursed his lips, huffing in frustration as he set his tablet down on the floor next to a huge pile of papers. They were all sitting in Dad's lab, Steve and Bruce on the floor with Peter leaning against the couch next to the wall, the bluish glow from the various monitors glinting off of Bruce's glasses and reflecting off of the huge windows that surrounded them. It was dark outside, and Peter knew it had to be late, but he had no idea what time it was. Ever since they'd lost contact with his dad he hadn't cared much about eating or sleeping, the guilt over not being able to strengthen his tracking ability for Dad's chest piece gnawing away at him more with every hour that passed. Maybe if he hadn't been such a clingy little crybaby ever since the Battle of New York he would've had more time to work on that subroutine.

"Okay. Apparently this Maya Hansen woman developed this Extremis… thing back in the late nineties. She was testing it in plants since she's a botanist by training, but she couldn't perfect it. There was something wrong with it, a glitch of some kind, and she ran out of funding before she was able to work out the issue. It was around that time that she first met Tony."

"Yeah, I got that much," Steve said from the opposite side of the lab, where he was sitting next to his own tall stack of papers. "But what exactly does this Extremis thing do?"

"Basically," Peter cut in, glancing sheepishly at Bruce who gave him a nod. "It's an advanced form of genetic manipulation that allows whatever plant has it to heal and regenerate from physical damage. So if you accidentally tear off a leaf, a new one will grow back in its place."

Steve furrowed his brow. "Okay, but JARVIS said that Maya Hansen worked for Advanced Idea Mechanics? And that they were using Extremis on humans, to regrow damaged tissue?"

"That is correct, Captain," JARVIS piped up. "Advanced Idea Mechanics, or AIM, procured the Extremis technology from Miss Hansen and have since applied it to human subjects."

"Okay," said Steve. "So that's all well and good. But this part doesn't make sense to me. Here you have a… something that can help amputees regrow lost limbs. That seems pretty groundbreaking to me. So why haven't we heard about it before now? Why's it been a secret all this time?"

"Because AIM is a think tank that's been funded primarily with military contracts," Bruce said, shuffling through his papers. "Or, at least that's what this one SHIELD report says."

"Hmm…" Steve muttered, tapping his fingers on the floor. "So someone in the military—"

"Or someone with strong military connections," interrupted Bruce.

"Right. So someone either in or connected to the military didn't or doesn't want this technology to get out."

"That seems to be an accurate assumption," said Bruce, rolling his eyes. "And one that wouldn't surprise me in the least."

"JARVIS? You said that Tony met Maya Hansen before she worked for AIM?" asked Steve.

"That is correct, Captain. Mr. Stark became acquainted with Miss Hansen on New Year's Eve, 1999, while at a conference in Bern, Switzerland."

"And what's the guy's name who runs AIM, again?"

"Advanced Idea Mechanics is run by a gentleman by the name of Aldrich Killian," answered JARVIS.

Peter squeezed his eyes closed, wracking his exhausted, fried brain. He was certain that he'd heard Killian's name before somewhere. Dad still didn't talk all that much to him about his work, but it sounded too familiar to just be floating around in his head for no apparent reason.

"Wait a minute! That guy went to see Pepper only a couple of days before Happy got hurt!" Peter blurted out, ducking his head and curling his shoulders when Bruce and Steve both turned to him with wide eyes. "Um… I heard my dad talking to her about it."

"You just… heard them talking about it?" asked Steve, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well… more like overheard," admitted Peter, gulping as he squeezed George to his chest. "Dad thought I was sleeping. I mean, I was asleep, 'cause he always sits with me until I fall asleep, but then I woke up and I—, I was scared, so I went to find him… and he was talking to Pepper." His eyes flicked sheepishly between Steve and Bruce. "Please don't tell my dad. Please? He doesn't like it when I sneak up on him."

"It's okay, Peter. You're not in trouble," said Bruce, trying to sound reassuring. "Did you happen to overhear what this Aldrich Killian guy wanted with Pepper?"

Peter shook his head, his nose brushing against George's furry neck. "No. I just went back to my room." He didn't dare add that the reason he had retreated so quickly was because Dad and Pepper started arguing about him shortly after Killian's name was mentioned.

"Does JARVIS keep a record of Tony's conversations?" Steve asked, catching hold of Bruce's leg just as he tripped over yet another stack of papers. Bruce shot him a grateful look as he stumbled over to one of the monitors and started typing in commands. "Maybe we can play it back and find out?"

"Mr. Stark's privacy settings do not allow me to replay personal conversations without his express consent," said JARVIS. "I am sorry, Captain."

Bruce's shoulders sagged. "Okay, but maybe you could tell us what Pepper mentioned about this Aldrich Killian?" he asked, still rapidly tapping on one of the virtual keyboards. "Just, I don't know, paraphrase it or something? If we knew where Pepper was we could just ask her, but since we don't… we're kinda stuck here."

"It appears that Mr. Killian visited Miss Potts at Stark Industries to discuss her possible interest in collaborating on the Extremis project," JARVIS said a few seconds later. "Miss Potts declined the invitation, stating that the idea was too potentially weaponisable if it fell into the wrong hands."

"Well, she was right!" Bruce yelped, looking up from his monitor. "From what I just read, Extremis essentially hacks into the area of the brain that governs repair and chemically recodes it, which—"

"Hacks?" Steve cut in, looking horrified. "That sounds pretty violent, and not to mention very painful!"

"No, no," Bruce said, shaking his head. "To hack a computer means to break in to its operating system. Usually to steal something or to leave code behind that will allow you to change how the computer's systems are working."

"Okay," Steve said slowly. "So if this Extremis can… hack into a person's brain and cause their amputated limb to grow back, then there also exists the potential for someone else to go back and change the coding again. Am I right?"

"Yes, that is correct," answered Bruce with a grimace. "And Pepper was right; this is potentially very weaponisable. No wonder it was funded with military contracts."

"But that still doesn't explain why the plant lady was at our house in the first place! And while it was being attacked!" Peter said, tears of frustration pooling in his eyes. "If she was only working on plants, then why would she go to our house? My dad doesn't even like plants!"

"Peter, maybe it's time for you to head to bed?" Steve suggested gently, causing Peter's lungs to seize in his chest. "I promise we'll let you know if we hear from—"

"No, no, no, please, please!" Peter cried, his lungs contracting further with every word. "Please let me stay here! There's no way I'll be able to sleep right now, and I don't wanna be alone!"

"No, no, Steve, the little guy can stay here," Bruce said soothingly, shooting a scowl over in Steve's direction. "He just watched his father nearly get blown to bits for crying out loud." Digging around in his pants pocket, Bruce pulled out one of Peter's inhalers, tossing it over to him. "But only if you're able to stay calm enough to not make yourself sick. Okay, Peter? The last thing anyone needs right now is for you to push yourself into an asthma attack."

Choking back a sob, Peter nodded as he slid the inhaler between his lips, the sharp puff of medicated air causing him to jump as it hit the back of his throat. He hated using his inhalers. They tasted terrible, and he was always so shaky and nauseous afterwards. But he supposed it was a small price to pay to be able to stay up and try to help. And to not be alone.

"Okay," Steve said. He had moved over next to Peter during his outburst, and Peter leaned against his bulky arm, grateful for the support. "JARVIS, can you tell us anything else about this Maya Hansen? Bruce mentioned something about a problem with her work, the glitch? Do we know what that glitch was?"

"Incoming message from Mr. Stark," JARVIS said.

"Yes, please, JARVIS!" yelped Peter. "Is he okay?"

"It is a prerecorded message that was left on the Stark servers," answered JARVIS. "Beginning playback."

"Hey everyone, it's me. I don't have a lot of time so this is gonna be quick. I'm still here, and in one piece for the most part, but I can't come home yet. This is a demon that I created, and I need to find this guy. Pepper, you gotta stay safe. And hidden. Stay hidden until I can come and find you. Guys, you better keep my kid safe or I'll kick both your asses to the moon when I get back. And Pete, I'm sorry to have to do this at Christmastime, buddy. I promise I'll make it up to you next year, all right? I'll contact you again when I can."

"That is the extent of the recording," JARVIS said.

They were all silent for a few moments, with Peter's heart thudding so hard it seemed like it was trying to burst out of his chest as he tried to make sense of his dueling emotions. Being told that his dad was still alive was nothing compared to hearing his actual voice, but his refusal to come home because he was on what seemed to be a personal vendetta against a very scary and dangerous terrorist caused a fresh swell of fear to well up in the pit of Peter's stomach. He turned his face into Steve's arm, shuddering as he tried to stifle his sobs, curling even further into himself when Steve wrapped his arm around him.

"Why does he think he needs to find the Mandarin?" Peter choked out. "And why does he think he needs to do it alone?"

"I don't know, Peter," Steve answered quietly. "But try and remember. As long as we're here to help him, he won't really be alone."

"All right, you happy now?" Tony asked, gingerly leaning back on the beat-up couch inside the garage he'd just broken into. He briefly wondered if talking to his suit as if it could still talk back to him meant that he truly was nuts, or just simply exhausted.

Has the helmet always looked like its scowling, or am I just seeing things?

Nevermind, don't answer that.

After allowing himself a few minutes to catch his breath, Tony pushed himself up off the couch and wandered over to the dusty, cluttered worktable, wincing as he noticed one of his subdermal implants poking up through the skin on his forearm. He was just in the middle of removing it with an old pliers when the door to the garage suddenly burst open in a cloud of swirling snowflakes.

"Freeze!" came the sound of a high pitched voice, which for a split second sounded so eerily like Peter that Tony jumped. Gulping, he looked up to see a boy, right around Peter's age, holding a potato gun that he'd obviously built himself.

"Don't move," the kid said.

"Okay, you got me," Tony said, raising his arms in surrender. "Nice potato gun by the way. Barrel's a little long though. Between that and the wide gauge it's gonna diminish your FPS."

The kid wrinkled his nose as he aimed the barrel up over Tony's head, shooting what seemed to be a very strategically placed glass jar right off a shelf.

"And now you're out of ammo," Tony said with a smirk, turning his attention back to his battered arm. Good thing he'd shot himself with an excessive amount of implants, or he'd be SOL right about now.

"What's that thing on your chest?" the kid asked.

My kid's favorite place to rest his head? "An electromagnet," Tony answered, pointing to a box on the table. "You should know, you've got a whole box of them right here."

"What does it power?"

Tony shook his head in frustration. It was so easy to forget just how many questions a kid tended to ask sometimes. Stepping back from the table, Tony flipped the lamp, illuminating the suit's damaged body.

Gasping, the kid's gun slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "Is that Iron Man?"

"Technically, I am," replied Tony.

"No, technically you're dead," the kid said, shoving a folded newspaper at Tony's abdomen.

"Well, I've been called dead before," Tony said as he scanned the headline that read Mandarin Attack: Stark Presumed Dead.

"What happened to him?" the kid asked, and Tony stiffened as he started running his hands all over his armor like was examining it. He didn't like strangers touching his things.

"Life," Tony answered. He tossed the newspaper to the ground. "I built him, I take care of him, and now I gotta fix him."

"Like a mechanic?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm," the kid said with a shrug. "You know, if I was building Iron Man and War Machine—"

"It's Iron Patriot now," Tony grumbled. Stupid name.

"Oh, that's way cooler!"

"No, it's not."

"Anyways," the kid continued, not missing a beat. "I would've added in the retro…"

"Retro-reflective panels—?"

"To make him stealth mode," he finished. "Cool, right?"

"Hmm. That's actually a good idea," Tony said, twitching as the kid bent one of the suit's fingers back and it broke off into his hand. "That's not a good idea! Why'd you just break his finger? He's in pain!"

"Sorry! I didn't mean to! But, like, don't you have a backup or something?"

"I did have backups! But they're all buried under about four tons of debris right now!" snapped Tony, wincing when the kid flinched. Of all the dumb decisions to transfer his new suits out to Malibu when Happy got hurt…

"Don't worry about it, kid. I can fix it." Tony paused, his eyes flicking over towards the house. "So, who else is home?"

"Well…" the kid stammered. "My mom already left for the diner, and Dad went to the 7-11 to get scratchers. And I guess he won 'cause that was six years ago. Right after my sister was born."

"Oh," Tony said, hoping it didn't sound as impatient as he felt. "That sucks. I'm sorry, kid."

"Yeah."

"Okay, so here's what I need," Tony commanded. "A laptop, a digital watch, a cell phone, the pneumatic actuator from your bazooka over there, a map of town, a big spring, and a tuna fish sandwich." Peter didn't like tuna, so Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd had it.

"Sure. What's in it for me?" the kid asked.

"Mmm-hmm. What's his name?"

"Who?"

"The kid who bullies you at school?" Tony asked, feeling a flash of satisfaction as he kid sheepishly looked down. "I'd recognize that look on your face from a mile away."

"How'd you—?"

"All right, don't tell me his name. But I got just the thing," said Tony. Opening one of the 42's armament slots, he pulled out a small flash grenade. "This is a piñata for a cricket. No, I'm kidding. This is a very powerful weapon. Point it away from your face, press the button on top. It should… discourage any further bullying." The kid reached for it, but Tony held it away. "It's only for covering one's ass. Deal?"

"Deal."

"So, what's your name?"

"Harley," the kid answered, turning the flash grenade over in his hands. "And you're…?"

"The mechanic. Tony."

"Nice to meet you," said Harley.

"Likewise," Tony replied. "Now, where's my sandwich?"

"All right," said Bruce, sighing as he removed his glasses and rubbed at his forehead. "I've managed to uncover another old database from SHIELD that was buried under about three tons of other crap. Man, whoever used to be in charge of their electronic filing system should be fired. It makes absolutely no logical sense at all!"

"What's it say?" asked Peter, impatient for good news, or any news at all. They'd been working through the entire night trying to uncover more information on why this Maya Hansen woman had sought out Peter's father at the same time as the Malibu house was attacked.

Replacing his glasses, Bruce tugged the monitor closer to him, squinting slightly as he read.

"Extremis is an advanced form of genetic manipulation created by Maya Hansen and Aldrich Killian. Utilizing nanotechnology, it grants the injured plant, animal, or human the ability to heal and regenerate from physical damages, deformities, and even psychological damages. This includes the regrowth of severed limbs, as well as various levels of physical enhancement."

"Physical enhancement?" said Steve from his position on the floor, right next to Peter. "That sounds an awful lot like—"

"Like you?" said Peter sheepishly. "I mean, isn't that how you got to be Captain America? Through some special serum thingy?"

"Yes, but that formula was lost when Dr. Erskine was killed," answered Steve. "He never completely wrote down his formula, out of fear that it would be stolen and misused."

"And ever since then people have been trying to replicate his work," Bruce said, and Peter swore he almost looked guilty. "Without too much success, I might add."

"Dr. Erskine was a pretty smart guy," Steve said wistfully. "But above that, he was honorable. He only intended his formula to be used for good, and he didn't deserve what happened to him."

"Does the database say anything else?" Peter asked, frustrated with Steve's reminiscing. On good days Peter enjoyed listening to Steve's stories about his old life, as it helped to distract him some from his own problems. But this was not one of those days.

"There's a bunch of text that's redacted," Bruce said, leaning closer and tapping the monitor. "And… hmm… "

"And what?" asked Peter, alarmed when Bruce's head snapped back in shock. "What is it?"

"Ah, nothing," Bruce said quickly, shooting Peter a tired smile. "It's nothing that can help us, little guy. Just a bunch of gibberish with all the redacted text."

But Peter didn't miss the way Bruce's eyes then flicked over to Steve, giving him a slight shake of his head. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Bruce had seen something besides the gibberish he was reporting.

"Can I look at it?" Peter asked. "Maybe there's something in there that I can—"

"I don't think so, Peter," Bruce said firmly, tapping the monitor to erase the file image. "Why don't we take a short break? I'm sure we all could use some food, and—"

"That's a great idea," Steve said, a bit too quickly. He got to his feet, offering Peter a hand to help him stand up. "It's always easier to work well on a full stomach, right Peter?"

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it and slammed it shut again, knowing that anything he might say would likely just be wasted breath. But as they all shuffled out of the lab and towards the kitchen, the sense of dread Peter had felt ever since the mansion attack only intensified. Every hour that passed was another hour where he didn't know where his father was, if he was hurt, or what he was doing. And every hour that they failed to uncover any useful information that could help him felt like another hour wasted. Peter felt as if the walls were closing in on him, and he knew it would only get worse the longer this nightmare dragged on.

Goddamn Dora the Explorer plastic watch, Tony thought as he made his way down the line of cars parked against the curb, pointing the would-be assassin's keys and listening for the tell-tale chirp of a resetting alarm. I don't care if it does belong to a six-year old, or if it's a limited edition. It won't stop pulling on my stupid arm hair.

His ears still ringing from the series of explosions that not only completely leveled the corner diner but also brought down the small town's water tower, Tony barely heard Harley's continuous yammering behind him as he opened the driver's side door of a black coupe.

"You're welcome, by the way," Harley said, his childish voice laced with sarcasm.

"For what. Did I miss something?" Tony asked.

"Me? Saving your life?" Harley replied, backhanding Tony's arm. "You know, all this time I thought you wore that circle over your heart because you thought it looked cool. I didn't know it was actually keeping you alive."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony muttered, wincing as he tossed the file he'd recovered from the bar onto the passenger seat. His left arm was hurting again, and both of his wrists were chafed and burned from the damn handcuffs that were seared off by the firestarter woman. "A, I saved you first. B, thanks. And C, if you do something like that for someone, you don't then be a yutz and throw it in their face. Capiche?"

"Huh?" asked Harley. "What does that mean?"

Pete knows what it means. A stab of pain pierced Tony's heart at the thought of his son, and how frightened he knew Peter must be with not knowing what was going on. "It's Italian. Means 'ya know?', or 'understand?' Got it?"

"Oh," Harley said, his dripping hair plastered to his forehead. "But you gotta admit that you need me. We're connected."

Tony drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The last thing he needed right now was to spiral down into yet another anxiety attack, which this kid seemed to specialize in provoking. "Look, kid. What I need is for you to go home, be with your mom and sister, keep your trap shut, guard the suit, and stay connected to the telephone. Because if I call, you'd better pick up." Tony lightly punched his shoulder. "Now, move out of the way or I'll run you over."

"But—!"

"Just get out of the damn way!" Tony snapped, feeling even worse when Harley jumped back, looking like he was about to cry. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just… you kinda remind me of my own kid, and I miss him. All I wanna do right now is just find my sweetheart and get back to my son, but I can't do that until the suit's fixed and I finish this. Okay?"

But Harley didn't budge. "Hmph," he mumbled. "Your son's lucky."

"Well, yeah, he's mine, so that automatically qualifies him as lucky, but I'm pretty sure that's not what you mean," Tony said, impatiently tapping the steering wheel. "Is it?"

"No, it's not. I meant he's lucky 'cause he actually has a dad."

"Well… he does now, yeah," Tony admitted. "But he's been through a lot. His parents were killed when he was practically a baby, and then his aunt and uncle died a year and a half ago. He didn't have anybody left when I got him."

Harley looked confused. "What do you mean when you 'got' him?"

"I mean that I adopted him. It's been a year now." Wow. Has it really only been a year?

"Really?" exclaimed Harley. "Then why can't you adopt me?"

Sighing, Tony dropped his head back against the headrest. "'Cause I don't think your mom would appreciate that too much. Or your sister. Besides, my kid's a handful. I don't think I could handle having two of you."

"Oh." Harley looked down, shifting on his feet as he wrapped his arms around his chest. "What's he like?"

A wistful smile crept across Tony's burnt, chapped lips. "Well, he's about your age. He's got brown hair, a bit darker than yours, and it's curly so it kinda hangs in his eyes when it gets long. And he's brilliant. Like, even smarter than you are."

"Did he help you build your suit?" asked Harley, sounding excited. "'Cause that would be so cool!"

"No, but I'm sure he could build his own suit if I let him," answered Tony impatiently as he started the car. "Look, kid, I gotta get going."

To Tony's relief, Harley nodded, stepping back from the car. "Yeah, okay."

"Stay by the phone!" Tony said as he drove off.

Peter truly couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept through the night. Auntie May told him once that when he first went to live with her and Uncle Ben, they would take turns sleeping on the couch holding him because he was too afraid to sleep by himself. It gradually got better as Peter got older, and the shock of losing his parents at such a young age wore off a little. But whenever there was something unusual going on—even something like a thunderstorm, or if the trains zooming by their Queens apartment building seemed unusually loud on any given night—he would beg Auntie May or Uncle Ben to sit and hold him on the couch again so he could sleep. Being alone in his room was just too scary sometimes.

And then came the Expo. And ever since then… well… things had just been kind of spiraling out of control. The shock of losing Ben and May, being taken in by none other than Tony Stark of all people, burying his aunt and uncle, and then being whisked away to a mansion in California all within about a week's time had left Peter's head spinning.

Not to mention that Peter was still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that Iron Man, who he had admired ever since he'd announced his identity to the entire world, was now his father.

Peter flopped over on his back, groaning as George bounced off the side of his bed and onto the floor. Pushing himself up on his elbow, Peter leaned over, grabbing the polar bear by one of his ears and pulling him against his chest.

"Sorry, Georgie," Peter muttered, rubbing his nose against the bear's plushy neck. "Can't sleep, as usual."

Steve had insisted that Peter try and get some rest after he started nodding off in Dad's lab, but Peter suspected it had just as much to do with what Steve and Bruce had found in that old computer file that they didn't want Peter to see as it did them actually wanting him to get sleep.

And really. As if there was any way Peter could sleep with everything that was going on right now, even with the soothing rain sounds JARVIS was playing in the background.

Squinting, Peter glanced over at the clock on his nightstand. It was almost three in the morning, which meant he had to lie here for at least another three hours before he could wander out. Steve had sent Bruce back down to his own apartment to get some sleep after he'd started nodding off too, and they had agreed to meet back up in Dad's lab at 6am. Steve was probably sitting out in the living room right now, drawing or watching the news since he didn't really need to sleep all that much.

Lucky for him, Peter thought. No sleep meant no nightmares.

A flash of bright light from outside the window suddenly caught Peter's eye and his head jerked up off his pillow, squinting even further as he tried to figure out what could have caused it. The surrounding buildings all had their nighttime lights on, but being as many stories up as the apartment was, bright lights were uncommon, especially in the middle of the night. Peter's brow furrowed as he grabbed his glasses and walked towards the window, searching for the source of the light. What could it have been?

But after three or four minutes of staring through the window, his eyes scanning the surrounding buildings as best as they could in the darkness, Peter sighed and turned around. Probably just seeing things, he thought as he placed his glasses back down on the bedside table and headed to the bathroom to get a drink of water. He supposed he could ask JARVIS about what he saw, but he didn't really want Steve to overhear that he was awake. The man could hear just about anything, even the softest of whispers, and Peter didn't feel like having to deal with him right now.

He'd just laid his head back down on the pillow when he saw the light again, this time even brighter, as if it was almost directly outside the window. Peter cried out, squeezing George to his chest just as his bedroom door flew open and a man whose skin appeared to be on fire burst into the room, carrying a white rag and aiming directly for Peter.

"Help!" Peter croaked, too paralyzed with fear to cry out, or even to move. It didn't make any sense. The Tower was supposed to be on lockdown. Dad's security systems were the best ones available, upgraded since the Battle of New York and supposedly unbreakable. And Steve was here; he was Captain America. No one was supposed to be able to get by him.

"Shut up, kid," the fiery man growled, his voice gravelly and threatening as he advanced toward Peter's bed, raising the rag in his hand. Peter tried to scream as he flattened his body into the mattress, but his lungs felt as though they'd been filled with ash and nothing came out.

The last thing Peter remembered was the smell of a sickly sweet chemical of some kind as the man shoved the rag down over his nose and mouth.

And then, everything went black.

Goddamn AIM! Tony thought, crumpling the file paper he was reading as he drove along the country highway. Why the hell didn't I think of this sooner? Makes perfect sense!

Rhodey had told him that the Iron Patriot rebrand of the War Machine armor was a project that had originally been spearheaded by President Ellis, but it had actually been the Vice President, Rodriguez, who'd been the driving force behind the redesign and he had been the person who'd awarded the contract to AIM.

"What the hell am I missing?" Tony muttered. None of this was making sense. Aldrich Killian was obviously involved somehow, since the timing of his meeting with Pepper was just too coincidental to be accidental. And then the fact that Maya Hansen just happened to show up at the house right before it was attacked, begging him to come with her somewhere so they could talk.

No. It all has to mean something. But what?

Picking up the simple cell phone he'd acquired from Harley, Tony dialed Rhodey's number.

"Yeah, who is this?" Rhodes asked when he answered the call, even though he knew darn well that only Tony had this particular number.

"You know, the last time I went missing you actually came looking for me," Tony said, not without a hint of sarcasm.

"Nah," said Rhodes. "Rogers told me you somehow managed to survive. Again. What are you, Tony, a cat? You got nine lives or something?"

"You know I hate cats," Tony said without thinking. "Wait a minute. Did you say you've been in touch with Rogers?" He immediately slammed on the brakes, swerving onto the shoulder of the road. "Damn it, Rhodey, why didn't you say anything? How's Pete doing? Is he okay?"

"As far as I know your kid's fine, Tony," Rhodey said impatiently. "Or as fine as can be expected given everything that's going on. But look, I'm kinda in the middle of something here, so—"

"Hold on!" cried Tony, flustered. "That big rebrand they did with the Iron Patriot. That was AIM, wasn't it?"

"Yeah? Why?"

Tony gritted his teeth. All the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. "Look. I need to find a place to look some things up about this, so I'll need your login."

Rhodey let out a heavy sigh. "Tony—"

"Now, Rhodes!" Tony yelled, slamming his palm on the steering wheel. "I don't have time to argue with you!"

"It's the same as it's always been. WARMACHINE68."

"Thank you," Tony said as he eased back onto the highway. "And the password?"

"Look, Tony, I have to change it every time you hack in, so—"

"It's not the eighties, no one says 'hack' anymore, Rhodey. Just give me the damn password!"

"WARMACHINEROX, with an 'X', all caps."

Tony couldn't help but laugh. "That is so much better than Iron Patriot."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Hey, if you talk to Rogers again, tell him to tell Pete that I'm close. It shouldn't be too much longer now. Okay?"

"It would mean a lot more if you told him that yourself, Tony," said Rhodes.

"I know," Tony said, his throat tightening. "I know it would. But I can't. If I talk to him now I'll just lose my focus, and I can't afford that. Not right now. I'm too close, Rhodey."

"Whatever, Tony. But after all this is over, I'm ordering you to take a long vacation. You, Pepper, and Peter. Understand?"

Tony sniffed. The last time he tried to take a vacation he ended up getting attacked by a lunatic wielding arc reactor-fueled whips who was hell-bent on vengeance for his dead father.

"Yeah, sure."

"I mean it, Tony!"

"Yeah. I'll talk to you later," Tony said.

"Hey. Good luck," said Rhodes.

"Thanks, Rhodey."

Setting down the phone, Tony pursed his lips as he drove back towards town. The press had descended on the scene of the destroyed water tower like a plague of locusts, and Tony was hoping against hope that some of the broadcast vans would still be around.

Sure enough, the scene of the crime was still clogged with reporters and news vans. After a brief interlude where he was inundated with hero-worship from some dude named Gary, who really needed to move out of his mother's basement, Tony was able to use the van's satellite connection to break into AIMs files using Rhodey's information.

"All right," Tony muttered to himself as the file started downloading, filling the screen with head shots of soldiers, all of whom had missing limbs. "Let's see what'cha got."

"Project Extremis," came a voice from the speakers that sounded eerily familiar. Tony barely had a second to try and remember where he could've heard it before as the blond profile of a very well-dressed and robustly-healthy Aldrich Killian appeared on the screen.

Holy shit, Tony thought, his blood pressure plummeting. It's the guy from Switzerland.

Apparently that conference in Bern had been more fateful than Tony had ever come to realize. For not only did he meet and become acquainted with Maya Hansen on that New Year's Eve, 1999, that had also been the first time he'd met Ho Yinsen, who was responsible for saving his life after he was attacked in Afghanistan and who helped him escape from the cave, at the cost of his own life.

And then, there was also Aldrich Killian.

Tony had been on his way, with Maya in tow, up to Maya's hotel room so she could show him her research, which turned out to be the initial version of Extremis. Maya had asked Tony to help her with a problem she'd been having with stabilization, and, after they had spent the night together, had scribbled something on the back of his conference name tag and left it for her to find, and then left without a second glance.

But before he and Maya had even made it to the elevator, they had been approached by a limping, crippled Aldrich Killian, waving two business cards in the air with his one good arm, blathering on and on about his new think tank that was going to revolutionize the world. In an effort to get rid of him Tony had taken him aside, promising to meet him up on the roof of the hotel in a few minutes time to discuss his ideas.

Of course, Tony had never intended to follow through with his promise. He'd had other things on his mind that night that had nothing to do with talking to cripples about their think tanks.

And because of that, he'd created yet another demon.

"So, as you can see," continued Killian as the camera followed him into a laboratory, where three people were strapped down onto vertical stretchers. "We've brought the test subjects here for their injections. These brave men and women who've decided to not allow their injuries to ruin their lives."

Tony blinked as the woman who'd attacked him in the bar the other night appeared on the screen, a soldier by the name of Ellen Brandt who'd lost her left arm in the line of duty. As he watched, his eyes widening by the second, Killian injected something into her attached IV line that immediately caused her skin to glow orange, almost like it was on fire. And in the span of less than thirty seconds, her left arm had completely regrown.

The same process was repeated as Killian went down the line. But then something appeared to go wrong. The third and final man was given the Extremis injection just the same as his colleagues, and his amputated lower leg started to regrow. But where the reaction had been somewhat steady in the previous soldiers, here it seemed more volatile, and a lot more painful. The man's face became consumed with flame only a few seconds later and Killian, shouting over the man's screams of anguish, had to order the room evacuated.

They managed to clear out just in time before the dude exploded.

Tony leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, tapping his chin. The Mandarin attacks had been difficult to trace because there were never any visible bomb parts found at the sites of the explosions. But, if it was one of these soldiers who was exploding, there wouldn't be any bomb parts to find because technically, it wasn't a bomb.

"A bomb's not a bomb when its a misfire," Tony mumbled, a slight smile gracing his face. "This stuff doesn't always work, does it. The glitch is still a glitch."

But apparently the Mandarin didn't mind about the glitch. In fact, he probably encouraged it by deliberately overdosing the poor schmucks who caused the explosions. And Killian, well, he probably didn't care who he sold the Extremis to, as long as they could pay the big bucks for it.

Carefully shutting down the program, Tony exited the van and headed back to the car. Harley had finally been able to hook the Mark 42 up to their newly built power source, and Tony wanted to check on its progress.

"Harley? Tell me what's happening," Tony said as he pulled onto the main road.

"Yeah, I'm still eating that candy you got me," Harley replied, his voice a bit wobbly. "You want me to keep eating it?"

"How much have you had?"

"Two or three bowls."

"Can you still see straight?"

"Sorta."

"Then you're fine. Give me JARVIS," Tony said, tapping the steering wheel. "JARVIS, how are we?"

"It's totally fine, sir," JARVIS said. "I seem to do quite well for a stretch, and then suddenly I say the wrong cranberry."

Huh? "What the—?"

"But sir, you were right. Once I factored in AIM downlink facilities, I was able to pinpoint the Mandarin's broadcast signal."

"All right, where we talking? Far East? Pakistan? Eastern Europe? Where is it?"

"It's in Miami, sir," JARVIS replied.

"What? As in, Miami, Miami? Miami, USA? Which one?"

"It is Miami, sir."

That makes absolutely no sense at all. "Okay, Harley. I'll have to walk you through rebooting JARVIS's speech drive some other time, but right now I need you to look at the screen. Where's this guy, really?"

"It really does say Miami, Florida," Harley said.

Holy shit, that's way too close for comfort. Having this asshole be even on the same coastline as Peter was definitely not okay. Tony's palms started to sweat and he inhaled deeply, trying to keep his breathing even.

"Okay, first things first," he said. "Where are we at with charging the armor?"

"Um, it's not charging," said Harley.

Goddamnit! Tony thought as a massive wave of terror hit him straight in the chest. Gulping, Tony slammed on the brakes, the tires of the Audi squealing as he peeled off onto the side of the road.

"Actually, sir, it is charging," JARVIS said, as if to reassure him. "But the power source is questionable. It may not be successful in revitalizing the Mark 42."

"What is questionable about electricity?" Tony snapped, breathing in through his nose as his heart rate grew faster and faster. "Kid, I need my suit. I can't help them if I don't have it, and—"

Oh please, not again!

Stumbling out of the car, Tony fell to the ground, his clenched fists pressed against his chest.

"Tony?" asked Harley. "Are you having another attack?"

"I can't help Pepper and my son if I don't have my suit!" Tony cried, his chest aching so badly it felt like it was going to split open. Was this what one of Peter's asthma attacks felt like? "I need—, I need the armor. I can't get this guy without it, and he's not even—. There's something out there that's even worse, and—. What am I gonna do?"

"Listen, just breathe," Harley said over the phone. "Just, keep breathing. You're not Iron Man to your son, you're just his dad, right? And you're a mechanic, you said. Right?"

Breathing is easier said than done! "Yeah, I suppose."

"Well, then why don't you just build something?" said Harley matter-of-factly.

Hmm. Maybe that's not such a bad idea. I am good at building somethings.

"Yeah, okay," Tony said a few seconds later, relieved as his heart rate started to level out. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I can do that. Thanks, kid."

One good thing about being in a rather small town was that it seemed as though Tony was a bit less recognizable than he was at home. People who normally would be poking their friends and gaping at him in New York or Malibu didn't even give him a second glance as he wandered through the local hardware store, filling two entire carts full of supplies that he brought back to Harley's garage.

A few hours later, armed with several non-lethal explosive devices, a homemade shocking glove, a taser, a new and improved potato gun, and a pair of binoculars, Tony loaded his weapons into the car and headed south, driving towards Miami.

It was time to end all of this.

Cold.

Why's it so cold in here? Daddy? Are you there? I'm really cold. Can I come and cuddle with you so I can get warm?

I think I need another haircut, Daddy. My hair's getting in my eyes again and it itches.

Daddy? Are you there? Why's it so cold in here?

My arms hurt, Daddy, and I don't know why. My hands are tingling, I must've slept on them funny.

I can't see. I think I lost my glasses again, Daddy. I'm sorry.

Daddy? Are you there? I'm scared, it's really dark in here. Why's it so dark in here? Where'd all the little lights go?

Daddy? I don't feel so good. Where are you?

Daddy? Where are you? Please help me, I need you!

Please? I'm scared!

Where are you?

Holy shit this is uncomfortable, Tony thought as consciousness slowly creeped back into his being, immediately activating his pain receptors and flooding his body with yet another rush of endorphins. His left eye was throbbing and bleeding down his cheek, leaving a dry and sticky mess. His head felt like someone was pounding it with a hammer, and his wrists, still chafed raw from those damn handcuffs, felt like they'd been blowtorched as he realized he was zip-tied to a very uncomfortable metal bed frame.

Well, at least he was vertical. Which was about the only semi-positive thing he could contemplate at that particular moment.

As his eyes gradually sharpened their focus, Tony glanced around, noting that he appeared to be trapped in a dank basement lab of some sort, crude as it was. And Maya Hansen was across the room, typing something at a computer station next to a glass tank that contained a large green plant.

Tony breathed in as he tested the strength of the ties around his wrists, trying to ignore the pain in his head. What was Maya Hansen doing here? She obviously wasn't the Mandarin.

And where the hell was Pepper?

"Just like old times, huh?" Maya said as she slowly turned to face him, her words dripping with sarcasm.

"You know, I never really liked zip ties," Tony said, even as he continued to yank fruitlessly against the bonds. "Cut into the skin a bit too much for my taste."

"You know, it didn't have to come down to this—"

"So, what, you were so desperate for a solution to your little problem that you decided to become part of Killian's harem?" Tony spat out. "I thought you were smarter than that!"

"I only took his money!" Maya retorted, gingerly touching the jagged cut above her left eyebrow.

"And yet here you are, all these years later, working in a dungeon—"

"No, you're in a dungeon," snapped Maya. "I'm free to go." Pushing herself away from the computer desk, she walked over to one of the square windows. "A lot's happened in these years, Tony. And I'm so close with my work. Extremis is practically stable!"

"Practically?" cried Tony. "And I'm telling you that it isn't! Killian's got this stuff on the streets, and people are just going 'boom'! They're painting the walls, Maya! And you're just kidding yourself if you're choosing to ignore it!"

"Then help me figure it out!" she exclaimed, thrusting an old, yellowed card in front of his face that read 'You Know Who I Am' in his own handwriting. Tony immediately recognized it as his name tag from that fateful night in Switzerland.

"What the hell—?"

"This," she said, turning the card to reveal three smudged lines of complex mathematical equations, written out with a shaky hand.

"What's that? Did I do that?" Tony asked.

"Yes," answered Maya, rather impatiently.

"I was pretty trashed that night, so my memory might be a bit… fuzzy. Is this really why you've been chasing me around all this time?"

Maya's shoulders sagged and her face fell. "You don't remember?"

"Nope. Can't help ya," Tony said, watching as she stepped back from him with pursed lips. "But you know, from what I remember, you used to have ideals, and a conscience. All that stuff you told me that night in Bern, all your grandiose dreams about how you wanted to help people. Now look at you. What the hell happened to that Maya?"

"That's still me," Maya protested. She bit her bottom lip. "I never meant for—"

"Like hell!" cried Tony. "If that's still you, then where the hell's Pepper, huh? What, did you just dump her off somewhere? Was she a hindrance to your own personal vendetta?"

"Tony—"

But whatever Maya was planning to say was interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls descending a concrete staircase. "Well, well, well," came the smug voice of Aldrich Killian. "Looks like our boy's finally awake."

"You know, you really do look like a pimp, Killian," Tony sneered as Killian came into view. "You're not still pissed off about the Switzerland thing, are you?"

Killian set his briefcase down on the table, turning to Tony with a sly grin. "How could I be pissed at you, Tony? I'm actually here to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"Yes! You gave me the greatest gift that anyone has ever given me. Desperation. If you think back to that night in Switzerland, you said you'd meet me on the rooftop, right?"

"I was drunk off my ass—"

"Well, for the first twenty minutes or so, I actually thought that you'd show up. Silly me, right? And then, after about an hour, I contemplated for a while taking that one big shortcut step to the lobby. But then, I looked up at the sky, and all the fireworks going off, and realized that no one even knew I was there. And I had a thought that would guide me for years to come."

"Oh? And what was that?"

"Anonymity, Tony. You gave me the idea to hide behind something so terrifying, that no one would even think to look in my direction until it was too late. I mean, really. Ever since that big dude with the hammer just sort of fell out of the sky, subtlety has kind of had its day. Wouldn't you agree?"

Can't really argue too much with that. "Okay, so then what's next for you in your little world of anonymity? I mean, I can understand maybe hiring a body double, or something to that effect. But hiring a drug-addicted, second-rate actor to play a role while you hid behind him? I mean, that's just—"

"Brilliant?" interrupted Killian, winking. "Is that what you meant to say, Tony?"

"No. What I meant to say was 'cowardly'," Tony shot back. "You're a coward, Killian. Plain and simple. No wonder Pepper wouldn't give you the time of day."

"Well, I guess we'll see about that," said Killian as he lifted a sleek silver case onto the counter. "Now, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I wanted to repay you, Tony, with the same gift you so graciously gave me. Desperation."

Taking three silver-colored marbles from the case, Killian rubbed them between his palms as if they were his lucky dice, shooting Tony an evil smirk as he rolled them across the cement floor. After they came to a stop in a triangular pattern, Killian pointed a remote in their direction and a holographic image started flickering into focus. "Just… take a look at this here, why don't you, and see what you think."

Tony had no idea what he'd been expecting Killian to show him with his little steel balls, but it absolutely was not an image of Pepper, screaming as she lay strapped down on a narrow stretcher, her entire body glowing orange like some sick and twisted human jack-o-lantern. Tony's entire body froze all at once as he choked, blinking in disbelief, his hands straining against the zip ties in yet another desperate attempt to free himself.

"You goddamn sick son of a bitch," Tony croaked, his jaw clenching so tightly his teeth ground together. His hands—already tingling from being tied over his head—went completely numb as his heart started to race, symptoms he was now starting to recognize as another impending panic attack.

No, no, please, not now!

"Feeling desperate yet, Tony?" Killian sneered as he walked a circle around Pepper's image. "Now, this is live, and I'm not sure if you can tell exactly what is happening here, so I'll go ahead and explain it to you."

"You goddamn SICK—"

"Right now her body's trying to decide whether or not to accept the Extremis. This is a very trying and interesting time, but, unfortunately, it also can be very painful. If in the end she decides to accept it, well, then you've seen what my associates and I are capable of." He leaned in, so close that Tony could smell his aftershave, his cheeks glowing in that same toxic orange color. "And if she doesn't, well, then you've also seen what happens when things go wrong. Haven't you, Tony?"

"You're a maniac," Tony whispered.

"No, I'm a visionary," Killian replied as he backed away. "And there's a big difference." Killian smirked as he pointed the remote towards Pepper's image. "And now, thanks to my hard work—and Maya's of course, can't forget her—I have an entire army with which to see that vision to fruition. An army which continues to grow, as you will see… here." He clicked the remote again, and Tony's heart nearly stopped completely at what he saw next.

Getting blown up by his own weapons in Afghanistan had been painful. Having open-heart surgery in a freezing cold cave with minimal anesthesia had been painful. Being slowly poisoned to death by palladium had been painful.

But none of those horrible experiences could even touch how excruciatingly painful the next image was once it blinked into place, searing itself into Tony's brain so deeply there was no way he could ever be rid of it. An almost inhuman sound ripped from Tony's throat and he jumped as if he'd been hit with a cattle prod, the zip ties slicing even deeper into his flesh as he strained against them in vain, then slumped back against the bed frame as his knees gave out.

Peter, his sweet, innocent Peter, was lying crouched in the corner of a darkened, cement-walled, windowless room. From what Tony could see through his panic-fueled rage, Peter was stripped to the waist, barefoot and blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back. His entire small body was shivering, so hard that Tony could make out the sound of his teeth chattering.

Goddamn you, Rogers! How could you let this happen?

"You are the worst fucking type of monster imaginable," Tony managed to choke out between his heaving breaths. "He's just a kid."

"Oh no, I beg to differ," said Killian, that sadistic grin back on his face. "He's not just any kid. He's your kid. But, then again, he's not really even your kid, is he, Tony? Because I'm fairly certain that this particular child has a certain, shall we say, component to his DNA that should make him an excellent candidate for the first trial of Extremis in a minor." He stepped closer, getting directly in Tony's face. "I'm sure you're aware of his true parentage. Aren't you, Tony?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hmm. You really should do your homework the next time you get the urge to adopt a kid, Tony. I'm quite surprised at you. Someone of your intelligence level should know better."

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Tony screamed, trying to look away from the horrible image of his poor boy writhing in pain and fear right in front of him, but scared to take his eyes off Peter in case he disappeared. "His parents were traitors! They did exactly what you're trying to do!"

Killian let out a laugh, a harrowing sound that echoed off the cement walls and chilled Tony to the bone. "Traitors, patriots, it really depends on who you're asking. I mean, the signers of the Declaration of Independence were called traitors by one nation and patriots by another. It's all just a matter of perspective. No, Tony. Richard Parker was not a traitor, he was a visionary, like me. Unfortunately for him, he failed to acquire the appropriate political support that would've ensured his protection if things went badly. Which they did, in case you weren't aware of that little fact either."

"You GODDAMN SICK—!"

"Oh, and by the way, Tony, the kid can hear you," Killian said, clicking another button on the remote. "So go ahead. Tell him that you'll see him soon, just like you told me. Lie to him, like you lied to me that night in Bern."

"I won't—" Tony stammered, cut off when Killian wrapped his glowing orange hand around his throat.

"Oh, but you will!" Killian rasped into Tony's ear, and Tony heard the click of a gun cocking as the barrel pressed against his bleeding temple. "Or I'll blow your brains out all over the floor."

His lower lip shaking, Tony tried to shake his head, but Killian only his tightened fiery hot grip. "Pete!" he called, his voice raspy from the pressure on his throat. "Pete, it's gonna be okay, buddy. I'm gonna get you outta there as soon as I can, don't you worry."

But to Tony's horror, instead of being comforted by the sound of his voice, Peter curled his little body even further, his head shaking rapidly back and forth as his shivering became even more pronounced. Tears pooled in Tony's eyes and spilled over, running down his cheeks, stinging every scratch and bruise they found in their path.

"What've you done to him?" Tony growled, crying out as Peter's body shuddered and he screamed, trying to hide his head down by his knees.

"I told you that he could hear you, Tony," Killian said, withdrawing the pistol. "I didn't say that what he would hear would sound anything like your own voice."

"YOU GODDAMN SICK SON OF A BITCH!" Tony screamed, squeezing his eyes closed against the wave of pain that followed his outburst.

"Let him go!" Maya Hansen suddenly cried, and Tony peeled his eyes open to see her standing near the staircase, holding some sort of needle contraption to her neck. "This has gone too far, Killian. You never said anything about bringing in a kid—"

Killian sucked in a sharp breath, looking rather annoyed as he turned to face the distraught scientist. "Maya, what do you think you're doing?"

"You never said anything about bringing in a kid," Maya repeated, looking like she was close to tears, the injector wobbling in her hand. "We've never tested Extremis in—"

"And so?" said Killian. "We have to start somewhere, Maya. I've made promises to certain people that will require follow-through. What part of this are you failing to grasp?"

"This is 1500 milligrams, Killian!" shouted Maya. "A dose half this size would kill me. You know we haven't worked out all the bugs yet, and—"

But she was cut off as Killian turned back to Tony, winking as he calmly raised his gun and shot Maya in the abdomen. Tony jumped at the loud, unexpected noise and his breath hitched as a new wave of fear threatened to overwhelm him. If anything happened to Peter… he honestly didn't know what he would do.

"I hate distractions, don't you, Tony?" asked Killian, holstering the gun and heading for the stairs. "Always better to get rid of them when you're trying to work. Now, go ahead and get comfortable, if you don't mind. You won't be going anywhere for quite awhile."

My name is Peter Parker Stark. I'm nine years old. I'm in the fourth grade. My best friend is Ned Leeds. I like science and math, and Star Wars, and Legos, and going to Disneyland.

I don't like the dark, or loud, scary voices in the night.

I like building stuff. With my dad. He builds really cool stuff.

Where's my dad? How come he's not here?

Daddy? Where are you? I'm cold and hungry and my arms hurt and it's really dark in here, and I'm scared.

Daddy? Are you there? Please, help me!

Where are you?

"About damn time," Tony muttered as the rest of his armor flew towards him and attached to his body, his abdominals still aching from having to fly around using only one arm gauntlet and one boot during his escape. "Talk to me, JARVIS."

"Yes, sir. Unfortunately, I haven't yet been able to bring the Mark 42's flight boosters to full power. They will require additional electrical charging to reach capacity for any sustained flight."

"Okay, that really sucks, JARVIS," grumbled Tony. "Do you have any good news for me?"

"Colonel Rhodes has currently escaped from his captors and is headed your way."

"Rhodey?" Tony called, looking up towards the sky as the Iron Patriot armor flew overhead.

Great. That's just what we need.

"Here," Rhodes said as he came running towards Tony just as a klaxon alarm began to blare, announcing that Tony Stark and Colonel Rhodes had escaped and were loose somewhere on the compound.

"Got any bright ideas on how to get out of here?" Tony asked. Of all the goddamn times to not have any flight power…

"I overhead some of the spooks talking about a speedboat," Rhodes said as he grabbed Tony's elbow. "This way. They're headed to an old oil-drilling platform, and they've got President Ellis as a hostage."

"I don't give a damn about Ellis," Tony barked as they ran towards the marina. "All I care about are Pepper and Peter."

"Oh, God, they've got Peter too?" asked Rhodes with wide eyes. "What a bunch of sick bastards!"

"Just get me there, Rhodes," Tony said firmly as the climbed onto the speedboat, with Tony repulsing one of their pursuers away as Rhodes started the engine.

"We're gonna need some help, Tony," Rhodes said, shooting at another one of the guards without even looking as the boat pulled away from the dock. "It's just the two of us, and that dude Killian's got an entire squadron of those fire-breathing freaks."

"I've just received some good news, sir," JARVIS cut in. "The clean-up crew at the Malibu house has just been able to remove enough debris to uncover the garage."

Tony huffed out a sharp breath; this was the first truly good news he'd gotten in days. "All right then, JARVIS. You know what to do."

"The House Party protocol, sir?"

"You got it."

"What—, what's the House Party Protocol?" Rhodes asked.

"Oh, you'll see," Tony said as he pursed his lips. "You wanted help? Well, we're gonna have it!"

It was dark by the time the speedboat pulled up to the platform. Before Rhodes had even parked the thing Tony was out of the boat and running up the dock that led to the lower levels of the platform, leaving the Mark 42 behind in the boat so it could finish charging.

"Tony!" Rhodey called in a loud whisper, scrambling after him. "Don't you think you should have the suit with you?"

Arriving under one of the overhangs, Tony paused, clutching his side with its still-tender rib that likely hadn't yet had a chance to heal. "Don't worry," he said as his ears picked up the tell-tale sound of his repulsors and he pointed up towards the darkened sky. "Backup's on the way."

Rhodey's eyes widened as he watched all of Tony's suits, what Tony had informally dubbed the Iron Legion, fly up and take surrounding positions around the entire platform.

"So, this is how you've been managing your downtime?" Rhodes asked.

"What downtime?" Tony replied as he stepped into one of the suits, one that he'd codenamed Heartbreaker. All around him he could see the Extremis soldiers, their glowing orange faces looking up at his army of suits. "JARVIS, target Extremis heat signatures and disable with extreme prejudice."

"Yes, sir," came the response, echoing throughout the entire Iron Legion as the suits took off, aiming for the retreating Extremis soldiers.

"What're you gonna do?" asked Rhodes as Tony's mask closed over his face.

"I gotta find Pepper and Pete," Tony said. "Nothing else matters to me. But you should probably go after Ellis."

"Yeah, probably," replied Rhodes.

"Sir, I've located Miss Potts," said JARVIS. "She's being held on level two."

"'Bout time!" Tony exclaimed.

"And Captain Rogers has just arrived," JARVIS added. "He is awaiting instructions."

"Rogers? What the—?"

"Tony," came Rogers' voice over the comm. "I came down as soon as JARVIS told me where you were heading. I can't tell you how sorry—"

"Save it, Cap," Tony snapped. "Just help me find my kid. They've probably got him in one of these rigs."

"That's why I'm here, Tony," Steve answered as his signature shield went flying through the air, taking out one of the sentries stationed three levels up. Tony watched him fall before taking off himself, aiming for the group guarding Pepper one level up.

"Keep in mind, Cap, these Extremis goons are like toxic-orange versions of you," Tony said as one of his mini missiles imbedded itself into the abdomen of another soldier. "You pretty much have to blow them up."

"Copy that!" said Steve with a grunt.

"Hey, someone give Cap a lift up to the top!" Tony commanded. "Rogers, check the upper levels first! I don't want them collapsing if Pete's inside one of 'em!"

A second later one of the suits swooped down, catching Steve mid-jump and carrying him up to the top level. A few seconds later two more of the Extremis soldiers flew over the upper railing, screaming as they fell.

"Don't worry, Tony," Steve said firmly. "I'll find him."

But before Tony could respond, the rig holding Pepper pitched forward, hit by a projectile from one of the suits just as one of the soldiers sliced right through the back of the suit he was wearing, rendering it useless. Tony kicked hard behind him, causing both the suit and the soldier to go teetering off the edge of the platform as he ran towards Pepper, who was dangling precariously from the broken rig.

"Tony!" Pepper shrieked as Tony arrived, panting as he frantically looked around for a way to reach her. The walkway between the two rigs had been blown away, and there was no way he could jump that far without causing Pepper to fall.

"It's okay, honey, I got you!" Tony yelled, reaching his hand out to her. He could see her clinging desperately to the broken remains of a railing, all that was preventing her from falling to the ground.

"Just relax, honey, I got you! But you gotta let go. I'm gonna catch you, but you gotta let go!"

But just as she released the railing and started sliding towards him, the rig was bumped by another Extremis soldier, changing its trajectory. Tony desperately lunged forward, nearly losing his footing as he tried to catch Pepper's hand, his fingertips barely grazing hers as she slipped from his grasp and fell towards the fiery ground.

"Oh God, no!" Tony cried, blinking in shock and horror as he looked a hundred feet down at the blazing fire where Pepper, the love of his life, had disappeared. He'd told her he would catch her. He'd promised!

And he'd failed.

"Pity," came the smug voice of Aldrich Killian as he clomped across the metal walkway, his entire shirtless body glowing orange. "I would've caught her. She was so close to being the perfect woman, Tony. You didn't deserve her."

"You know, you're right," Tony choked out through his parched throat as he turned, advancing towards Killian. "I didn't deserve her. But here's where you're wrong." Stepping into a suit, Tony drew back his fist, hitting Killian's fist dead-on. "She was already perfect."

"Tony, I've found Peter," piped up Steve over the comm. "I'm bringing him down to the ground now."

"How is he? Is he okay?" demanded Tony, dodging another blow from Killian. You goddamn son of a bitch!

"He's in one piece, at least," said Steve. "But he's pretty shaken and scared and he keeps asking for you. I'm trying to warm him up a bit."

"Tell him I'll be right there!" Tony said, just as Killian's fiery hand came down on his helmet, slicing through the gold/ titanium alloy as if it were nothing but aluminum foil. Tony barely had enough time to fall backwards out of the suit before Killian reached his head, the smell of singed hair filling Tony's nostrils.

"The Mark 42 is inbound, sir," JARVIS said suddenly. Tony turned just in time to see his battle-worn, pre-incel suit flying towards him, wobbling slightly as it approached. Tony held his hand out behind him, waiting.

"Wait a second," he mumbled, his mind racing. With a quick shake of his head, Tony swung his arm forward, directing the armor to wrap around Killian instead, pinning him up against one of the rigs. "JARVIS, go ahead and blow the Mark 42."

"With pleasure, sir," JARVIS replied.

Tony felt rather than saw the resulting explosion, too intent on finding a safe way to the ground so he could get to Peter. One of the suits flew up to him, only partially intact, but Tony jumped into it anyway as the entire level started to groan, leaning sideways before bursting into flames as it collapsed. Tony dropped painfully to the ground, wincing and grunting as he rolled to a stop.

"Rogers?" he gasped frantically. "Where you at?"

But before Steve even had time to answer, the blackened, charred body of Aldrich Killian rose up from a pocket of nearby flames and starting stumbling towards Tony. "Anonymity, Tony," he rasped. "It's more valuable than you think! It was always me! All of it was me! I am the—"

And then, to Tony's shock, Killian was hit smack on his badly tattooed chest with a huge white pipe and flung off to the side, his body hitting the roof of one of the adjacent rigs with a sickening squelching noise. Tony looked up to see Pepper, her skin and eyes glowing bright orange, glaring at him as she advanced towards his damaged suit.

"Honey?" Tony asked, backing away slightly. "Are you okay?"

Glancing up at the sky, Pepper growled as she lunged forward, curling her burning arm into the gauntlet of the suit as her foot found a stray missile lying on the ground, kicking it up in the air and blasting it towards Killian with the repulsor, the resulting explosion so jarring Tony felt it in nearly every bone of his body.

Too stunned to move, Tony could only stare at Pepper as she stumbled forward, gasping for breath. "Oh my God," she stammered. "That was really violent!"

"I don't care how violent it was, Pep," Tony said, finally finding his voice. "You just saved all our asses."

Pepper let out a laugh that quickly turned into a sob as she collapsed into a heap on the ground, her slender body shaking and shivering. Slowly, Tony crawled over to her, gathering her into his arms.

"No, don't touch me!" she protested. "I don't wanna hurt you!"

"Shh," Tony murmured, tears springing to his eyes as he stroked her strawberry hair. "You're not gonna hurt me. I thought I'd lost you, Pep."

"I guess I'm just hard to get rid of," Pepper said weakly against his shoulder. "But, Tony, am I gonna be okay?"

"Course you are," Tony said, kissing her temple. "I almost had this stuff figured out back in '99 when I was drunk. I'll be able to get you squared away in no time."

They were quiet for a couple minutes, the crackle of the flames from the dying fires the only sounds until the silence was broken by the blare of an ambulance siren as it approached the platform from the nearby street.

"Tony," Steve's quiet voice suddenly said from behind him, causing Tony to whip around, still clinging to Pepper as his eyes landed on Steve. The Captain's blond hair was singed and his pale face was streaked with soot, and in his arms he was carrying Peter, whimpering and shivering and covered in grime, with his hands covering his face.

Ignoring the protests of his battered body, Tony pushed himself up to his feet with Pepper's help and lurched forward, reaching for his little boy.

"Pete," he choked out, no longer trying to stop the tears from flowing as his arms wrapped around his son, his heart nearly cracking in two when Peter yelped, as if he was in pain. Dropping to his knees on the ground, Tony shifted Peter so his ear was resting against his chest piece. "Pete, it's okay. I've got you. Just listen for the hum, bud. Do you hear it? It means I've got you."

"C—, cold," Peter whimpered, his teeth chattering and his lungs rattling. Tony could see deep marks on his lower lip where he'd bitten down. "D—, Daddy! So c—, cold!"

"Tony," said Steve softly, and Tony swore there were tears in the old man's blue eyes. "Tony, I can't tell you how sorry I am. There were six of them… they came during the night… somehow they were able to get through all of the security… I don't know how—"

"D—, Daddy!" Peter wheezed, his small hands fisting in Tony's shirt and pinching Tony's skin in the process. He had yet to open his eyes. "S—, so dark, and c—, cold!"

"It's okay, buddy," Tony said, curling his fingers into Peter's hair. “We're gonna get you warm. Just listen to the hum. I'm here."

"I think he's in shock, Tony," Steve said, backing away as paramedics came running towards them, loaded down with equipment. "You both need to get to a hospital."

I fucking hate hospitals! Tony cried internally. But even he knew he was likely injured badly enough to require medical attention, and he absolutely wanted to make sure that Peter was okay. Or, at least physically okay. He had a feeling it was going to take a lot more than a simple hospital stay to truly help Peter be all right.

"Yeah, fine. But don't you even think about taking him from me," Tony barked at one of the paramedics as he attempted to reach for Peter. "You can do whatever you need to do, but he stays right here. Got it?"

"Daddy!" Peter shrieked, his little fingers digging into Tony's sides as the paramedic covered his small body with a blanket. "Don't leave me! Don't—, don't—, don't let go of me! Please!"

"I'm not letting go of you, Pete," Tony said as he kissed Peter's forehead. He tightened his arms around the boy as Steve and the paramedic helped Tony to his feet, then guided him onto a stretcher. Tony leaned back, careful to keep Peter's ear over his chest piece. "Just listen, bud. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you."

"We need to start an IV and some oxygen, sir," the paramedic said. "The boy is dangerously dehydrated and his blood oxygen level is low."

Tony grimaced, remembering how much Peter hated needles. "Yeah, okay. But get it in on the first try, yeah? Kid doesn't need anymore trauma tonight."

"I will, sir," said the man. Carefully swabbing Peter's arm, he nodded at Tony, who tightened his arms around him.

"Just listen to the hum, Pete," Tony whispered as the the IV needle pierced Peter's skin and he cried out. "Don't think about anything else. I've got you."

"Don't leave me!" Peter whimpered, his small body relaxing against Tony's as the paramedic added a sedative to the newly hung IV fluids and placed oxygen tubes into his nose. "Please? You promised!"

"I won't, Peter," Tony said as he smoothed Peter's matted hair off his forehead. He could tell Peter was fighting hard to stay awake. "It's okay, bud. Go ahead and sleep now. I've got you."

"Stay wi' me," murmured Peter, his words slurred. "Don' leave."

"I'll be right here when you wake up, Pete," Tony whispered. "I promise."

Tony leaned back against the stretcher as Steve and the paramedic started rolling them over to the waiting ambulance, with Pepper following closely behind, her hand resting on Tony's shoulder.

Somehow, they'd all managed to survive this, this insane, personal vendetta by a thoroughly deranged man. And now there was nothing that Tony hoped for more than some peace and quiet, not only for himself, but for Peter and Pepper as well. They all needed to rest, and heal, and grow together as a family.

But Tony knew it was only a matter of time before something else happened. Only a matter of time before some other deranged person, or group of persons, or alien, or… whatever, came along with yet another plan to destroy everything that he held dear. And he'll be damned if he was going to be caught unawares again.

No. Never again, Tony thought, clenching his jaw and tightening his fingers in Peter's hair. No one is going after my family ever again.

Never again.

Chapter Text

As his body and mind slowly drifted back towards consciousness, Tony breathed in, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the strong scent of the scratchy hospital linens and sharp disinfectant that flooded his senses. Tightening his fingers in Peter's hair, Tony shifted slightly, trying to keep most of the boy's weight off his sore abdomen and rib cage while still keeping Peter's ear resting over his chest piece. Even with the sedatives flowing into his little body along with the warming IV fluids, Peter's hands were fisted tightly into Tony's shirt, and his expression was still one of anguished fear, with his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. His was not a peaceful sleep.

After a thorough examination, or at least as thorough it could be while he was practically glued to Tony's chest, the doctors were able to determine that Peter had no broken bones or other serious injuries. Peter's wrists were rubbed raw from the ropes Killian had used to tie his hands, and his bottom lip was bruised and nearly bitten through in a couple of places, but besides that and his dehydration and lingering lung issues, he was going to be fine. Eventually.

At least physically. Mentally was a whole other question. And one that Tony knew he was going to have to deal with, his personal distrust of shrinks notwithstanding. Peter had been through more trauma than any one person should ever have to deal with in his only nine years of life, and Tony finally had to admit that he was not equipped to help Peter the way he needed. Tony's method of dealing with trauma in the past had always been to bury himself in work, women, and alcohol, which, if he was completely honest with himself, he hadn't really improved on all that much. While he no longer considered himself a womanizer, he'd still chosen to bury himself in work following the Battle of New York, ignoring both his own need for rest and recuperation and Peter's need for stability.

Stability. Something a nine-year old kid should be able to take for granted.

Shifting slightly on the narrow hospital bed, Tony buried his nose into Peter's hair, searching for the familiar green apple scent of his shampoo but instead only finding the smells of the surrounding hospital room combined with stale sweat. The nurses had cleaned Peter up as best as they could the previous night after he'd been stabilized, but since Tony had refused to let go of him, he supposed the boy could do with a bath once he was able to stay awake longer than a few minutes.

As the light shifted along the pale beige wall of the hospital room, Tony looked out towards the window, where he could see the beginnings of what appeared to be a brilliant, almost tropical-looking sunrise. Fitting, he supposed, for a Christmas morning in Miami.

Christmas. Yet another occasion that Tony had conveniently ignored for years before Peter came into his life. This was supposed to have been a happy time for them, celebrating the one-year anniversary of Peter's adoption. Not recuperating in some faraway hospital after a madman tried to turn Pepper and Peter into his own version of fire monsters.

"Daddy?" Peter's small, still-raspy voice suddenly said, breaking the silence. The sedatives must have worn off a little, and Tony knew that meant it was nearly time for another breathing treatment, which Peter hated with a passion. Poor kid.

"Yeah, bud, I'm here."

Peter tightened his arms around Tony's chest. "Do you remember the first time you called me 'buddy'?"

"Um…" Tony said, wracking his exhausted brain. "At the hotel in New York? When I was trying to get you dressed so we could leave?"

"No," mumbled Peter, rubbing his nose on Tony's shirt. Hopefully he'd be able to get rid of the oxygen tubes today too. "It was before then."

"Really? When was it?"

"Opening night of the Expo. After you left the stage."

Tony's eyebrows knitted together. "Are you sure?"

"Uh huh," Peter said. "You signed a picture for me, an Iron Man picture, and you patted my head. I was wearing my Iron Man helmet. You said, 'here you go, buddy'. Do you remember?"

"Yeah," Tony said a second later, a soft smile gracing his lips as he kissed the top of Peter's head. "Yeah, I do remember. I also remember being pretty impressed by your helmet, it was a damn good replica."

"I made it myself," Peter whispered. "But now it's too small. I need to make a new one."

"Well, that's what happens when you insist on growing up," Tony said, ruffling Peter's hair. "But when we get home I'll help you make a new one, if you want."

"Yeah, that sounds good. And I'll need some new boots too, since mine got blown up."

Tony stiffened at Peter's words. Oh, God, I didn't even think… "Pete," he said in a low voice. "Did you see—?"

"I saw all of it!" Peter spat out. He lifted his head, tears spilling down his pale cheeks as he glared at Tony. "Steve had the news on the television, and I saw the whole thing! Bruce tried to pull me away, but I wouldn't let him. I had to make sure that you made it out of there. I had to, Daddy!"

"And I did, Peter," Tony said firmly. He cupped Peter's face, brushing the boy's tears away with his thumbs. "I did. See? I'm right here."

But Peter only shook his head, his little chest heaving as he tried to suppress his sobs. "But… are you gonna stay here? Or are you gonna leave me again? Because… I can't—, I can't—, you see, it was my fault that they died, and I can't—, I can't, Daddy. I can't let that happen again, and—"

"Peter!" Tony said loudly, wincing when the boy jumped. "What are you saying? None of this was your fault." Tony wrapped his arms around him, pulling him back down against his chest. Crying was not going to help Peter's lungs heal at all. "Buddy, how can you possibly think that any of this was your fault?"

"But it was!" Peter cried, fresh tears spilling from his eyes, wetting through Tony's shirt. "We weren't supposed to be at the Expo again, the night of the drone attack. But I had so much fun on the opening night that I begged Uncle Ben and Auntie May to take me again. They didn't want to. Uncle Ben got home late, and Auntie May was tired, she'd had a rough day at work. But I begged and begged them to take me, and they finally gave in… and now—"

"Shh, Peter," Tony murmured, his throat tight as he tried to hold back his own tears. All this time, and he'd never even thought to ask about the circumstances surrounding Ben and May Parker's deaths. If Peter had been with them and had just gotten lucky, or if he'd managed to sneak away for a closer look at something, like he'd been known to do. He'd been alone when that drone targeted him, but Tony had no way of knowing if Ben and May were already dead by that point, or if they had simply been separated from him.

"It wasn't your fault, Pete," said Tony, stroking Peter's hair. "If anything, it was mine." Vanko and Hammer were both just more demons that I created.

"No, it wasn't," Peter argued. "You tried to stop the drones from killing people. You tried to stop that dumb guy, Justin Hammer. And you saved me!"

"Yeah, I did," Tony said. "But you were so brave, buddy. So, so brave that night. And it wasn't your fault. None of it, okay? It was tragic, yes. But none of if was your fault. Do you understand?"

"Uh huh," Peter replied, unconvincingly. He closed his eyes, tucking his head down under Tony's chin as he let out a loud, shaky exhale. "I'm tired again, Daddy."

"Then go back to sleep, bud," whispered Tony, patting his back. "It's okay. You're safe."

"You'll be here?"

"I'm not leaving you, Pete," Tony said firmly. "I promise."

They were discharged two days later, once Peter was weaned off of his breathing treatments and sufficiently rehydrated. As they made their way to the chopper waiting on the hospital roof, Steve carried Peter while Pepper supported Tony, still too sore to carry Peter and walk at the same time. Pepper had suggested perhaps staying in Miami for a few more days and trying to relax a bit before returning to New York, but Tony had vetoed the idea. While Tony had to admit the weather in Miami was decent enough, he had a feeling that Peter really wanted to get home. Away from this place where he'd been taken to be used as a human lab rat by a deranged man.

Plus, Tony still needed to get Pepper sorted out. And work on upgrading the security systems at the Tower. And repair his damaged suits, and oversee the cleanup at the Malibu house, and so on and so on.

As soon as they were seated on the plush leather seats in the Stark Industries chopper, Tony reached for Peter, grimacing in discomfort as he positioned the boy on his lap. Steve nodded in Tony's direction, his blue eyes still full of guilt and shame and repeated, unspoken apologies. Tony gave him a brief nod in reply but then shifted his gaze away, concentrating on studying the healing rope burns circling Peter's wrists. Deep down Tony knew that he shouldn't blame Steve for what happened. After all, he'd seen what those Extremis soldiers could do up close and personal, and he knew without a doubt that Steve cared for Peter a great deal and had to have given his attackers absolute hell before they were able to overpower him.

But even so, it was still too soon for Tony to want to talk about it. Maybe in a few more days, after he was able to get Peter settled back into the apartment and figure out what went wrong.

Besides. Bruce had mentioned in one of his phone calls that there was something he'd discovered during his research into Aldrich Killian that he needed to talk about with Tony. Something that he hadn't wanted Tony to allow Peter to overhear.

Not surprisingly, Peter slept for almost the entire flight, only waking as the chopper started its descent onto the landing platform at the Tower. As soon as they landed Steve held his arms out for Peter, and Tony released him reluctantly, envious of both the older man's strength and his ability to heal so quickly.

"Thanks, Cap," Tony said softly, leaning on Pepper for support as he got to his feet. Why did broken ribs have to hurt so damn much?

"It's no problem, Tony," Steve replied, a little too quickly. "I'm happy to help."

Bruce was waiting for them as they entered the apartment, embracing Tony in a careful hug as he rattled off apologies left and right for not joining Steve for the fight down at the platform.

"Fury was insistent that it would be a PR nightmare if the Hulk suddenly showed up in the middle of a fight that we'd been forbidden to get involved in," Bruce said, barely pausing for breath. "He said he could justify Steve going because of Peter, but—"

"And I suppose the fact that it was Rhodey who saved Ellis's ass instead of Captain America only proved Ellis's point," Tony grumbled. Goddamn politicians.

"Yeah, well… President Ellis did tell Fury he'd be sure to acknowledge both yours and Steve's involvement in rooting out the political traitor in the White House," said Bruce with a shrug. "I mean, that was a pretty big red flag that he totally missed."

"Somehow I don't think that'll make one bit of difference in the long run," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Politicians are only interested in their own agendas. They don't give a damn about anyone else."

"Well, yeah," Bruce said. "But still—"

"It's okay, Bruce," Pepper said, squeezing her hands around Tony's arm. "We appreciate you holding down the fort here."

"And I've already started on those upgrades we discussed, Tony," Bruce continued. "The residential floors are already done, and I should have the rest of the Tower finished by New Year's."

"I appreciate it, big guy," Tony said, groaning as he sank down onto the squashy couch in the living room next to Peter. "I'll take a look at everything tomorrow, yeah?"

"Oh, of course!" Bruce said, looking chagrined. "I'm so sorry, you guys probably need to rest. I'll… just, um, head back down to my lab and keep working."

"I should go too, Tony, let you guys settle back in," Steve said quietly. He leaned down, handing Peter his beloved stuffed polar bear. "I'll see you soon, Peter. Okay? I'd love it if we could play another chess game when you're feeling up to it."

"Uh huh," Peter said, his face partially buried in Tony's side. Pepper offered to walk Steve out, telling Tony she would get them something to eat when she returned. As soon as he heard the elevator doors slide closed, Tony turned slightly so he could wrap his arms around his son and Peter scooted closer, leaning his head against Tony's chest piece.

"Daddy," Peter whispered a few minutes later. "You're gonna stay with me?"

"Yeah, buddy," Tony whispered back, burying his nose in Peter's hair. It still didn't smell like green apples, but at least it didn't smell like a hospital anymore. "I'm gonna stay right here."

"Don't leave," mumbled Peter as his eyelids fluttered closed. "Please?"

"I won't, Peter. Go ahead and sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I promise, bud."

"'Kay."

Peter was out cold three seconds later.

The next couple of days were spent doing a whole lot of nothing. Pepper insisted on waiting on them, saying it had been her plan to do so during the Christmas break anyway, before all hell had broken loose. They watched a ton of movies, ate all sorts of junk food, drank eggnog and hot chocolate, and in general spent most of their time lounging around in the living room. Pepper even forbade Tony to work on neutralizing the Extremis in her system, saying she could wait until he was fully healed and Peter was sleeping through the night again before Tony tackled that particular problem.

Two days before New Year's they got even more good news. Happy had regained consciousness back in California, and barring any possible neurological complications, was going to be released from the hospital on New Year's Eve. Tony immediately got on the phone to Rhodey, asking him to pick Happy up from the hospital and escort him out to New York. Stark Industries was closed until the second week of January, and Pepper was planning a small belated Christmas party for New Year's Day. They were inviting Bruce and Steve of course, and Tony wanted Rhodey and Happy there as well.

And so, on the evening of New Year's Day, the seven of them gathered around the Christmas tree in the living room of the Tower penthouse apartment and celebrated together. They opened gifts, ate way too many Christmas cookies, drank champagne and bubbly grape juice, and just enjoyed each other's company. Tony was even able to give Steve a genuine smile after Peter fell asleep on his lap, wearing the brand-new nerdy t-shirt Bruce had given him that read QTPi. Peter was even able to sleep in his own bed that night for a stretch, giving Tony some much-needed relief from having to sleep on the couch.

"So," Tony said to Bruce the next morning, pacing slowly back and forth in his lab while Steve shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Pepper had volunteered to take Peter out shopping for some new clothes after breakfast, and Tony had agreed as long as Happy accompanied them, so for the time being they had the apartment to themselves. "What's this news you're so eager to share with me?"

Bruce shot Steve an anxious look, fiddling with his glasses. "Well… you see, we were researching, trying to find out more about Aldrich Killian and Extremis, and I sorta stumbled upon this old database from SHIELD, buried under about three tons of other crap—"

"Peter doesn't know about this, Tony," Steve interrupted. "Bruce and I weren't sure about what you'd told him about his birth father, so we didn't feel it was our place to say anything. I hope that's okay."

Tony felt his blood run cold and he swallowed hard, sitting heavily down onto one of the tall chairs in the lab. Damn slow-healing ribs! "Um, I haven't told Peter anything about his birth father," he said. "Kid told me he didn't hardly remember him, only that scary people used to come and yell at him during the night. I mean, I did some digging on my own when Pete first came to live with me, but I wasn't able to find all that much. And what little I did find wasn't good at all."

"What is it you were able to find?" asked Bruce, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Some old, mostly redacted SHIELD file," answered Tony. "I mean, I'd read in my dad's stuff that Parker was a geneticist and a part-time consultant for SHIELD. The stuff that Fury gave me stated it. But the file I found said he'd been caught trying to sell a weaponised… something-or-other to a foreign government and had been labeled a traitor."

"And that's all the file said?" asked Bruce.

"Most of it was gibberish, Bruce. Nearly ninety percent of it was redacted," Tony said impatiently. "But what was readable said 'traitor' at least three times." He shrugged, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just assumed someone went after him, resulting in his so-called accidental plane crash. Or at least, I did until Killian brought him up."

"Killian?" said Steve, looking alarmed. "What did Killian say about it? And why would he know about Richard Parker?"

"I have no fucking idea, Rogers!" Tony said sharply, squeezing his eyes closed as he pressed his fist to his chest, trying to keep his breathing steady. I am so goddamn sick of dealing with this! "JARVIS, where is Peter right now?"

"Master Peter is currently trying on jeans in the Broadway Old Navy location," JARVIS replied. "Miss Potts is planning to take him for a haircut once they have completed their shopping, and then out for ice cream. Specifically, peppermint ice cream, per Master Peter's request."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll love that," Tony muttered, relieved when his heart rate started to even out. "Okay, good. Thanks, J."

"It is my pleasure, sir."

"Are you all right, Tony?" Steve asked, concern clouding his blue eyes. "What was that?"

"Just like to know what's going on," Tony answered, trying and failing to sound casual about the fact that he was able to track his son's every movement. He leaned back in his chair, trying to avoid Steve's piercing stare. "You know, it's the first time he's been away from me since… since Cap got him back for me, and I just wanna know what he's up to."

Steve's head snapped up at Tony's words, and Tony watched from the corner of his eye as the old man's shoulders visibly relaxed and a relieved smile spread across his face. It was a start, at least. Tony knew they would still need to talk at some point, but at least now they could hopefully stop tiptoeing around each other.

"So Tony, can you tell us what Killian said to you?" Bruce asked, seemingly oblivious to what had just happened. "I don't mean to sound cryptic, that's not at all my intention. But I am starting to get suspicious about something, and I'd rather keep those suspicions to myself until I know if they're valid or not."

Tony huffed out a sharp breath, wishing for the conversation to be over already. "Killian's exact words were 'Richard Parker wasn't a traitor, he was a visionary, like me. His only mistake was failing to acquire the appropriate political support that would have ensured his protection if things went badly'."

"Appropriate political support," Bruce muttered, crossing his arms. "I wonder who—"

"Well, we know Killian had political support," Steve interrupted. "Don't we? He had the Vice-President."

"Yeah, and maybe some others that we just haven't found yet," Bruce said with a grimace. "But that still doesn't explain… never mind. Here's—"

"Will you just fucking tell me what you found?" demanded Tony. "Before I kick both your asses out of my lab and find it myself?"

"I was getting to it!" Bruce retorted. "Now, from what we discovered, Parker's research—which appears to have been funded by some obscure branch of some government think tank that's never officially named in the file—initially involved developing ways to make human DNA impervious to certain forms of chemical warfare."

"Which means that they were trying to make soldiers immune to things like mustard gas?" asked Steve. "I can understand why that would be helpful."

"Which also sounds a lot like what you used to do, big guy," Tony pointed out. "And, it's also supposed to be what Extremis does. Or at least when it's not causing people to spontaneously explode."

"Yes, and that's exactly what I thought too," Bruce said. "But then I dug a little deeper, and I found another file which stated that when his initial experiments failed to show the desired results, Parker began working on some new experiments that involved combining human DNA with that of certain animals."

Tony's eyebrows knitted together. "Animals? Which ones?"

"The file doesn't say," Bruce said, shaking his head. "Or if it does, it's probably buried a hundred layers deep in the redacted text. But what the file does say, is that after years of failure, some of which was quite gruesome and catastrophic, I might add, Parker was eventually successful. And that success seems to exactly coincide with the time that he was labeled as a traitor."

"So…" Tony muttered, tapping his chin. "SHIELD got wind of the threat against him and was trying to get him out of the country, but someone got to him first?"

"Maybe," said Bruce, unconvincingly. "Or… "

"Or what?" piped up Steve. "You don't think SHIELD had anything to do with Parker's death. Do you?"

"Nah," Bruce said, but Tony didn't miss the doubt that flitted across Bruce's face. "I mean, that wouldn't make any sense, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't," Steve said. "I can't imagine Nick Fury condoning anything that would involve threatening a scientist who was working for him."

But Tony barely heard him, his mind spinning with what Bruce just said. It was almost easier when he had accepted that Richard Parker had been a traitor, and decided he would leave the few memories that Peter had of his birth father untarnished. But now… even if he hadn't in fact been a traitor and instead was hunted down and murdered for what he'd managed to accomplish, what really did it all mean? Was his research still out there somewhere, in the hands of some less-than-scrupulous people? Were his experiments still being run? And if so, by whom?

And what did Killian's jab about Peter having a certain component to his DNA that would've made him a good candidate for Extremis refer to, exactly? Tony's jaw clenched and his hands curled into tight fists. Was Richard Parker actually experimenting on his own son?

If so, that alone would've been enough justification in Tony's mind to wish the man dead.

"I think," Tony said, clearing his throat. "I think I should talk to Fury. Since Parker's name was in the stuff that he gave me, he probably knows something about him."

"And you think that Fury will just… tell you?" Bruce asked, incredulous. "Why?"

Tony shrugged. "Can't hurt to ask. I won't tell him you were poking around, if you're worried that he'll yank your privileges away or something—"

"Good God, Tony," Bruce exclaimed. "I'm not worried about me! I'm concerned for Peter! And for you! If his father was—"

"We don't know that," Steve said firmly. "I don't think we should jump to any conclusions here, based on only one file—"

"Which is all the more reason for me to talk to Fury," Tony interrupted. "I'll get in touch with him tomorrow and ask. Worst he can do is tell me to leave it alone, and then nothing changes." He looked pointedly at the two men standing near him. "And I mean, nothing. Not a word about this even gets breathed around Peter unless I do it myself. Is that understood?"

"Understood," Bruce and Steve said simultaneously.

Peter returned from his shopping trip with Pepper loaded down with shopping bags and high on ice cream, talking a mile a minute about how all of the streets were still littered with candy and streamers left over from New Year's Day.

"And I wanted to pick some of it up, 'cause I saw a lot of the things that I like," Peter said excitedly. "But Pepper said it was dirty and probably wouldn't taste very good, so we didn't."

"Well," Tony said with a grin as he ruffled Peter's shorter hair. "Pepper is a smart lady, so you should listen to her."

"Dad, I did!" Peter said, plopping down onto the couch so hard that Tony bounced. "That's what I was telling you! Now, what're we gonna watch?"

Tony had lost count of how many movies they'd watched since they'd been home. Peter enjoyed all sorts of movies, as long as they were science-fiction, time-travel, alien invasion, or something similar. The one time they'd tried to watch a romantic comedy—at Pepper's request—Peter had fallen asleep about twenty minutes in. And to be honest, Tony hadn't lasted much longer.

"Um… how about one of the Trek ones? Star Trek?" Tony asked. "Didn't you say you liked those movies too?"

"Only the newer ones," Peter said. He scooted closer, cuddling up on Tony's non-sore side. "But yeah, okay. That sounds good. Let's watch the first one."

Queuing up the movie, Tony buried his nose in Peter's hair and let out a contented sigh, sending a silent thanks to Pepper for remembering to restock the boy's shampoo. The soft green apple scent was always going to be something he'd associate with Peter, and with family and home and safety, and it was finally back.

They had barely gotten halfway through the opening sequence of the movie when Peter leaned up, whispering in Tony's ear. "Hey, Daddy, don't you think Captain Kirk's dad looks a lot like Thor? I mean, if Thor had short hair and talked like a guy from Earth instead of that Hamlet dude?"

Tony couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, I guess he kinda does," he said, squinting at the television.

"Did you know that Ned asked Thor for his autograph when he was here?" Peter asked with a chuckle. "Ned even got it framed. He carries it around with him at school."

"No, I didn't," said Tony. "But listen, bud, speaking of… that. There's something I gotta talk to you about." Pausing the movie, Tony pushed himself up to a sitting position, facing Peter on the couch.

"What is it?" asked Peter in a shaky voice. "Am I in trouble?"

"Absolutely not, Peter," Tony said firmly. "You are in no way in trouble. It's just, Pepper and I have been talking, and we've decided that we're gonna get you some help."

"What kind of help?"

"Well… " stammered Tony. He took both of Peter's hands in his, wincing as he glanced down at the still-healing rope marks on Peter's wrists. "Pepper's done some research. Actually, she's done some exhaustive research, and she's found a nice, well-qualified lady who's gonna come here to the Tower starting tomorrow and spend some time talking with you. She's gonna come three times a week for the first couple of weeks, for a couple hours at a time. After that, well, we'll just see how it goes."

Peter's lower lip started to tremble. "Why?"

"Because," Tony said, pulling him into a hug. "Because, as much as I'd like to be able to help you the way you need, buddy, I just can't. And you're too young, and have been through way too much for me to expect you to just get over it. It's unbelievable that you're as normal as you are after everything that's happened."

"But… are you gonna be there with me?" Peter asked, sniffing against Tony's chest. "I don't wanna be alone, Daddy."

"Not right away, buddy," Tony admitted. "Maybe after a while, but not right away. But if you want, I can ask Pepper to sit in with you at first, to help you get comfortable with the doctor. Pepper's a lot more… objective than I am." And a hell of a lot less likely than I would be to object to some of the questions this lady is surely going to have for him.

"Uh huh," Peter mumbled. "If you say it's a good idea, then I guess it is. But what about school?"

"I've arranged with Principal Morita for you to start school back up in February," Tony said. "He agreed that you could use a bit of a break. We'll get your assignments sent over everyday, so you won't be getting out of doing your work, but this way you can concentrate on getting better first before we put you back in school. All right?"

"B—, but, can I still see Ned?" Peter asked, his huge brown eyes shimmering with tears behind his glasses. "He told me he got a bunch of new Lego sets for Christmas, and I wanted to help him build them, but—"

"You can see Ned whenever his mom says it's okay," Tony assured him. "And you can even have a sleepover if you want, as long as it's here at the Tower. Okay? I'm… not ready to have you away from me at night quite yet."

"Oh! We've never had a sleepover here before," Peter said, swiping at his eyes as he cuddled back into Tony's side. "I bet he'd like it. Okay, Daddy. Can we watch the movie now?"

Tony smiled as he planted a kiss on the top of Peter's head. "Absolutely."

"What's going on, Stark?" asked Nick Fury, his bald, pirate-like face filling the entirety of the large viewscreen in Tony's lab. Tony had sent Fury a message over a week ago asking to speak privately with him, but was told that he was out of the country and would respond after his return. It was a testament to how much Tony's patience level had improved that he didn't offer to go out searching for the man himself.

"I have some important questions I need to ask you," said Tony, quickly glancing at the clock. He had exactly one hour before Peter was done with his therapy session for the day. "Are you on a secure line?"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me you don't actually think that's a necessary question."

"Yeah, well, you never know," Tony muttered. "Look, I'll cut right to the chase. That box of stuff you gave me that belonged to my father—"

"That ended up saving your life," Fury interrupted. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said impatiently. "Look. One of my dad's journals mentioned the name Richard Parker. He was—"

"Your kid's birth father," said Fury. "Yeah, I'm familiar with Richard Parker. What about him?"

Tony pursed his lips. "Well, I did a little digging, and what I've been able to find hasn't been very… favorable. I just wanted to get your take on things."

Fury shrugged. "Parker was a scientist, a genetics expert. One of many we had listed as official SHIELD consultants—"

"Quit with the bullshit, Fury!" Tony snapped, clenching his fists. "You know damn well I'm a lot smarter than that! That Killian asshole knew things about Parker and about my own kid that I didn't know, and that is completely unacceptable to me! So if you know something about it, I think I've earned the right to know whatever that something is. If not for my own sake than for Peter's! Kid's been through enough, don't you think?"

Sighing, Fury shook his head, his one good eye glancing fervently around the room. "Secure office," he said, and Tony watched with increasing frustration as Fury's office windows darkened.

"I thought you said this line was secure!"

"And now it's even more secure," barked Fury. "Look, I was planning on telling you this stuff eventually. Or, at least most of it. I just wanted to give you and the kid some time first."

"Time?" demanded Tony. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm the one who told that Queens DSS woman to contact you when the kid's aunt and uncle were killed, Tony," said Fury. "We had to work quickly, because we didn't know who else would try and claim the boy if word got out. And you weren't our first choice either, by the way. Not by a long shot. But we took a chance. I took a chance. And, turns out I was right."

Tony inhaled a shaky breath, willing himself to try and stay calm. He hated when the old man talked in riddles, which seemed to be Nick Fury's main manner of speaking. "Nick, I swear. If you don't start explaining yourself right now, I'm gonna—"

"Richard Parker was killed by a renegade group of people," Nick stated. "A group of people who are still in operation today, under absolute secrecy and anonymity. And I've been trying for years to root them out, but every time I seem to get close, they up and disappear. They're like ghosts. They flit in, stir up some trouble. A rebellion here, a big internet hack there, stuff like that. And then as soon as we're able to close in, as soon as we so much as get a whiff of their scent, they flit away again, leaving behind no traces of any kind. Richard Parker was one such casualty, but he wasn't the first. And I highly doubt that he'll be the last."

"And you didn't feel it necessary to pass this information on to me?" Tony asked evenly, his jaw clenched in anger.

"No, I didn't," Nick said. "You were on a need-to-know basis, Tony. At that point, I didn't yet know if I could even trust you."

"You still should've told me! If not back then, then at least when I adopted him! Goddamnit, Nick, this is my son we're talking about! And there is no reasonable explanation that you can give me for some lunatic to know more about my own kid than I do!"

"A shadow organization bent on creating chaos is a very reasonable explanation, Stark!" barked Nick. "And it seems as though that included this Killian fellow."

"Killian said Peter's DNA was… different in some way!" Tony cried. "He even taunted me with it, Nick! Why would he say such a thing? Was Parker experimenting on him? On his own son?"

"Not as far as I know, Tony," Nick said, far too calmly. "We have no evidence that Parker involved either his wife or his child in his research."

"But you also don't know that he wasn't! Am I correct?"

Nick dropped his gaze, shaking his bald head. "Look, Tony. Richard Parker was targeted and eliminated by someone whom we have yet to catch. And since Peter was his son, I had every reason to suspect that whoever killed Richard Parker would try and go after Peter as well. That is why I had him placed in your care after the Expo tragedy. The fact that you then chose to adopt the boy was an unexpected but not unwelcome surprise."

"Kid has a tendency to grow on you," Tony mumbled. "I'd bet he could charm even you, Fury. But that still doesn't explain why you were so eager to protect a small kid. If you say his father wasn't experimenting on him, then why was he so worthy of your protection? And why would've Killian said what he said?"

"Tony, I honestly don't know," said Nick. "Some have suspected that yes, Parker was running unorthodox experiments that may have involved Peter. But like I said, if he was, we've found no evidence."

"But you were still suspicious enough to want to make sure that Peter survived," Tony snapped. "And survived for what, Nick? What if I hadn't adopted him, then what? We're you gonna take him from me when he turned eighteen and start experimenting on him yourself?"

"Absolutely not!" Nick roared. "And I resent your implications, Stark! I'm not one of the bad guys, dammit! I'm one of the good guys who're trying to find them!"

"Well pardon me if I don't completely buy your story!" Tony shot back. "You seem to have a history of only divulging what you think is necessary!"

"Did it ever occur to you that Killian may have just been playing with you, Tony?" asked Nick. "Bluffing?"

Tony took a step back, his chest heaving and his mind racing. To be honest, that thought hadn't occurred to him. Killian's threat had seemed so oddly specific that Tony had just accepted it at face value.

"No. It seemed too damned specific for someone who'd supposedly never set eyes on Peter before then."

"If Killian had as good of contacts as we think he had, it's not surprising that he would've been aware of both Richard Parker and Peter," Nick said. "And since part of his bargain with the VP was to cure the man's daughter, it's also not surprising that he'd want to have a test subject first."

"That 'test subject' you're referring to is my son, Fury," Tony said through clenched teeth. "Do not speak of him in such a callous way again, or I'll kick your one-eyed ass. Understood?"

Nick raised his hands, and Tony could actually see a hint of an apology in the man's eye. "Look, Tony. I've told you all that I know."

"All right," Tony said a few seconds later. "Just tell me one more thing. Is Peter in danger?"

"Not as far as I can tell, Tony," Nick replied. "I will of course let you know if that changes for some reason."

"You damn well better," Tony muttered. "JARVIS, end call."

Tony let out a heavy sigh as the screen clicked off, leaning back against the counter. Peter was supposed to start school again in only two weeks. Tony knew he could delay Peter's return even further if he felt the need, but just yesterday Peter had mentioned to him that he was looking forward to going back. And Tony really couldn't blame him. As much fun as it might be hanging out with Bruce in his lab or helping Steve learn how to use the internet, Peter was still just a kid, and he missed being around other kids.

A knock on the doorway startled Tony from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Pepper, holding a large folder in her hand. "Got a minute? I'm between conference calls, so…"

"For you, always," Tony replied, holding open his arms. Pepper had been telecommuting for the past week, choosing to stay in New York until Peter went back to school rather than return to California. She and Tony had been discussing moving the main Stark Industries Headquarters out to New York permanently, but hadn't yet made a final decision. Nor had they made a decision on whether or not to rebuild the Malibu house.

"Peter seems to be doing well with his therapy," Pepper said once Tony released her. "I'm thinking we should continue it once he starts school."

"Yeah, maybe," Tony mumbled. He still wasn't quite convinced. Peter always seemed to be sad and exhausted at the end of his therapy sessions, and Tony had yet to see what he considered concrete proof that they were doing Peter any permanent good. "I suppose we can ask him."

"Yes, I am not opposed to asking him his opinion on the matter. But there are some things that you're gonna just need to decide for him, Tony," Pepper said. "You're the adult, and his dad, and that gives you veto power over his wishes if necessary."

"I am aware of that, thank you," Tony retorted. "Is that the only reason you came in here? To gloat?"

Pepper looked hurt. "No! I actually came in here to talk about you. But if you're gonna be a jerk about it, then I can come back later—"

"I'm sorry, Pep," Tony said. He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her temple. "I just had an… unsettling conversation and I'm a bit—"

"Grumpy?"

"Yeah, I guess. What did you need to talk to me about?"

"Well," Pepper said slowly. "I've been doing some more research—"

"Pep, I'm not gonna have the kid try out another shrink. One is enough—"

"It's not for Peter, it's for you," Pepper interrupted. She pushed the folder into Tony's hand. "These are surgeons, Tony. Specifically, the credentials for the top three cardiothoracic surgeons in the world."

"Cardiothoracic?" Tony mumbled. His eyes widened as he realized what Pepper was insinuating, and his hand reflexively shot up to cover the arc reactor in his chest. "No! Absolutely not. You can't possibly—!"

"Yes, I can possibly," Pepper said firmly. "I have personally spoken with each one of these doctors, Tony, and they all feel that they could successfully remove—"

"They 'feel' like they can remove it?" Tony pressed his palm even harder against the reactor, feeling the low hum reverberate through his hand and up his arm. "No! No way, Pepper. I can't risk it!"

"Oh, but you can risk your life by flying up through a wormhole carrying a missile, or trying to take on a terrorist single-handedly?" Pepper cried. "C'mon, Tony! Do you even hear yourself?"

"That was different! I was trying—"

"You were trying to, what? Save the world? Save Peter? Save me?" Pepper asked.

"Well, yeah!" Tony exclaimed. "Why do you think—?"

"But Peter and I don't need this," Pepper said, her finger landing softly on the chest piece. "All we need is what's hiding behind it. Tony, I didn't fall in love with you because you're Iron Man, and Peter doesn't love you because you're Iron Man. You have to know that."

Tony's throat tightened and he turned away, focusing on the lab counter cluttered with several of Peter's school books. Hadn't someone else said something similar to him recently?

Maybe someone really was trying to tell him something.

"I don't know, Pep," he said softly. "The last time someone else went digging around in my chest, I felt nearly every damn bit of it." He squeezed his eyes closed at the horrible memories of nearly unimaginable pain and overwhelming fear that still haunted his dreams. "And I don't… I don't know if I'm strong enough—"

He was cut off by the appearance of Peter, standing in the doorway with tears streaming down his round cheeks. Tony was on his feet in an instant, the folder of surgeon credentials forgotten as he rushed towards him.

"Pete? What's wrong, buddy?" he asked as he wrapped his arms around Peter, pulling him against his chest. "Did Dr. Cyler say something to make you cry?" Because if she did, then—

"No. Well, not really," Peter sputtered. "It wasn't her fault, Daddy. I just… I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

Peter lifted his head, sniffing as he swiped at his eyes. "Do you think w—, we could we v—, visit Uncle Ben and Auntie May's g—, graves sometime? I j—, just need to tell them s—, something, and I think it'd be easier if—"

"Good grief, Peter, don't scare me like that. Yeah, buddy, we can go tomorrow," Tony murmured as he kissed Peter's head. He looked over at Pepper, who nodded. "Pepper and I will both take you. Okay?"

"Y—, yeah, okay," Peter said, nodding as he took a deep breath. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Pete," Tony said, ruffling his hair. He felt a sharp twinge of guilt, thinking he should've offered to bring the boy there a long time ago. "We'll go after breakfast in the morning, yeah?"

"Uh huh," Peter sniffed again, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "I should probably do my schoolwork now."

"Yeah, yeah, come on over," said Tony, jerking his head towards Peter's books littering the counter. Pepper pursed her lips as she checked her watch.

"We're not done talking about this, Tony," she whispered. Her eyes flicked towards the folder Tony had discarded onto the counter. "I meant what I said."

January in New York City was usually overcast and cold, and this day was no exception. A chilly breeze rustled through the branches of the tall trees surrounding the cemetery, combining eerily with the sound of dead leaves crunching beneath their footsteps as they walked from the car towards the stones marking the graves of Ben and May Parker. Peter, clinging tightly to Tony's arm with one hand, carried a large bouquet of orange and yellow tulips in his other hand, which he said were Aunt May's favorite flowers.

"It's okay, buddy," Tony whispered as Peter's steps noticeably slowed as they approached the large marble grave markers, shining brightly even in the spotty sunlight. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"No, it's okay," Peter replied in a shaky voice. "I just… I should've gotten something for Uncle Ben too."

"Well, we can come back again, Pete," Tony said quietly. "This doesn't have to be a one-time thing."

Peter nodded, his lower lip quivering. "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

They stood quietly for a few moments until Peter stepped forward, gingerly placing the flowers down at the base of May's gravestone. Then he stepped back again, grabbing Tony's hand as he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come and visit," Peter began, his voice so thick and self-deprecating that Tony winced. I should've asked him if he wanted to come here a long time ago.

"I don't know why it did," Peter continued. "I guess maybe I was afraid you guys would still be mad at me for sneaking away. But I should've known better, 'cause Auntie May always said you could never stay mad at me for very long."

Kid seems to have that effect on everyone, Tony thought. "It's okay, Pete," he said softly as Pepper wrapped her hands around Tony's arm. "You're doing just fine."

"I'm so sorry that I snuck away from you at the Expo. I just—, I just wanted to get a better look at everything, and then after the glass roof shattered and the guns started firing, I could hear Auntie May yelling for me but I couldn't find either of you, and I—, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Peter sniffed loudly, prompting Pepper to slip a tissue into his hand.

"But I also wanted to tell you that you don't have to be worried about me. You probably know all this already, but after all of it stopped and the police found me in my hiding place, Mr. Stark came in a big, fancy car to pick me up. He took me to his house, and my whole room was Star Wars! We even got to go to Disneyland! And then, after we came back here for school, he decided he wanted to be my new dad! And so… you don't have to worry about me anymore, Auntie May, because even though you always said that you didn't much like Tony Stark, he takes good care of me. He loves me, he even says so! So… I'm okay, and I'm happy. And I hope—, I hope you are too."

As soon as he finished speaking, Peter ducked under Tony's arm, burying his face into Tony's side. Tony hugged him close, patting his shoulder.

"I'm getting cold, Daddy," Peter said a moment later. "We can go now."

"Yeah, okay, buddy," Tony whispered. He kept a tight hold on Peter as they returned to the car, his head swirling with conflicting emotions. Of all the mad turn of events that had to occur for Peter to wind up in Tony's life, it still somehow felt wrong in that moment for Tony to be thankful that he had.

But what Peter had told his Aunt May about Tony was absolutely correct. Tony absolutely loved Peter, more than his own life. And for that, no matter what had happened or what could happen, he would never, ever be sorry.

Later that night, as Tony was cuddling Peter to sleep, he thought about what he and Pepper had been discussing the previous day. He knew the main reason why he hadn't pursed the idea of having the shrapnel removed from his heart was because he was afraid. Afraid of the loss of control of going under. Afraid the surgeons would screw up somehow and he'd just be back where he started. And also, afraid that he wouldn't wake up again.

"Hey, Pete?" Tony murmured. Peter was relaxed, but Tony could tell he hadn't fallen asleep quite yet.

"Hmm?"

"I got a question for you."

"Mmmhmm?"

Tony pursed his lips, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. "Um… how comfortable is it, lying over my chest piece like you are?"

Peter breathed in, tilting his head up. "It's not really all that comfy," he said. "But I like the sound that it makes. It means you're alive, and here with me."

"Okay," Tony said. He ran his fingers through Peter's hair, kissing the top of his head. "So… what would you think if I said I was considering having it taken out?"

The boy's curly head snapped up, his brown eyes wide in the dim light of his bedroom. "But won't you die if it's taken out?"

"Not if they take the shrapnel out at the same time," said Tony. "Pepper's found a surgeon who thinks he can get it out, so—"

"So, then you wouldn't need this anymore?" Peter asked, tapping the blue circle of light.

"Yeah. That's the theory."

Laying his head back down, Peter tightened his arms around Tony's chest. "I think it'd be okay," he said after a few moments of silence.

"You do?" Tony asked. "Even if it meant the hum would be gone?"

"Uh huh," murmured Peter. "'Cause then I'd be able to hear your real heartbeat. Right now, it's like it's hiding. The hum covers it up."

Peter's simple words hit Tony like a repulsor blast to the chest. He was absolutely right. Tony had been hiding behind his armor ever since he created the Mark I back in the Afghani cave. But, like he'd told the audience at that press conference all those months ago, and then repeated again to that kid down in Tennessee. The suits weren't Iron Man.

He was.

"So, you think I should do it then, bud?" he asked.

"If Pepper says it's okay, then it must be okay," Peter answered.

Well, he's not wrong.

Tony let out a sigh, squeezing Peter so hard that he grunted. "Will you be there with me, Pete? To help me to not be scared?"

"Of course, Daddy," Peter answered, like Tony had just asked the dumbest question he'd ever heard.

"Well, then, I think it's settled," Tony whispered. "Thanks, buddy,"

"You're welcome," Peter mumbled. "G'night, Daddy. I love you."

"I love you too, Peter. Goodnight."

Chapter Text

"Sir, Captain Rogers is on the line," JARVIS said over the pulsating blare of Tony's music, causing Tony to drop his soldering iron onto the counter with a loud clatter.

"What's he want, JARVIS?" Tony grumbled as he replaced the iron back onto its stand. "I'm a bit busy at the moment. Pete's been waiting for these boots for a long time, and—"

"He says his inquiry is in regards to Master Peter," answered JARVIS. "Something about a baseball game."

"Baseball game?" Tony muttered. "Okay, fine, put him through."

"The Captain is asking if he could speak with you in person, sir," JARVIS said a moment later.

Tony let out a heavy sigh as he glanced over at the clock. He had promised Peter he would take him to Delmar's after school today, and he had only about thirty minutes before he needed to leave.

"Yeah, okay," answered Tony. "But tell him it's gonna have to be quick, it's almost time for me to go."

"Very good, sir."

Admitting he was not going to get anymore work done for the time being, Tony unplugged the soldering iron and turned off his work lights. He'd managed to get one of the boots completely finished at least. Maybe he and Peter could finish the other one after he was done with his homework for the night.

He'd just stepped into the living room when the elevator doors opened. "Hey, Tony," Steve said as he tentatively stepped into the apartment. "Thanks for letting me come up."

"Yeah, sure," Tony said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "JARVIS said you needed to ask me something about Peter?"

Steve smiled, reaching into his back pocket and producing what appeared to be a pair of event tickets. "Director Fury got me two tickets to the baseball home opener of the Mets. He said if I was a Brooklyn Dodgers fan as a kid that I was supposed to like the Mets now, so… Anyways, the game is in a few days, and I was wondering if I could take Peter with me. He told me he's never been to a baseball game before, so I thought he'd enjoy it. According to the weather, it's supposed to be a nice day."

"Aahh…" Tony mumbled, his heart thudding madly against his chest piece. "It'd just be the two of you? Would you have any extra security?"

Steve knitted his eyebrows together. "Um… I mean, it's a baseball stadium, so I'm pretty sure they have some security there, and—"

"Yes, I know they have security people there for the players, Rogers," Tony interrupted. "What I meant was, would you have any other security with you?"

"Well, no," Steve said slowly. "Why would I? It's just a baseball game."

It's just a baseball game. But nothing's just nothing anymore. Is it?

"Because it's Peter," Tony said evenly. "And if I'm gonna let him go anywhere with you, especially somewhere where he's going to be surrounded by literally thousands of potentially drunken or otherwise out-of-control strangers, I need to know that he's gonna be safe."

"Tony," Steve said, his blue eyes full of hurt. "You know I can keep Peter safe."

"Can you?" Tony snapped, and Steve's head jerked back as if he'd been slapped. Tony breathed in, pressing his fist to his chest as he asked again in quieter voice, "Can you?"

"Yes, Tony," Steve replied angrily. "I can. And I thought we were past this. It's been over three months now. I'm not sure how many more times I need to apologize before you'll believe me—"

"Yeah, well, so did I," mumbled Tony. "Look, I'm sorry, okay. What I said was out of line. I just…"

"Just… what, Tony?" asked Steve.

But Tony only shook his head, unable to put his conflicting thoughts into words at the moment. How could he tell Steve that the conversation he'd had with Nick Fury back in January had been a lot more unsettling than he'd wanted to admit? How could he tell Steve that there were still security guards stationed outside both entrances to Peter's school because Tony was too paranoid to not have them there? And that he was delaying his heart surgery until school let out for the summer because the last time he'd left Peter in someone else's hands, Peter had been kidnapped?

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, I can ask Director Fury if he can have a couple of SHIELD agents stationed nearby," Steve said. "Would that help?"

"I'd feel better if they were my own guys," Tony replied. "Rogers, you gotta understand. It's nothing personal." Well, maybe it is just a bit personal. "If it'd been Bruce who'd been here that night instead of you, I'd still feel the same way. I just gotta make sure that Pete's safe, and—"

"I'm sure that would be fine, Tony," interrupted Steve. "But here's something that you might want to consider. The more paranoid you are about Peter's safety, the more you're gonna make him worry about you. And forgive me for saying so, but Peter already worries about you enough. He's just a kid, Tony. And even if he is your son, he still deserves to just be a kid sometimes."

"Pardon me for interrupting, sir," said JARVIS. "But it is time to pick Master Peter up from school."

"Tell him we're on our way, JARVIS," Tony said, pawing through the mess on the counter for his glasses and car keys.

"Will do, sir," answered JARVIS.

"Is that your way of asking me to come with you?" Steve asked, frowning as Tony walked quickly past him towards the elevator.

"Yep," Tony answered as the elevator doors opened. "Why, you got something better to do?"

"Well… no, but—"

"You wanted to watch Peter be just a kid, right?"

"Tony—"

"Just get in the elevator, old man. Pete's waiting."

"Really?" Peter exclaimed around a big mouthful of his flattened ham sandwich, causing Tony to chuckle. The three of them were crowded around one of the two tiny tables tucked away in the front corner of Delmar's Deli. "That sounds like so much fun! I've never been to a baseball game before. Uncle Ben was a hockey fan, and we used to watch the Islanders on television, but we never got to go to one of their games since the tickets were so expensive."

"Well, these were a gift from Director Fury," Steve said with a big smile. "We'll be right along the first base line, which is a great place to watch a game in the late afternoon."

"Oh, I can't wait to tell Ned about this!" Peter said, practically bouncing with excitement as he took a big sip of his fruit punch. "He'll be so jealous!" He leaned in towards Steve, lowering his voice. "Ned's dad is a Yankees fan, but Ned told me he's always liked the Mets better."

Steve let out a laugh. "I promise I won't tell anyone," he said as he stuffed the last of his second foot-long sandwich into his mouth. "My friend Bucky and I had another army friend who was from the Bronx, and he was a Yankees fan. But we didn't hold it against him. Or, not too much, at least."

"Hey now! No one brings up the stinkin' Yankees in my place!" came Mr. Delmar's voice from somewhere near the back of the store. "That's akin to blasphemy, I tell you!"

"Sorry, Mr. Delmar!" Peter called back, winking at Steve. "We won't let it happen again!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll let it slide this time, young man." Mr. Delmar said, tossing a bag of gummy worms towards the table, which Steve easily caught. "Just make sure there's not a next time, yeah?"

Taking another bite of his sandwich, Peter glanced up at Tony. "Have you ever been to a game, Dad?" he asked. "Maybe Mr. Fury can get another ticket so you can come too!"

Tony raised an eyebrow, trying and failing to imagine Howard Stark actually enjoying himself at a public sporting event, even less so with a small Tony in tow. Tony honestly couldn't recall a single time that Howard ever took him anywhere just for fun, unless you count dropping him off at boarding school. Anything considered even remotely fun was Jarvis's job. Or, at least it was before Rhodey took over.

"Nah, it's okay," he said, ruffling Peter's hair. "My dad was always too… busy for things like sports teams. Besides. I've got a lot of work I need to get done before I'm laid up for most of the summer."

"Mmm," Peter grumbled, looking unconvinced but thankfully dropping the subject. "Okay. I'm full. Can we go feed the pigeons now?"

"Pigeons?" asked Steve as he got to his feet, a puzzled look on his face.

"Yeah, Rogers," Tony said, clapping his hand on Peter's shoulder. "You know, pigeons. New York has a few of them."

"Okay," Steve said slowly. "Um…"

"Am I missing something?" Peter asked as they left the store and headed down the street, towards the small park where they always sat while Peter fed the pigeons.

"Nope, don't think so," said Tony. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't know," muttered Peter. He stuck out his bottom lip. "Just that you guys are talking in some weird, grown-up code or something. I don't like it."

"It's nothing, Peter. Just your dad trying to prove a point," Steve said as they arrived at the park, which really wasn't much more than a pair of swings and couple of benches. Tony watched with pride as Peter tore off a piece of bread and tossed it towards the pigeons bouncing along the sidewalk, smiling as they all immediately flocked towards him.

"And I think I got it," Steve added pointedly, laughing as one particularly fat bird grabbed the rest of the bread right out of Peter's hand and bounced away.

"Are you sure, Rogers?" Tony asked. "Because I can always send a few Lego sets down to your place for the kid to put together, and then have you find all the random extra pieces with your feet. Did you know that Legos grow fangs in the middle of the night?"

"They don't hurt that much," Peter protested. "And I don't leave them all over the floor. Not all of the time. I've told you, it's like they just escape on their own!"

"They don't hurt when you step on them because your feet are made out of rubber bands, kid," Tony said, clapping Peter's shoulder. "They just bounce right back."

"Hmph. Very funny, Daddy."

"You just wait," Tony said as they started walking back towards the car. "Once you're a bit older, you'll see. Not that I want you getting any older, mind you."

"I'm not sure you can help it, Tony," said Steve with a grin.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, old man," Tony retorted. "In fact, I've decided that this child can remain just like this for at least the next ten years. Then we can just skip the whole high-school, angsty-teen phase and go directly to the time when kids start liking their parents again."

"But, I'm not ever gonna not like you, Dad," Peter said as they arrived at the car. He looked up at Tony, his brown eyes wide behind his glasses. "I promise!"

Tony's heart lurched as he shook his head. Is it possible to love this kid any more than I already do? Ignoring Steve for a moment, Tony pulled Peter into a hug, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, Pete, but whatever it was, I'm really glad that I did."

"I'll be waiting right here as soon as the game is over," Happy said as he pulled the car up to the curb about a block away from Citi Field. "If for some reason you need to leave earlier than that, you call me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Happy," Peter replied, trying hard to not sound snarky. "We'll see you later."

Peter had asked if he and Steve could ride the subway to the game, thinking it sounded fun since Steve hadn't ever ridden on the trains before. But Dad had vehemently said no, insisting that Happy drive them to the stadium instead. And it's not that Peter disliked Happy. He'd actually gotten a lot closer to Happy ever since the whole thing with the Mandarin, and to Pepper too, since she was staying in New York more often now. But sometimes his father's overprotectiveness was a bit much.

Not that Peter could blame him all that much. Peter did have a tendency to get himself into situations where Dad—or Steve—had to come to his rescue, and Peter knew that Dad cared about his safety first and foremost.

But still. It would've been fun to ride the train to the game.

"Bucky and I used to try and get to a couple of Dodgers games each year," Steve holding out the tickets as they entered the stadium. "When we couldn't afford the tickets, we'd listen on the radio or watch through the knotholes in the stadium walls." He shook his head, gripping Peter's shoulder as they wove through the crowd to their section. "Bucky loved baseball."

"They let you watch the game through the walls?" asked Peter. "That kinda sounds like fun!"

"Well, we weren't really supposed to be watching through the walls," Steve admitted with a wry grin as they took their seats. "It was Bucky's idea. He was always a bit of a troublemaker."

"He sounds like a fun guy," said Peter.

Steve nodded as he let out a heavy sigh. "He was. The best friend I could've asked for. Got me into all kinds of trouble, but then was always there to get me out again."

"That sounds a lot like my dad and Colonel Rhodes," Peter said. "From some of the stories my dad's told me, they're both lucky to still be alive."

"I am not surprised about that in the least," Steve said, laughing. "I can only imagine the amount of trouble those two could get into if left to their own devices."

Their conversation paused for a moment as the announcer came over the loudspeaker, asking for people to stand for the playing of the national anthem. Steve immediately shot up from his chair and removed his hat, standing ramrod straight as he saluted the flag.

Wow, Peter thought. He really is Captain America.

The actual game was enjoyable enough. Steve bought Peter a Mets baseball cap, which helped shield his eyes from the bright sun as the afternoon wore on, and bought them both a bunch of food: hotdogs, popcorn, snow cones, and root beer, which were all really yummy, even if Steve said the hot dogs in the old Dodgers stadium were better.

Peter was also glad that none of the people around them were too rowdy, especially since the Mets weren't actually playing all that great. But he didn't much like the sudden deafening cheers from the crowd that made him jump, one time nearly into Steve's lap, and as the afternoon wore on, he felt himself wishing more and more that his dad was with them. Steve was fun, and Peter enjoyed spending time with him. But he still wasn't his dad.

"You know," he said to Steve as the bottom of the ninth inning began. "Maybe you just need to find a new friend to do stuff with. Someone like your friend, Bucky. I mean, New York's a big place. There has to be someone here who'd wanna be friends with Captain America besides Bruce and my dad."

"Yeah, I wish it was that simple, Peter," Steve replied, his lips curling into one of those sad-looking half-smiles that he often did.

"Well, what about Mr. Morita?" asked Peter. "Didn't you say you knew his grandpa or something? Maybe he could be your friend."

"Mr. Morita is a very nice man, Peter," said Steve. "He's actually asked me to film some promotional videos for the high school students at your school, which I'll be starting on in the fall. But… the problem is that Bucky's death was my fault, and I didn't do all that well with living without him. And when I crashed that plane into the ice, I was ready to die. I thought I would die. And then… when I didn't… well, I'm still not sure how to really live quite yet. Does that make any sense?"

"You mean 'cause you don't understand how to work a computer, and stuff like that?" Peter asked, scrunching his nose. "I thought you were getting a lot better the last time I helped you."

"No, it's not quite that," Steve said with a chuckle, grabbing Peter's shoulder as the batter hit a base hit and the crowd erupted yet again. "I mean, I feel like I'm just kind of drifting along right now, not really sure of what I'm supposed to be doing. Director Fury's told me that he's gonna have some missions for me with one of the SHIELD tactical teams in the next few months, so I'll be making some trips to D.C. every now and then, but—"

"Well, isn't that what you're really good at?" asked Peter. "Maybe it'll be fun!"

"Yeah, I guess," Steve said, squeezing Peter's shoulder again as there was another base hit and roar from the crowd. "I just don't know if it's what I want to be really good at anymore."

"What do you wanna be good at? I mean, you're pretty good at drawing, maybe you could just do that? There's people out there who pay a lot of money for good artworks."

"Nah, I don't think I could make a living as an artist, Peter," Steve replied. "Besides, I'm technically on SHIELD's payroll, so if Fury sends me somewhere, that's where I have to go."

"Hmm," said Peter. "Well, maybe you'll meet a new friend on one of your missions. D.C.'s a pretty big place too. I've been there a couple of times with my dad when he's had to talk to the Senators about the Damage Control stuff."

"Maybe I will," Steve said, winking, but Peter could tell he was just saying it to placate him. "And, I think that's it," he added as the final batter swung and missed to a bitter chorus of boos from the fans, leaving two runners stranded on second and third. "We should call Happy now."

"Yeah, okay," Peter said as he pulled his phone from his pocket, pressing the button for Happy's number who, not surprisingly, was already waiting in their arranged pickup spot.

"I hope you had a good time, Peter," Steve said once they'd arrived back at the Tower. "Even if the crowd got a little loud at times."

"Yeah, it was fun," Peter replied, bouncing on his feet as the elevator opened on Steve's residential floor. He was eager to see his dad. "Thank you for bringing me."

"You're welcome, kid. I'll see ya later."

Dad was sitting in the living room when the doors opened to their apartment, a pile of what looked like blueprints for a new Iron Man suit strewn across the couch that were quickly forgotten as soon as Peter stepped into the room.

"Pete?" Dad said as he rushed over to him. "You okay? You look like you swallowed something sour."

Peter wrapped his arms around his father's waist, sighing in contentment when Dad hugged him back. He wasn't quite tall enough to reach the arc reactor like this, but he could still hear its comforting hum. "No, I'm okay," he said. "But I don't think Steve is."

"Oh?" Dad asked, running his hand through Peter's hair. Peter loved it when he did that. "What's wrong with the old man? Is he bummed just 'cause his team lost the game?"

"No, he misses his old army friend that died," Peter said sadly. "And I told him I thought he needed to try and make a new friend, but he just shrugged and said he wasn't sure that he knew how."

"Well, not everyone is as good at making friends as you are," Dad said. Pulling back, he kissed the top of Peter's head. "But right now you need a bath, bud. You smell like a bad combination of peanut shells and old sunblock."

Peter giggled. "Yeah, okay. Help me wash my hair?"

"You bet. Just holler when you're ready."

"Daddy?" asked Peter later that night, after he'd regaled Tony with nearly every single detail of the baseball game—including the massive amounts of food he and Steve had eaten—while they completed work on Peter's new Iron Man boots. Peter had begged and begged and begged for Tony to install the repulsors to make them flyable this time, to the point where Tony had honestly given it some serious thought… for about ten seconds. As hard as it was to resist his little boy's pouty face, Tony was nowhere near ready for Peter to go flying around the Tower quite yet.

"Yeah?"

"Those pictures you were looking at when I came home, they were pictures of a new Iron Man suit. Weren't they?"

Tony tightened his arms around Peter, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of his freshly washed hair. He was already starting to dread the day when Peter would decide he was too old to cuddle to sleep like this anymore.

"Yeah, that's right," Tony answered. "Bruce drew the pictures. He's helping me with it."

"Bruce?" Peter said as he lifted his head, his adorable nose scrunched in confusion. "Why is Bruce designing an Iron Man suit?"

"Well…" Tony said, pursing his lips. Surely Bruce wouldn't mind him telling Peter. "It's a special suit that we're designing together. Once it's done we're gonna launch it into a low orbit so it could be available anywhere if I'd need it."

"Oh. But what's so special about it? You've never had Bruce help you before."

"'Cause it's designed to subdue the Hulk, Peter," Tony said grimly. "Bruce wanted it, just in case something happened and he got… out of control."

Peter's brown eyes widened as his lower lip started to shake. "You mean, you'd have to fight the Hulk? But I didn't think anyone could fight the Hulk besides another Hulk!"

"And that's exactly why we're gonna build it," Tony assured him. "So we don't need to find another Hulk."

"But, but, you could get hurt, Daddy!" Peter cried. "The Hulk is so strong, he could kill you!"

"Shh," Tony whispered, pulling Peter's head back down onto his chest. "This is a last resort-type thing. You know, something you have just in case but hope you'll never need to use. Like a fire extinguisher."

"But, Dad, you use your fire extinguisher all the time—"

"Ah, ah, we don't need to bring that up," protested Tony. "And my… accident rate has gone down significantly since you came along, so—"

"It has?" Peter asked. "Yikes, Daddy!"

"Well, I have more reason to be extra careful now, don't I?"

"Yeah, I guess. But still. I hope you don't ever actually have to fight the Hulk. I mean, wouldn't that mean he wasn't nice anymore?"

"Like I said, Pete, it's just meant to be a precaution. And it was Bruce's idea. He wanted to make sure he could be subdued if he ever got out of control."

"Mmm. If you say so."

"I do say so, so there's no need to worry about it." Tony tightened his fingers into Peter's curls, rubbing his scalp the way he knew Peter liked. "Now, go to sleep, young man."

"Uh huh. G'night, Daddy. Love you."

"Love you too, bud."

Peter was asleep about ten minutes later. Tony waited about twenty more minutes before carefully rolling him over onto his bed, kissing his forehead as he adjusted the blankets and tucked George under his arm. Returning to his lab, he finished inputting the rest of the Hulkbuster design into the computer, putting JARVIS to work developing a three-dimensional model so he and Bruce could get started with the actual building as soon as possible. There was only a little over a month to go before his surgery, and Tony wanted to get as much done as he could beforehand.

Once JARVIS was busy computing and building, Tony turned next to studying the Extremis. Ever since he'd figured out a way to neutralize and remove it from Pepper's body, Tony had been fascinated with it, thinking there had to be a way adapt it so it could be useful without the potential danger of exploding.

If only I could use this to create a suit, he thought. Wouldn't that be nice during a fight? He'd have to build some sort of transport device for the nanoparticles, and have it on him at all times, which could prove cumbersome depending on its size. But being able to summon his armor immediately instead of having to wait for it to come crashing through a building or fly across half the country would be very handy.

And maybe, if it worked, he could even build something for Peter as well. The boy's love of his "toy" Iron Man boots notwithstanding, Tony would feel a lot better if he had a better way of protecting Peter when he wasn't around, even if that involved encasing him in his own suit of armor if the need arose.

"Miss Potts is on the line, sir," JARVIS said, startling Tony from his thoughts.

"Yeah, JARVIS, put her through," answered Tony. He smiled as Pepper's beautiful face filled his viewscreen. "Hey, honey. How was your day?"

"Not too bad," Pepper replied, brushing some hair out of her eyes. "Busy though. Moving a huge company like this across the country definitely isn't for the weak."

"Which is why you're the perfect woman for the job," Tony said. "Pete's sure looking forward to having you around more often though. How much longer do you think?"

Pepper sighed, ruffling through some papers strewn across her desk. "I'd say at least two more weeks. I'm meeting with a few people tomorrow who're still on the fence about transferring out to New York, and then we still have to decide on severance packages and housing, and—"

"Don't forget to tell the waverers that D.C. is an option too," Tony said. "The building there should be done by the middle of next year from what the contractors tell me."

"Yes, thank you, I will tell them," said Pepper. Shoving the papers aside, she leaned closer to the screen. "Have you scheduled your pre-op physical yet?"

Tony frowned. "Um…"

"That's what I thought," Pepper said with a rather smug look in her eyes. "It's Monday at 11am, and I've already given Happy the address."

"Aw, honey. What would I do without you?"

"Let's hope you never have to find out," Pepper retorted.

"Five more minutes till showtime, Mr. Stark," said the pre-op nurse, patting Peter on the shoulder as she tucked warm blankets around his father's legs. Peter tried to smile at the kind lady, who'd already allowed him to stay in the pre-op room a lot longer than he was supposed to, but it likely came out as more of a grimace. He was so nervous that his stomach was hurting, but he was trying hard to hide it since Dad looked so nervous himself. Even so, he knew deep down that Dad could tell anyway. Dad always said he was a terrible liar.

"Don't those hurt?" Peter asked, gingerly pointing to the freakishly long needles sticking out of various points on his father's chest, shoulders, and forehead. "They're so big!"

"Nah," Dad replied in a raspy voice as he squeezed Peter's hand. Peter squeezed back, trying to ignore the fact that Dad's hand was shaking. "Dr. Wu says they help him use less anesthesia drugs during the surgery. And less drugs means a quicker recovery time, so…"

"Well, then I guess that's a good thing," Peter said. "Even if they are scary-looking."

"Well, I'm pretty scary-looking anyway," Dad said. "Aren't I?"

"Only when you're mad at me," Peter replied, again trying to smile. "You always make this face, like you've tasted something really yucky, and—"

"Do not talk about food right now, young man," Dad protested. "I haven't had any coffee or eaten anything in over twelve hours."

"Whoops! I forgot, Dad, I'm sorry!"

"Nah, don't worry about it, Pete. I'm not even remotely hungry right now anyway."

Peter's lower lip twitched, and he pulled up his father's hand, kissing his knuckles. Dr. Wu had taken the time to meet with Peter earlier while the nurses had been helping Dad get ready, trying to reassure Peter by telling him he'd performed hundreds of heart operations on people far less healthy than Tony Stark, and they'd all survived. But even Dr. Wu had admitted that he'd never performed a surgery such as this, where it would be a race against time as soon as the arc reactor was removed from Dad's chest. Because even though he was going to be on the bypass machine, the piece of shrapnel could still cause a lot of physical damage to Dad's heart if Dr. Wu couldn't get it out fast enough.

"Hey, Pete. You wanna know something kinda funny?" Dad asked.

"Sure?"

"Remember when I told you that I met Maya Hansen and Aldrich Killian on the same night?"

"Um, yeah?" Peter answered, wondering why in the world Dad would bring those horrible people up now, of all times. "In Switzerland, right? But, Dad, they were both bad guys. Why would you think that's funny?"

"Because that's also the night I met Mr. Yinsen, who helped me escape from the cave in Afghanistan," Dad continued. "And Mr. Yinsen was the person who actually first introduced me to Dr. Wu."

Peter's eyes widened behind his glasses. "Really? You met all those people on the same night? I guess that is a little bit funny."

"Yep. And I'm pretty damn lucky that Dr. Wu agreed to do this for me."

"Why?" asked Peter. "I thought Pepper asked him. And we're paying him, aren't we?"

"She did," Dad said with a soft smile. "And yes, we are paying him, because good surgeons get paid well to be good surgeons. But he didn't have to say yes. I wasn't exactly… on my best behavior that night in Switzerland. But now, after this is all over and done with, I'll actually be able to say that the good things to come from that night finally outweigh the bad."

"It's time, Mr. Stark," came the nurse's voice from the doorway.

"Yeah, let's get this show on the road," Dad replied. He winked up at Peter, squeezing his hand. "Go find Pepper and Rhodey now, Pete. Tell them I'm fine and I'll see 'em soon."

"O—, okay," Peter stammered across the large lump in his throat. "I'll see you soon too, Daddy."

"Come with me, sweetheart," said the nurse, holding out her hand. "I'll take you to the waiting room."

"Yeah, okay," replied Peter, blinking back tears as the nurse led him down a short hallway to the private waiting room. They were in one of the large hospitals in Manhattan that had private surgery rooms with the waiting rooms off to the side, so the people waiting could watch the surgery if they wanted. Peter hadn't yet decided if he could stomach watching his father's chest being cut open, but he had to admit that this hospital was a lot nicer than the one in Queens where Auntie May used to work.

Stepping into the waiting room, Peter headed straight for the window, watching as Dad was wheeled in. Pepper and Colonel Rhodes came up on either side of him, with Pepper wrapping her arm around Peter's shoulders as Dad flashed them all the thumbs up sign.

"He says he's gonna be fine," Peter said as a single tear rolled down his cheek. He impatiently brushed it away, not wanting Pepper or Colonel Rhodes to see him crying.

"Yeah, he is," Pepper said, hugging him close. "He's got a lot to live for, Peter."

Peter brought his shaking hand up to the window, giving Dad his own thumbs up sign just as Dad's eyes fluttered closed. "Yeah," he whispered. "He does."

Holy shit, this hurts! Tony thought as his mind swam back towards consciousness, his muscles going rigid against the searing hot pain shooting through his chest and down his arms and abdomen. I thought the goddamn four-inch needles were supposed to help with the pain!

"Don't try to move yet, Mr. Stark," said the commanding voice of a nurse. "We're still getting you set up in your room."

"No worries 'bout that," Tony croaked through his sore, dry throat.

"Don't try to talk yet either, Mr. Stark," the nurse said. "We'll get you something to drink in a few minutes, and then your son can come in once we've got you completely set up. He's been asking to see you."

Blinking open his eyes, Tony could just make out the top of Peter's curly head through the window on the door across the room. Tony could tell he was bouncing on his feet, like he always did when he was impatient. "Can't he come in now?" Tony whispered, frowning at the horrible taste in his mouth. What the hell had they shoved down his throat?

The nurse sniffed, pursing her lips as she tucked a big red pillow in the shape of a heart over Tony's chest and down his left side, covering most of his incision. "Can he be careful?" she asked.

"He'll do whatever you tell him," Tony muttered through gritted teeth. "He's a good kid."

"Well, all right then. But if he gets too rowdy, we'll have to ask him to leave."

"He's not really the rowdy type," said Tony, watching as the nurse walked over to the door and whispered something to Peter before allowing him in.

"Hey, Daddy," Peter whispered, his scared brown eyes sweeping across the mass of bandages covering Tony's chest. "How do you feel?"

"Like the Hulk decided to curl up and take a nap on my chest," Tony answered, relieved when the corners of Peter's lips twitched into a small smile. "How're Pepper and Rhodey doing?"

"They went downstairs to get something to eat," Peter said. "They asked me to go with them, but I'm not that hungry."

"Mmm. Well, don't go too much longer without eating something," Tony said. "You tend to get grumpy if you go without food for too long."

Peter bit his bottom lip, looking up as the nurse re-entered the room. "Can I lay down next to my dad?" he asked in his squeaky, little boy voice. "I promise I'll be careful, I'm just really tired. I was too scared to sleep well last night."

"I'm sorry, honey," the nurse said with a shake of her head. "But your dad needs to rest too, and we can't have you—"

"I'll be able to rest better if he's with me," Tony interrupted, as firmly as he was able. "Pete will be careful, won't you, Pete?"

"Yeah!" Peter exclaimed. "I promise I'll be careful! Please?"

"Well, if you're sure," the nurse said slowly, and Tony let out a sigh of relief. I swear, there's not a single person out there who can resist this kid of mine.

"Oh, thank you!" cried Peter. With the nurse's help, Peter crawled up onto the wide hospital bed, burrowing down on Tony's right side with his head resting on Tony's shoulder. Tony turned his head, breathing in the comforting scent of Peter's hair, and felt his tightly clenched muscles start to gradually relax. This was much better than any painkiller.

"That better, buddy?" he whispered.

"Uh huh," Peter whispered back, his little body already going slack. "Loads."

They were quiet for a few minutes, the beeping of Tony's heart monitor the only sound until Peter piped up again. "Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"I can hear your heartbeat. Your real one."

"Oh? And what do you think?"

"I like it. It sounds strong."

"Well, that's a good thing," Tony said. He brought up his right hand, weaving his fingers into Peter's hair. "Dads are supposed to be strong, right?"

"Yeah. And you're the strongest."

Tony smiled and closed his own eyes. "Yeah, I am."

Tony smiled as he watched Peter tip his head back against the headrest of the rented convertible, letting the warm, salty air blow through his curly hair as he drove them out towards the site of the destroyed Malibu house. Work crews had finally cleared away most of the wreckage, loading everything they'd deemed salvageable into crates that Pepper then had shipped out to New York. Some of Peter's books and Lego sets had made the trip, as well as the Star Wars lamp from his bedroom. But there were two things that Tony wanted to see if he could still find, now that he was finally recovered from his heart surgery.

"Enjoying yourself over there, buddy?" Tony asked. "I told you convertibles were nice."

"Uh huh," answered Peter as he opened his eyes. "But I don't think riding in a convertible in New York would be as much fun as it is here. The traffic's too bad there for it to be fun like this."

"Mmm, maybe not in the city," Tony said. "But upstate is different. You get thirty minutes north of the city, and it's like a completely different place."

"Can you take me sometime?" Peter asked eagerly. "I've never been upstate before!"

"Sure, buddy," answered Tony, swallowing hard as he pulled the car into what used to be the large, circular driveway. He'd tried to tell himself that he wasn't going to get emotional about this. It was just a house, after all, and not even technically his since his father had built it. There were plenty of memories Tony had of this house that he would prefer to just leave buried.

But even so, it had been the first home he'd shared with Peter, and the first home he'd shared with Pepper. And even with all the lousy memories he had of Howard Stark raging at him for one damn thing or another, his ever-present bottle of whisky clutched in his hand, it was also the home where his mother had taught him to play the piano, and where he'd played dress up in Jarvis's clothes. And where he'd built the two robots that he and Peter were now there to search for.

"Do you remember what they look like, Pete?" Tony asked, trying to keep his voice light. Peter could detect even the smallest intonation difference in Tony's voice, and there was no sense in burdening the boy with more things that no one could change.

Peter shot him one of his 'duh' looks, causing Tony to laugh. "Yeah, Dad."

Tony clung to Peter's shoulder as they carefully made their way over the leftover mountains of destroyed concrete and plaster. He'd barely begun scanning one of the piles when Peter tugged on his arm, pointing.

"I think I see DUM-E, Dad! Over there!"

"Son of a gun," Tony muttered under his breath. "And Rhodey says that I have nine lives."

It took over an hour, but they were finally able to excavate both DUM-E and U out from underneath the piles of rock and get them loaded onto the trailer hooked onto the back of the car.

"So," Tony said once they were back in the car. "You wanna fix up DUM-E for me once we get him home, Pete?"

"Yeah!" Peter exclaimed. "Can I?"

"I wouldn't've asked otherwise," Tony replied, ruffling Peter's hair and chuckling as a bunch of plaster dust landed on his shoulders. Kid's curly hair was like a magnet for it, apparently.

"Dad?" asked Peter as he tightened his seatbelt. "Are we gonna rebuild the house?"

"Actually, no," Tony answered. He sighed, looking out over the sprawling ocean, blinking against the brightness of the sunlight glinting off the clear blue water. "Pepper and I decided that we're gonna stay in New York full time now. I'll still have to make trips out to D.C. every now and then, 'cause I gotta make sure those government types don't get off track with anything. But other than that we'll be in New York full-time, barring any unforeseen changes. Is that okay with you, Pete?"

"Well, yeah, New York is home," Peter said. "But are you okay with that, Daddy? You always said this place was more relaxing than New York."

Tony smiled. "My home is with you and Pepper, kid. So yeah, I'm okay with it. And, on that note, since you said you'd never been upstate before, I just might have given the go ahead to start overhauling an old warehouse of my dad's into another home for us. Somewhere we can go on the weekends to get out of the city, where I can teach you how to build a bonfire and ride a bike, stuff like that. How does that sound?"

"Really? That sounds great!" exclaimed Peter. "When will it be done?"

"Maybe around next spring or so." Tony checked his watch. "But first, I think we need to get back to the hotel and get you cleaned up, young man. We have guests arriving later this evening."

"Guests?" Peter asked. "Who? And what for?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe… Ned and his parents."

"What?" shrieked Peter. "They're coming here? Really?"

"Isn't it your birthday next week, Peter?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"And Pepper and I thought you might enjoy another trip out to Disneyland," Tony said, laughing at his son who was bouncing up and down in his seat like a pogo stick. "Sort of a swan song to our time in California. Was that assumption correct?"

"Yes!" cried Peter, releasing his seatbelt and launching himself into Tony's arms. "Oh wow, thank you, Daddy! Ned always said he couldn't wait to go to Disneyland again!"

Tony hugged him tightly, kissing the top of his head. "You're welcome, bud. Now, we better get going, Pepper's waiting for us."

"Yeah, okay," Peter said, his smile so wide it threatened to split his face. "We don't want to keep Pepper waiting."

"You're learning, kid," Tony said as he started the car.

The first snowflakes of the late fall were swirling outside the darkened windows of the lab as Tony and Bruce stood in the middle of the room, putting the finishing touches on the nearly-finished Hulkbuster armor. Peter was sitting over at the counter, surrounded by his homework, which, by Tony's observations, he'd finished nearly thirty minutes ago. Tony couldn't fault him, even though it was a school night and he ought to have Peter getting ready for bed. He knew how much the kid enjoyed watching he and Bruce work.

"All I'm saying is that it might be a good idea to switch up the colors a little," Tony said to Bruce, tapping buttons on his monitor. "I mean, what if the Hulk considers purple more calming? Or a nice, soft blue? One of Pete's favorite colors is blue. Or even yellow! Pepper loves yellow."

"No, no, no, Tony," Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really don't think the paint color is going to make one bit of difference if we ever have to actually use this thing. For all we know, the Hulk could be colorblind."

"Wait a minute, you don't know if he's colorblind or not?" Tony asked, earning a muffled giggle from the direction of the counter. "How can you not know this?"

"We don't really have all that great of communication skills, Tony," Bruce shot back. "Small talk isn't really our thing, ya know?"

"Oh, well, something to work on," Tony replied as he crumpled one of his holographic projections into his hands and tossed it towards the holographic trash can. "All right then, Iron Man red it is."

"Glad that's finally laid to rest," Bruce muttered.

"It'll probably be done in about a week, pal," said Tony, clapping his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "So I'll go ahead and arrange for the orbital launch with the bigwigs in D.C. and then we can go from there."

"Sounds good, Tony," answered Bruce. "And with that, I'm heading back downstairs. I'm beat. Goodnight, you two."

"And it's time for you to head to bed too, young man," Tony said pointedly, looking over at Peter with one eyebrow raised. "How long have you been done with your homework?"

Peter's eyes widened and he ducked his head, his round cheeks reddening. "Um… not that long…"

"Ah huh," Tony said with a chuckle. "C'mon, buddy, it's a school night."

"I know," Peter grumbled. Jumping down from his chair, Peter gathered his schoolbooks into his arms and turned towards Tony just as three huge, nearly blinding bolts of lightning appeared right outside the windows of the lab, followed immediately by the loudest crack of thunder Tony had ever heard in his life. His heart leapt into his throat as Peter cried out in fear, his schoolbooks clattering to the floor as he practically jumped into Tony's arms.

"Daddy!" Peter shrieked into Tony's chest. "What was that?"

"It's okay, Pete," Tony said in a low voice, blinking as he looked through the windows, out towards his old Mark VI landing platform. "I've got you, buddy."

Any response Peter might have made was cut off by the appearance of another beam of light, wider than the lightning and coming straight down onto the landing platform. Tony jumped back in surprise, tightening his arms around Peter as the light faded to reveal the tall, caped figure of Thor.

"Daddy?" Peter squeaked. "Is that—?"

"Yeah, it is, Pete," Tony murmured. Gripping Peter's shoulder, Tony walked over to open the door.

"Greetings, Stark, young Starkson," Thor said as he stepped inside the lab. "I trust you both are well?"

"Dude, you just scared the hell out of the kid," Tony said, glowering at the taller man. "What're you doing here?"

Thor let out a heavy sigh as he sank onto one of the chairs in the lab, setting his hammer down onto the floor with a loud clank. "I'm afraid that I require your assistance, Stark."

"My assistance?" asked Tony. "For what?"

"Malekith of the Dark Elves has stolen the Aether," Thor said grimly. "And I must find a way to get it back, or the very fabric of reality could be at stake."

Chapter Text

For a moment all Tony could do was stare at Thor in stunned silence, his hand clutching Peter's shoulder so hard that the boy flinched.

"Ow, Dad," Peter whined, breaking Tony from his stupor. "You're squishing me!"

"Sorry, bud," Tony murmured, his brow furrowing in disbelief as he loosened his grip, not taking his eyes off of Thor. "Okay, let's get one thing straight right off the bat. Can we expect to see your maniac, wanna-conquer-the-world brother showing up here anytime soon?"

To Tony's shock Thor's broad shoulders sagged and his face fell. "No," he said sadly. "Loki is dead. He was stabbed by Malekith as I attempted to destroy the Aether."

"Oh," said Tony, wincing. "Uh, I'm sorry… 'bout that." Not really, but…

"His was a noble sacrifice," Thor stated. "Loki was not of his sound mind when he attacked this world, I know this for a fact."

Can't really argue with that one, Tony thought, his hand unconsciously going to his throat, remembering when Loki threw him through the very windows he was standing next to. "So, this Malekith guy is who, now? And he's got… what?"

"Pardon me, sir," cut in JARVIS. "But Dr. Banner is inquiring if everyone is all right, in regards to the lightning."

"Yeah, tell him we're fine, J. Just entertaining a visitor." Tony said. "Is Bruce okay?" Steve was off on one of his missions for the STRIKE team, or Tony was sure he'd be freaking out too.

"Dr. Banner is reporting that he is in good health, sir."

"Thanks, JARVIS."

"My pleasure, sir," JARVIS said.

"Okay, Point Break. What were you saying?" asked Tony.

"Malekith of the Dark Elves has stolen the Aether—" Thor began.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that much," Tony interrupted. "But just… back up a bit. What exactly is a dark elf, and what the hell is the Aether?"

"Ether?" Peter piped up. "You mean, like the stuff doctors used to use to put people to sleep for surgery a long time ago?"

"I beg your pardon?" Thor asked, confused. "I don't believe I mentioned anything about sleeping? It has now been several days since I've been able to rest."

"Somehow I don't think that's what Thor's referring to, Pete," said Tony. He patted Peter's back, keeping him close to his side. "Why don't you start at the beginning, yeah?"

Thor sighed. "Very well, but I must be quick. For every moment Malekith is in possession of the Aether, his strength grows, and the time for the Convergence is rapidly approaching."

"Why don't you start by explaining just who this Malekith is?" Tony said, rapidly losing his patience. Why do crises always have to happen around bedtime, for Christ's sake?

"Very well, Stark," Thor said. He huffed out a deep breath. "Malekith is the leader of the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim. Prior to the last Convergence, he and his fellow elves forged a weapon from the Reality Stone called the Aether."

"Okay, let me pause you right there for a second," Tony said quickly. "Convergence?"

"Oh, that's when all of the Nine Realms are in alignment. It's supposed to happen every five thousand years," Peter said. Tony's head snapped back in surprise as Thor gave Peter a wide grin.

"That is correct, young Starkson!" Thor exclaimed. "Your boy is well-versed in his studies, Stark. I am impressed!"

"How'd you know that, Pete?" Tony asked.

Peter shrugged, trying to look modest, but Tony could tell he was glowing from Thor's praise. "I read a book about it. You know I love mythology, Daddy. The Norse gods and goddesses are really interesting! But the book I read didn't say anything about an Aether-thingy."

"Well, where I come from, myths and reality are often one in the same, small Peter," said Thor, carefully patting Peter's head. "Now then, as the boy said, every five-thousand years the Convergence causes the Nine Realms to become aligned. In the year 2988 B.C., Malekith planned to use this event to release the Aether and plunge the nine realms into eternal darkness. However, the Asgardians—led by Bor, my grandfather—intervened and took the Aether from the Dark Elves by force, watching as their race was apparently decimated in battle. Bor then had the Aether hidden away where no one could find it, and over the following five millennia, its story faded from most known history, until it became a legend only spoken of by the very old."

"But I'm guessing now that's no longer the case?" Tony asked. His heart started to thud erratically, and he pressed his fist to his chest, trying to remember to take deep breaths. The last thing he needed right now was for some nasty bunch of homicidal elves to start attacking Earth.

Or to have a panic attack in front of freaking Thor, for God's sake.

"I am afraid not," Thor said. "For the time of the next Convergence is now upon us. Portals connecting the various Realms have already begun to form, and it was through one of these portals where the Aether's long-lost hiding place was discovered." He paused then, looking uncomfortable as he cleared his throat.

"Who discovered it?" asked Peter.

"Jane Foster," answered Thor. "She is an astrophysicist, and… was a person of interest of mine, until—"

"Until, what?" Tony prodded.

"Until she told me—quite emphatically, I might add—to go to Hel," Thor said sadly. "She stated that a two year gap with no communication from me whatsoever was unacceptable, and that she was ending our acquaintance. Although, now that I think about it, it is more likely that she meant your hell here on Midgard rather than the Asgardian Hel. That would make more sense, given that she is a human and not—"

"Thor!"

"Forgive me, Stark, I am rambling. I am apparently not well-versed in the proper methods of your human courting rituals here on Midgard."

"Well, I can give you some pointers on that later if you want," Tony muttered. "But for now let's just concentrate on the problem at hand, yeah?"

"That is a grand idea," Thor agreed. "So, once I realized Jane had become infected with the Aether, I took her to Asgard, hoping my father could remove it from her. While we were there, Malekith sensed the Aether's activity and was awoken from his deep sleep. He attacked Asgard, intending to reclaim the Aether for himself." Thor dropped his chin down to his chest, slumping even further into the chair. "My mother, Frigga, was killed during the battle."

Damn, that's gotta hurt. "Wow, big fella," Tony murmured. "That's a tough one. I'm sorry."

"As am I, Stark," Thor said in a wretched voice, tears clouding his blue eyes. "As am I. My mother was a most remarkable woman."

"Moms usually are," said Tony, hugging Peter to his side. "So, where's this Aether now?"

Swiping at his nose, Thor jerked his head absentmindedly towards the windows. "Dr. Erik Selvig believes that Malekith will be making his final stand at a place called Greenwich, which he has calculated as the center of the approaching Convergence."

"Dr. Selvig?" Tony asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "Last I heard about him, he'd been arrested for running naked through Stonehenge. Apparently your brother's glow stick of destiny did quite a number on his mind. Are you sure he knows what he's talking about?"

"That is one reason why I am here, Stark," Thor said heavily. "I understand that you have a background in this discipline of physics as well?"

"Yeah, I do," answered Tony. "But—"

"Then I would be very grateful if you could take a second look at Dr. Selvig's predictions," Thor said. "For if we are wrong, and Malekith is successful in unleashing the Aether, then—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Tony said quickly, holding up his hand. "You've already scared the snot outta the kid once tonight, let's not go for two. Got it?"

Thor's eyes flitted quickly between Tony and Peter. "Ah, yes. I understand. Or, at least I think I do."

"Are you hungry, Mr. Thor?" Peter asked. "I can get you something to eat, if you want."

"That would be most kind, young Peter. Thank you."

At Tony's reassuring nod, Peter flashed a quick smile and scurried away towards the kitchen. Tony watched him go, leaning in as soon as he was out of earshot.

"So," he said quietly to Thor. "Tell me straight out, here. How dangerous is this stuff?"

"The Aether was forged through the use of the Reality Stone," Thor answered. "Its power is quite formidable. However, if Dr. Selvig is correct and Malekith does intend to make his final stand at this place called Greenwich, then I am confident I can stop him."

"By yourself?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are ya sure?"

"Quite sure," answered Thor. He clapped Tony on the shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways. "I would not ask for any human to attempt to engage in battle with a Dark Elf, for it would be suicide. Even for a brave and powerful warrior such as yourself, Stark. As such, I will be attempting to ensure that as much of the battle as possible takes place outside of Midgard."

"Well, if you're sure," Tony said, relieved that he wouldn't have to worry about leaving Peter behind. "But what if we come across one of these portals that you mentioned?"

"Assuming Dr. Selvig's predictions are correct, we should be able to contain the portals to the immediate area of the Convergence," Thor assured him. "You and young Starkson or anyone else in this area will not have to be concerned."

"Fair enough," Tony said, just as Peter returned carrying a sandwich, a sliced apple, and a big glass of orange juice.

"I hope you like peanut butter, Mr. Thor," Peter said, handing the plate to Thor. "It's one of my favorites."

"Then I am sure I will enjoy it," Thor said, biting off nearly half of the sandwich. "You have my thanks."

"You're welcome," Peter said with a wide smile. "Are you gonna be staying with us now for awhile? I know Ned would love to meet you again!"

"Yeah, about that," Tony said to Thor, now gulping down the orange juice like he hadn't drank anything in days. "Look, it's past the kid's bedtime. Can you give me a bit to tuck him in?"

"Aww!" Peter protested. "But I wanna stay up and help!"

"Of course," replied Thor. "And I wish you a fair sleep, young Peter."

"Please?" begged Peter. "I wanna help! Please? You know I'm good at physics too!"

"Not this time, buddy," Tony said, ruffling his hair. "You should've been to bed almost an hour ago."

"Hmph," Peter grumbled as he stomped off towards his bedroom. "Fine!"

"Your boy has a sharp wit and a strong mind, Stark," Thor said, popping the last of his peanut butter sandwich into his mouth. "You should be proud."

"Damn right I am," Tony replied. He gestured towards the couch in the living room. "Um, just go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I should be back in about twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Stark."

"Oh, and one more thing," Tony said as Thor sank onto the couch, lifting his feet onto the coffee table. "Try and keep your shoes off of the furniture, yeah? Pepper's not home this week, but she's kind of a stickler for that stuff."

Thor's eyes widened as he immediately snatched his feet from the coffee table. "Ah, yes, I do apologize. My dear mother was forever telling my brother and me to keep our feet off of the furniture. I see this is common for your Earth women as well?"

"Aahh, yeah," Tony answered with a smirk. "Especially for badass Earth women like Pepper."

"Ah. Then I will make a note of it," said Thor. "I do not wish to draw the wrath of any badass Midgardian women."

Shaking his head, Tony headed for Peter's bedroom, pleased when he found him already in his bed, wearing his Iron Man pajamas with George the polar bear tucked in his arms. Climbing in beside him, Tony's throat tightened as Peter crawled onto his lap, resting his curly head down on Tony's chest over his heart. Even now that he was starting to heal from all of the horrible traumas he'd endured, Peter still loved snuggling to sleep, and Tony was going to enjoy it for as long as Peter would let him.

"Daddy, Thor looks really sad," Peter murmured after a few moments of comfortable silence. "I feel bad for him."

"Yeah, buddy, me too," Tony said. He closed his eyes as he wove his fingers into Peter's hair, inhaling its calming scent. "He's had a rough time of it lately."

"Do you think he's gonna stay here with us now?" Peter asked. "Since his momma is dead?"

"I don't know, Pete. I suppose he could if he wants to," Tony replied. Remembering how awful he felt when his own mother was killed, Tony could understand if Thor wasn't in too much of a hurry to return to Asgard once this Convergence thing was over.

"I think it would be fun," Peter said. "But we'd have to set some rules about the lightning and stuff. Right, Dad?"

Tony grinned, kissing the top of Peter's head. "Absolutely, Pete. Now, go to sleep. It's late."

But Peter lifted his head, his sweet brown eyes boring into Tony's. "Thor said you just needed to double-check some stuff, right, Daddy? You're not gonna leave again. Are you?"

"Nope, not this time, buddy," Tony said. "So you won't have to worry about trying to track me."

Peter's entire body froze, causing Tony to chuckle as he ducked his head back down. "Um…" he stammered.

"What, you thought I didn't know about that?" Tony asked. "You should know better, Peter. You can't hide stuff like that from me."

"Yeah. I guess not," Peter whispered into Tony's chest.

"It was very impressive though, I have to admit," Tony said soothingly, patting Peter's back. "You're pretty smart, buddy."

"Mmm, okay," grumbled Peter. "But I'm still glad you don't have to leave."

"Me too, Pete. Me too."

"G'night, Daddy. Love you."

"Love you too."

"So from what I can tell, it looks like Selvig was correct," Tony said, looking up from his tablet covered in complex calculations. "This Convergence thing should center up right over Greenwich."

"Very well," replied Thor. "Then that is where I must go." He stood up from the couch, lifting his hammer. "I am grateful for your assistance, Stark."

"Aahh… wouldn't you rather stay the night first," Tony asked. "You said you haven't slept in awhile. It'd probably be good to be at your best if you're gonna take on these elves alone, don't you think?"

"The small amount of respite and nourishment I've received here already should be enough," Thor said with a rather condescending smile. "My body is not as fragile as a mere human's, Stark."

Tony shot him a scowl. "All right, if you're sure. Just… don't be too loud on the takeoff, yeah? Pete's asleep, and he gets grumpy as hell if you wake him up before he's ready."

"Ah, yes. I would not want to wake the sleeping child. My mother used to tell me that I would be angry as a bilgesnipe if she woke me before I had completed my proper rest as a boy. In fact, she would often send in Loki to wake me to avoid the unpleasantness of it. Although to be honest, Loki always seemed to rather enjoy it." Opening the door to the platform, Thor clapped Tony on the shoulder, spinning his hammer in his other hand. "I bid you farewell, Stark. Until we meet again."

"Good luck," Tony said, shielding his eyes as Thor took off from the platform in a blinding flash of light, the roar of thunder echoing in the dark as he disappeared.

"Good morning, sir," JARVIS's calm voice said as Tony entered his lab, chuckling at heavy snowflakes falling outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Even though it was technically now springtime, New York apparently hadn't yet received the memo that winter was supposed to be over.

"Morning, JARVIS," Tony replied, taking a sip of his coffee and sitting down at his monitor. He could hear Steve, Peter, and Bruce talking in the kitchen as Steve prepared breakfast, something they'd just sort of fallen into on the weekends at the Tower. Thor even joined them about half of the time, when he wasn't out "exploring the vastness that was Midgard," as he put it. And it hadn't escaped Tony's notice that Peter would often ask if he and Ned could have a sleepover during the weekends that Thor was around.

It also hadn't escaped Tony's notice that Thor didn't seem to mind Ned's hero-worship at all. Or Peter's, for that matter.

"Got anything of interest for me this morning?"

"One message from Miss Potts, stating that the new Stark Industries building in D.C. passed its inspection and will open according to schedule," stated JARVIS. "Another from Colonel Rhodes, saying that the orbital launch for the Hulkbuster armor has finally been approved by the Senate Armed Forces Committee. And a third bit of information that you might find interesting, sir. I have already sent it to the monitor."

Tony's jaw clenched as he leaned in towards the monitor, his eyes narrowing as they scanned over the displayed file that carried the old, original version of the SHIELD logo. "What am I looking at, JARVIS?"

"I am unsure how much you wish me to say aloud, sir," JARVIS answered, his mechanical voice nearly at a whisper. "It is in regards to some new information I was able to uncover."

Taking another sip of his coffee, Tony paused, listening to the playful banter coming from the direction of the kitchen. Peter was busy regaling Bruce and Steve with the story of how two of his classmates nearly blew up one of their classrooms earlier in the week when they inadvertently mixed two incorrect chemicals together. He smiled as he heard Peter laughing. He had such a sweet, innocent laugh.

"Should be okay as long as you're quiet, J," Tony said quietly. "But make it quick. Cap's almost done with breakfast."

"Very well, sir," said JARVIS. "I have only this morning been able to decipher some additional text on the old SHIELD file pertaining to Richard Parker."

Tony's heart lurched as he sank down into a chair. There were many a day—actually most days, if he was truly honest with himself—where Tony tried to forget that Peter ever had another person in his life that he'd once called "Dad". It wasn't fair in Tony's eyes that this other man got to see Peter be born, take his first steps, and say his first words, and he didn't.

Even if the kid never did shut up sometimes.

"Okay, JARVIS. What am I looking at?" asked Tony.

"I have been able to uncover some of the redacted text, sir," JARVIS said. "My analysis has shown that different areas of the document were redacted at different times, potentially even years apart from one another."

"Huh?" Tony said, his brow furrowing as he scanned the document, which didn't honestly give any further information than he'd already gotten from both Bruce and Nick Fury. There were a few sentences describing Parker's research lab, complete with a hand-drawn picture that showed what appeared to be an almost barracks-like structure, with heavy concrete walls and wide, hanging overhead lights. Metal cages of all shapes and sizes lined one of the walls, with several old computer monitors along the opposite side.

"That doesn't make any sense," Tony said, tapping his chin. "Why would SHIELD go back later on and redact even more of it. Change in leadership, maybe?"

"I am unsure of the motivations, sir."

"Hmm. How long has Fury been in charge of SHIELD, JARVIS?" Tony asked.

"Since the mid-to-late-1980's, sir," JARVIS answered after a short pause. "Prior to that, SHIELD was headed by one Alexander Pierce. When Mr. Pierce was promoted to the Secretary position on the World Security Council, following the successful rescue of hostages from Bogota, Columbia, Mr. Fury was promoted to Director of SHIELD in his stead."

"Uh huh," said Tony. "And what do we know of this Alexander Pierce guy? Anything?"

"According to the SHIELD personnel files, Mr. Pierce's father was in the 101st Airborne Division during World War II. Mr. Pierce was a member of the State Department prior being promoted to Director of SHIELD."

"So he's just another goddamn politician," Tony grumbled, his upper lip curling in disdain. "Figures. And Fury was what, CIA before he became a SHIELD agent?"

"That is correct, sir," answered JARVIS.

"But the World Security Council has authority over SHIELD. Correct?"

"I believe that is also correct, sir."

"Dad!" Peter yelled from the kitchen. "Food's done!"

"I'll be right there, Pete!" Tony called back, tapping the monitor to remove the file. "All right, so, I'll… um, talk this over with Steve and Bruce at some point and see what they think. Thanks, JARVIS."

"Always a pleasure, sir."

It never failed to amaze Tony how much food Peter could put away. Steve always ate like he was never going to eat again, which Tony had come to expect given his enhanced metabolism. But watching Peter eat four large pancakes and six strips of bacon like it was absolutely nothing only showed Tony how quickly he was growing up. At ten-and-a-half years old Peter still looked like a little boy, with his round face, narrow shoulders, and skinny limbs. But Tony knew it was only a matter of time before all of that started to change, and he was in no way ready for it.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Peter asked around a mouthful of pancake. "You look like you don't feel good."

"Nah, I'm okay, buddy," Tony replied, sipping his coffee and trying to smile. Maybe he should just quit looking into this whole Richard Parker thing altogether. It's not like finding out what he was really up to before he was killed was actually going to make a difference. Even with the not-so-veiled threat by Aldrich Killian all those months ago, Tony couldn't see how any further news about Peter's birth father could actually change anything.

Could it?

"Well, I'm afraid I have some bad news," Steve said, polishing off at least his tenth pancake. "Director Fury told me yesterday that I'll be leaving on another STRIKE mission on Tuesday. He says it should take about a week, so you guys will be on your own for breakfast next Saturday."

"Then I sure hope you showed Pete how to cook, old man, 'cause you know damn well that Banner and I can't," Tony said. "Why do you think we get our food delivered most of the time?"

"Pepper knows how to make pancakes," Peter piped up. He ran the pad of his index finger down his plate, gathering up the rest of the syrup. "I'm sure she'd make us some if we asked."

"Yeah, you go right ahead and do that, Pete," Tony said with a wry grin. "'Cause apparently you're a lot braver than I am. 'Hey honey, I know you're exhausted from running one of the largest companies in the world, but can you get up and make all of us men some breakfast? We're hungry!' Yeah, I think not. Besides, you're the chemist in the house, and cooking is basically just chemistry that's edible. Right?"

"They really aren't that hard, Tony," Steve said, laughing. "Probably a lot easier than some of the stuff you do."

"Yeah, well, maybe Thor knows how to cook," said Tony. "He's always going on and on about his grand Asgardian banquets and how Earth food can't hold a candle to them."

"Somehow I doubt it," said Bruce, shoving the last piece of bacon into his mouth. "Thor doesn't seem like the type who you'd find bumming around in the kitchen unless he's looking for ale or something."

"When's he supposed to get back?" Steve asked. "We were going to start sparring together, but with my missions and all of his sightseeing, we haven't had a chance yet."

Tony shrugged. "I think he's down in Australia somewhere. He mentioned something about wanting to visit there while the weather was still warm. And about wanting to see a wallaby in person."

"I thought wallabies were just small kangaroos," Bruce said, looking confused. "Aren't they?"

"'Cause it's their autumn now, right Dad?" Peter asked. "Just like it's supposed to be spring here?"

"'Supposed' being the keyword in that sentence, Pete," Tony said, ruffling his hair. "Now, if you're done licking your plate clean, I need you to go and clean up that room of yours before Pepper gets home this afternoon. And make sure you get all the Legos off the floor. I think I still have two or three embedded in my feet from last night."

Peter scowled, and it was all Tony could do to not laugh at how utterly not fearsome the boy looked. "Fine," Peter grumbled as he slid off of his chair. Depositing his plate into the sink, he shuffled off towards his room, muttering under his breath the entire time about how he didn't mean for the Legos to get all over the floor, they just happened to wind up there.

"Okay, so I need you two to listen up," Tony said as soon as Peter was out of earshot. Both Bruce and Steve turned to him with wide eyes. "JARVIS was able to decrypt some more of one of the SHIELD files on Richard Parker this morning."

"Yeah?" prompted Bruce when Tony paused. "What did he find?"

"Nothing much of any use," said Tony grimly. "But the thing I found interesting is that according to JARVIS, the file had been redacted more than once. Which I personally find a bit odd, considering this guy's been dead for over seven years now."

"I'm not sure I'm following any of this," said Steve, looking frustrated. "Why would SHIELD alter a file that was already redacted?"

"Well, that's the big question, Steve," said Bruce. "If SHIELD just wanted to hide Parker's research—for proprietary reasons or security reasons, for example—that's one thing. But why then go back in and hide even more of it later on? Presumably after the man is already dead?"

"And leave only the evidence that he was a traitor clearly visible," Tony added, pursing his lips. "I don't like any of it. It all smells fishy to me."

"I'm not sure I like what you're implying, Tony," Steve said in a low voice. "It sounds like you're saying that SHIELD might've been complicit in Parker's death."

"Steve, we're not saying that," Bruce said. "But at the same time, we can't be sure. I've been on the wrong end of government interference in my research before, and I gotta say, there are some ruthless people out there who will stop at nothing to prevent this stuff from getting out. Now, whether or not Fury's involved in this, we can't say—"

"Fury was the director of SHIELD when Parker was killed," Tony said grimly. "So to an outsider, it would look as though he was either ultimately responsible for Parker's death, or that he failed to protect him from getting killed. But, in our conversation after the whole Mandarin mess, Fury did tell me that he'd been chasing some rogue ghost organization for the last several years who likes to go in every now and then and stir up trouble. He said that Parker was one of their casualties."

"So then what you're saying is that someone—or something—is potentially working outside of SHIELD's confines," Steve said. "But using their resources? Tony, this isn't good at all!"

"Something like that," answered Tony, touching his fist to his chest as he felt that horrible shaky, crushing sensation threatening to overcome him. Goddamnit, I hate this! "And I know it isn't good, Rogers. Especially since we still don't know whether or not Parker involved Peter in any of his research. I haven't been able to find a single goddamn conclusive piece of evidence about that yet, either for or against." He glanced quickly towards the direction of Peter's bedroom, letting out a slow breath. It wouldn't do any good for Peter to see him upset. "Let's table the rest of this discussion for another time, yeah?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Bruce said, looking at Tony with concern. "You gonna be okay there, Tony?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Tony sputtered. "Once I know that my kid's gonna be fine. Right now it's like I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, ya know?"

"Peter is going to be fine, Tony," Steve said firmly. "We'll all make sure of it, you know that. No matter what."

"Yeah," Tony whispered. He should've waited to talk about this once Peter was asleep and Pepper was home. "Thanks, Cap."

"Well, I hate to eat and run," Bruce said. "But I gotta get back down and start on some more data analysis. There's a new bigwig working on Loki's scepter now and Fury wants me to double-check the new data package he sent over."

"Hmm, sounds like fun, big guy," said Tony, smiling as Peter came bounding back into the kitchen. The two of them were going to be working on DUM-E and U today, upgrading their operating systems and getting them used to the Tower apartment.

"I should get going too," Steve said. "I need look over the specs for the upcoming STRIKE mission."

"Aww, can't you guys stick around for a little while?" Peter asked. "We're gonna work on the robots today!"

Steve gave Peter a wide smile, a smile Tony had noticed that he usually reserved just for Peter. "I'm sorry, Peter. But I promised Director Fury that I'd be ready for this mission, so I need to look a few things over. But I am looking forward to our chess rematch tonight. Bruce said he might even stop by to watch."

"Yeah, okay," Peter said, sticking out his bottom lip. "I guess I'll see you later."

"C'mon, Pete," Tony said after they'd gone. "No need to be pouting. You're gonna have the entire evening to tell Bruce and Steve all about the robots while Pepper and I are out."

"Yeah, I know. I just like it when we all hang out together," Peter said. "And when Pepper and Happy and Colonel Rhodes are here. And Thor too. I like having our big heroes family all together."

Gah, Tony thought as he pulled Peter into a hug, kissing the top of his head. I can't even with this kid. "Me too, kiddo," he said fondly. "Me too. But now, let's go play with some robots."

"No, no, DUM-E, not yet," Peter said patiently, carefully removing the test tube from the robot's mechanical appendage and replacing it in the wooden rack. The two of them were surrounded by a complex set-up of beakers, Bunsen burners, and glass tubing. "The whole thing will blow up if you put that in now, and then Dad'll get mad at both of us. We need to wait another fifteen minutes until the reaction's done."

DUM-E let out an apologetic beep, and it was all Tony could do to keep his shoulders from shaking with laughter. He was on the other side of the lab, putting some finishing touches on his newest suit, while Peter and DUM-E were working on Peter's new formula for a special glue that he was submitting to his school's end-of-the-year science contest.

"I told you that one has a mind of his own," Tony said over his shoulder. "You need to keep a close eye on him."

"Aw, Dad, he's trying his best," Peter said, patting DUM-E on his mechanical neck. "Just needs a little help is all. Once we're done here I'm gonna try upgrading his iOS again, see if that helps."

"Yeah, okay," Tony replied, shaking his head. "You're a lot more patient than I am, kid. But once you're done with that, remember you still need to pack. We're headed north as soon as Pepper gets home."

"Oh, I will!" Peter exclaimed. "I can't wait to try out my new bike!"

With the new building finally completed upstate, Tony, Peter, and Pepper had made plans to head up there for the weekend, both to inspect the technical aspects and laboratories and to get out of the city for a couple of days. Tony had even bought Peter a bicycle, thinking it was high time the kid learned how to ride one.

"If you can do a flip on the balance beam without breaking your neck, I'm sure you'll have no trouble riding a bike," Tony said fondly. And I know it'll be a lot easier for me to watch. As much as Tony knew Peter enjoyed his complicated gymnastics routines, they still were nerve-wracking for him to watch without wanting to cringe.

"Yeah, like you don't perform extraordinary acrobatic feats every time you put on one of your suits, Dad," Peter retorted, stirring the liquid in one of his beakers.

"Yes, but I'm completely encased in a very strong, very pliable but protective metal, young man," Tony replied. "You're in nothing but your underoos when you're up there on that balance beam. At least when you're on the bike you'll be wearing a helmet."

"Aw, Dad, helmets make my hair look all funny," whined Peter. "Do I have to?"

"Your hair usually looks funny anyway," said Tony with a wink. "And yes, child, you have to wear a helmet. Pepper says so too."

Peter wrinkled his nose. "Fine."

The new building, which Peter promptly dubbed "The Compound" as soon as it came into view, truly was spectacular. Remodeled with their entire Avengers family in mind, it had branches off of the main living area that led to separate suites suited to each member. Thor's suite was decorated to look like one of the drawings from Peter's Norse mythology book, while Cap's suite was a near-replica of his apartment in the Tower, even boasting a small art studio complete with supplies. The main floor of the massive building was devoted entirely to research and development, with a fully-equipped lab for Tony, another for Bruce, and a mini-lab for Peter tucked off in the corner, so he could work on his chemistry stuff nearby. There was also a huge gym, outfitted with a track and plenty of punching bags for Steve and gymnastics equipment for Peter.

But for this first weekend, it was just the three of them. And they made the most of it.

As Tony suspected, Peter picked up riding a bike very quickly, barely even needing Tony to help him balance before he was off and racing around on the dirt paths that surrounded the compound. Afterwards, Pepper gave Peter a swimming lesson in the indoor pool while Tony worked out a few of the building's quirks with JARVIS, and after watching a movie in the screening room, they built a bonfire in the backyard and roasted marshmallows. Peter was so exhausted from the day's activities that he fell asleep in Tony's lap before they even made it back inside, giving Tony and Pepper some very much-appreciated alone time.

The following weekend they returned, this time with Bruce, Steve, Thor, Happy, and Rhodey in tow. And while it wasn't as intimate as it had been with just the three of them, it was still "loads of fun", according to Peter. Steve got a few pictures drawn during the nights that Peter promised to hang up in the common areas, and Thor was able to keep Peter entertained learning how to play chess long enough for Tony and Bruce to start going over the new defense program that Tony was developing.

It was almost enough to push all the questions Tony had about Richard Parker and Nick Fury and SHIELD out of his mind.

Almost.

Steve had said that he'd keep his eyes and ears open during his missions with the STRIKE team, but so far hadn't been able to learn anything of value. And Bruce, growing frustrated with the increasing demands on his time from SHIELD, especially in regards to Loki's scepter, was contemplating resigning from the agency so he could devote all of his time to Stark Industries and the work he and Tony were doing together. And while Tony was reluctant to push Bruce too hard into a decision one way or the other, he did tell Bruce that he had about a dozen projects waiting in the wings for when he was able to find the time. Including, of course, his new global defense program that he'd decided to name Ultron.

"Sir, Miss Potts is on the line," JARVIS said one sunny fall afternoon, breaking into the blaring AC/DC Tony was playing down in the Tower garage. One of the cars was acting up, and Tony was trying to diagnose the problem.

Removing his protective goggles, Tony wiped the sweat from his forehead with a rag. "Yeah, JARVIS, put her through."

"Good afternoon," Pepper said as her beautiful face filled the viewscreen. "I see you're putting your free afternoon to good use."

"Hey, you're the one who volunteered to pick Pete up from school today," Tony said. "Which he's really looking forward to, by the way. Probably because you always end up taking him for ice cream on the way home."

"Yes, well, I'm afraid that's why I'm calling, Tony," Pepper said as the smile faded from her face. "I just got some heads-up news that some old, renegade Stark Industries weapons were used in a terrorist attack over in Eastern Europe."

"What?" demanded Tony. "I thought we'd found all the old weapons caches and had them destroyed! How could this happen?"

"From what I've been able to find out, it looks like this was another one of Obadiah's under-the-table deals," Pepper said grimly. "But the news is gonna be all over this in about an hour, Tony. We need to respond somehow."

Tony shook his head, his upper lip curling in anger. "But we don't even make weapons anymore! Stark Industries hasn't produced a single military weapon for years now! How can anyone think I had anything to do with this?"

"It's the media, Tony," Pepper said firmly. "And you know the media can twist things however they choose to. And there's still plenty of them out there who don't like you, regardless of how many good things you've done recently. And not to mention that reporter you punched out on the street—"

"That asshole put his slimy hands on Peter!" Tony snapped. "And he got what he deserved!"

"I don't have time to argue logistics with you, Tony! We need to come up with a response, and we need to do it right now. Before this has a chance to explode in our faces."

"That's not funny, Pep," Tony warned.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't've said that," Pepper murmured, looking chagrined as she covered her mouth. "But I am serious. How should we respond?"

Tony breathed in, squeezing his eyes closed. Reliving through both his capture and torture in Afghanistan and Obadiah Stane's betrayal had absolutely not been on his agenda for the day when he woke up that morning.

"Where's the Stark Relief Foundation working right now?" Tony asked.

"We have some workers wrapping up a project in southern Greece," Pepper said. "That's not too far from the site of the attack."

"So do you think any of them would be willing to take a quick hop over and try and help?" asked Tony. "If we made it worth their while?"

"Probably," Pepper said with a nod. "That's a good idea. I'll get on the phone with the coordinator right away and get the planes ready as soon as it's deemed safe for them to enter the country. But Tony, I should probably also put out a press release, reiterating that it was Obadiah who was responsible for all of the under-the-table weapons deals and not you. I know you said you never wanted that stuff mentioned again, but—"

"Yeah, I got it," Tony whispered. "It's okay, Pep. Do what you gotta do."

"Okay, but I don't think I'll make it out of here in time to pick Peter up from school," she added, frowning.

"Nah, I'll get him. It's okay."

"Tell him I'll make it up to him. Please? I hate when he gives me those puppy-dog eyes of his, it breaks my heart."

"You and me both, honey," Tony said. "I'll tell him you're too busy saving the world again to come and pick him up."

"Tony!"

"Just kidding!" Tony said, holding up his hands. "By the way, where did all of this happen? I'm sure Pete will ask."

"Someplace called Sokovia," answered Pepper. "It's odd, because its just a small, landlocked country, but there's historically always been a lot of unrest there for some reason or another."

"Hmm. Haven't ever been there."

"No, I don't suppose you would've ever had a reason to go there," Pepper said. "I better get going, Tony. Will you be all right?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks, honey."

"I'll check in with you later. I'll probably be late tonight."

"I'll wait up for you."

"Hey, Tony," Steve said as he stepped into the apartment, the blinking lights of the Christmas tree throwing a kaleidoscope of colors across the taller man's tight white t-shirt. "I'm sorry it's so late, but I wanted to make sure Peter was asleep before I called."

Steve's somber tone immediately put Tony on edge. "Oh? What's going on, old man?"

"You know, Tony, technically I'm still younger than you—"

"Yeah, yeah, but we don't need to get technical now," Tony retorted. "Do we?"

"No, probably not," Steve replied, his frown deepening. "Look, I don't have a lot of time. I'm shipping out again tomorrow morning, and—"

"Tomorrow? You were gonna take Peter out ice skating tomorrow at Rockefeller Center! He starts school again in less than a week, so you won't have another chance."

"I don't think Director Fury cares too much about ice skating, Tony," Steve snapped. "Or the school holidays. He's got another series of missions for me, and this time he's stationing me in D.C. I'm gonna be down there for at least the next few months."

Tony blinked, shuddering as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. There was something about Steve's entire countenance that was very disturbing. He hadn't seen Steve this jittery since the Battle of New York.

"Okay, so what do you think Fury's up to?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"I don't know, Tony. The missions don't seem to be anything different than what I've been doing these last several months. But during my Army training we were taught to always trust our instincts. That no matter how easy or harmless something looked, there could still be a deadly trap lurking around, just waiting to get set off. And right now my instincts are telling me that there's something else going on here. Something big."

"Any thoughts on what it might be?" asked Tony, trying to ignore the way his heart was thudding. Why did there always have to be something?

"Not yet," answered Steve. "Right now what I do know is that Fury has been sending me out on a lot of missions that didn't exactly require someone with my skill set. It's almost like he's using me as his own personal janitor, and I don't like it. It doesn't make sense."

"Or, maybe he's just trying to figure out who to trust," Tony said quietly. "Fury told me himself he'd been trying to root out this ghost organization for a long time. Maybe this is his way of ensuring he's got a trustworthy agent on his side."

Steve's eyebrows knitted together, and he shook his head. "I don't know, Tony. All I know is that I don't like it. But unfortunately my intuition isn't a good enough reason for me to refuse a direct order from my commanding officer."

"Pardon me, sir," cut in JARVIS. "But I have some information that may pertain to your current conversation."

Tony's eyebrows shot up as he headed into his lab, indicating for Steve to follow him. "Go ahead, JARVIS."

"The decryption program that you placed on the SHIELD helicarrier has returned some new information, sir."

"Oh yeah?" said Tony. He'd almost forgotten about that. "Talk to me, J!"

"It may be nothing, sir. But apparently the upgraded SHIELD helicarriers containing the new repulsor turbines are now being used for a specialized operation that has been assigned a classification of the utmost secrecy."

"Really. And I don't suppose that I have access to this secret classification?" Tony asked.

"No, sir," replied JARVIS.

"Hmm. You know anything about this?" Tony asked Steve. "Those repulsor engines were just delivered within the last few months."

"No, nothing," Steve answered. "Do you think it means anything?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking so," stated Tony. He pressed his fist to his chest, trying to remember to keep his breathing steady. "Banner and I designed those engines for SHIELD under the assumption that they'd be upgrading all of their carriers, not just a select few. And the fact that I now don't have access to what my proprietary technology is being used for does not sit well with me at all. That was not part of the agreement."

"I'll see what I can find out when I get there, Tony," Steve said. "But I can't guarantee anything. Even with all of the help Peter's been giving me, I'm still not the best with computers. Natasha's been responsible for doing all the computer stuff on our missions."

"No, but your instincts are usually spot on, like you said. Just… follow those and make sure to keep me in the loop."

"I will, Tony. And please apologize to Peter for me. I'm leaving at 0500 tomorrow, so I won't be able to see him before I go."

"Yeah, well, maybe I can get Thor to take him ice skating instead," Tony grumbled. "Either that or I'll have to."

"I'll be in touch, Tony," Steve said as he headed for the elevator.

"Yeah, good luck, old man," replied Tony. "Watch your back."

"I always do."

Tony watched him go, that simmering feeling of dread always present down in the pit of his stomach threatening to bubble over. Up until now the communications with SHIELD regarding the new repulsor turbines had been very open and forthcoming. For Fury—or whoever else—to suddenly classify his and Banner's work beyond their clearance levels without warning was both unexpected and damn well just not okay.

"JARVIS," Tony said in a low voice as he stepped into his lab. "What else can you tell me about this new specialized operation? Did Fury authorize it?"

"That is unknown, sir," answered JARVIS.

"Call Fury, JARVIS," ordered Tony. "Let's see what he has to say about it."

"I am unable to reach Director Fury, sir," JARVIS said a moment later.

Huffing out a sharp breath, Tony logged into his secure SHIELD account, searching for the schematics on the new helicarriers. He wasn't too shocked to now find them password-protected, but was surprised when he couldn't immediately break the encryption. Whoever had done this was damn close to being on par with Tony's intelligence level, which only served to hasten Tony's growing alarm.

Two more cups of coffee and more than a few harsh curse words later, Tony was finally able to break through the firewall, pulling up the blueprints that he and Banner had submitted to SHIELD when they first broached the upgrades. At first glance the drawings looked mostly the same, save for a small, hastily scribbled something in the upper left-hand corner. Tony squinted as he leaned closer, trying to decipher it.

"JARVIS, any way you could decode that chicken scratch up there in the corner?"

"Give me a moment, sir."

Tony drummed his fingers against the counter as he waited, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth were scraping together.

"Sir," JARVIS finally said. "I believe it says, 'Project Insight'."

Chapter Text

"Project Insight?" Tony asked. "What the hell is that?"

"I am unaware as to the nature of this particular SHIELD project, sir," answered JARVIS. "It is not listed on any of their usual databases."

"Try Nick Fury again, JARVIS."

"Director Fury is still unavailable, sir. There is no mention of when he might return."

"Goddamnit!" cried Tony, slamming his fist on the counter. "What the hell is going on here?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of one of his old fatigue headaches building behind his eyes.

"Who's in charge of this Project Insight, JARVIS?" Tony asked as he scanned the blueprint. Based on his eidetic memory of the helicarrier from the Battle of New York, this newer carrier had undergone several changes to its design, including the addition of what appeared to be hundreds of cannon-like guns lining the sides and underside of the carrier. This was definitely a design meant to display great power and strength.

"It appears that only SHIELD agents with security classification levels of nine and ten have access to Project Insight, sir," answered JARVIS.

Tony huffed out a sharp breath, feeling as if the air was being forcibly ripped from his lungs. His SHIELD classification was only a level seven, and from what Steve had told him, his was likely even lower. "So that would leave Fury and this Alexander Pierce guy, right?"

"That is correct, sir."

"Oh, God," Tony gasped, grabbing onto the edge of the counter as his knees threatened to give way beneath him. All of it seemed like too much of a coincidence to only be a coincidence. Alexander Pierce, Nick Fury, Richard Parker, this Project Insight helicarrier-battleship thing that was suddenly above his clearance level.

None of it should make any sense.

And that's what was scaring Tony the most. Nick Fury had told Tony he'd been keeping tabs on Peter ever since Richard Parker was killed, and had even orchestrated it so that Peter was remanded into Tony's care after the Expo tragedy that took his aunt and uncle. That at least would suggest that Fury assumed Tony could protect the boy from any potential threats.

Well, Tony thought. He's at least got that right.

But what if one of those threats now happened to be Nick Fury himself? There was no way Tony could believe that Fury wasn't aware of these newly-classified flying gunships. But what were they going to be used for?

Or, more likely, who were they going to be used against?

"Dad?" Peter's small voice suddenly said from behind him. Tony whirled around at the unexpected sound, his hand grazing across the handle of his coffee cup. It fell to the floor with a loud crash, shattering into a million pieces and causing them both to cry out.

"Daddy!" Peter yelped as he leaped into Tony's arms. "Are you okay?"

Instead of answering Tony dropped to the floor, clutching Peter to his chest, trying to ignore the broken shards of the cup digging into his knees as he curled his fingers into Peter's hair, breathing in its calming scent.

"I'm better now," Tony whispered after a few deep breaths. "I'm sorry if I scared you, buddy."

"You sounded really worried, Dad," Peter murmured, his voice muffled against Tony's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Tony let out a shaky breath. It was on the tip of his tongue to just say "nothing" and try to brush it off, as he often did when he was upset about something. But Peter was too smart and knew him too well. He'd know instantly that Tony was lying, and his persistent pleading for the truth would only make things worse.

"I… um…" Tony stammered. What could he tell possibly Peter that wouldn't scare the hell out of him?

"Is it about Steve?" Peter asked. "JARVIS told me he has to leave early tomorrow."

"And what were you doing talking to JARVIS when you're supposed to be sleeping?" Tony demanded, a little harsher than he intended when he felt Peter's skinny body freeze against him. He quickly ran his palm down Peter's back. "Nevermind, buddy. Did you have a bad dream? Is that why you're awake?"

"Uh huh. JARVIS tried turning up the rain sounds, but it didn't work."

"Well, can't fault him for trying," Tony mumbled. Getting slowly to his feet, he tugged Peter over towards the couch, careful to avoid stepping on the broken cup. Peter curled up on Tony's lap, his head resting over Tony's heart.

"Your heart's beating really fast, Daddy," murmured Peter. "Did you have another anxiety attack?"

Hot tears of shame stung Tony's eyes. An eleven-year-old kid shouldn't have to ask his father a question like that. "Yeah, I think so, bud. But I'm better now."

"I wanna help you. Can I?"

"You already are, Pete," Tony said. "Try not to worry about me. I'll be fine."

"But, can't you tell me what's wrong?" asked Peter. "I don't like it when you're scared, 'cause then I get scared. And being scared is scary, Daddy!"

"There's nothing you need to be scared about, Peter," Tony said firmly. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

"I know you won't!" Peter cried. "But what about you?"

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to me either," Tony assured him. "No one messes with Iron Man, remember?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"I'm just tired, Pete," Tony said. "You know I get extra jittery when I'm tired."

"Okay, so then why don't you go to sleep?"

"That's a good idea. Let's get you back to sleep."

Peter's nose wrinkled but he didn't protest as Tony guided him back to his room, which only proved to Tony how tired he really was. But as he lay there with Peter on Peter's bed, the boy's arms clutching his polar bear and his head resting on Tony's chest, Tony shook his head as his hands clenched into fists. Peter was too smart and way too perceptive for Tony to keep a secret like this for very long. He needed to get to the bottom of whatever this Project Insight thing was as soon as possible.

For both of their sakes.

"Hey, Peter, how're you doing?" Steve said from the tablet in Peter's hand. He was sitting on the floor of Dad's lab, working some more on his glue recipe. Even though it won first place at the science contest last spring, he thought he could get it even stronger.

"I'm okay," Peter replied, smiling as he heard a loud roar of appreciation coming from the living room. Thor was babysitting Peter that afternoon while Dad and Bruce were working down in Bruce's lab and Pepper was on yet another business trip. Peter had introduced Thor to hockey after Thor had taken him ice skating over Christmas break, and Thor had immediately taken a liking to the sport.

"He is a formidable warrior, young Peter!" Thor shouted across the vast apartment. "That is yet another successful battle for the home team!"

"What's going on up there?" asked Steve with a slight grin.

"Thor's watching the Islanders on TV," Peter explained. "And he thinks it's a good thing when the players get into fights and wind up in the penalty box. I've given up trying to explain the rules to him."

"Well, one reason why I always preferred baseball," Steve said, chuckling. "There's a lot less fighting in baseball."

"Yeah, I guess," Peter said. But it's not as much fun to watch either.

"Are you enjoying your Spring break from school?" Steve asked. "How're your new contact lenses working out?"

Peter sighed, trying not to show his disappointment. "The contacts are fine, as long as I don't try and stick them both in the same eye. And yeah, I guess. But I still wish we could've gone to the Compound this week. I miss it. We haven't been there at all since you've been gone."

Steve's face fell, and Peter immediately felt guilty. "Oh, I shouldn't've said that, Steve—"

"It's all right, Peter," Steve said. "It's okay to be upset. I didn't think I'd be down here this long either."

Picking up his stirring rod, Peter gave his lead beaker a quick stir before adding some clear liquid from one of his test tubes. "Yeah, well, Dad's hardly stopped working since you left anyway, so I don't even think it would've mattered. He's down with Bruce right now, even."

"And there's yet another penalty!" Thor shouted triumphantly from the living room. "I love this game!"

"Well, I promise we'll both make it up to you when I'm able to get back," Steve said, trying to smile. "Okay?"

"I know," Peter grumbled. "Do you know when you'll get to come back yet?"

Steve shook his head. "Not yet. But I'm hoping it'll be soon. You said your dad was down working with Bruce?"

"Yeah, they're down in his lab."

"All right. Well, I need to get going now, Peter. You and Thor have fun watching hockey."

"No, Thor's watching hockey. I'm making more glue," Peter said. "Thor gets kinda loud when he watches television. We tried watching a movie earlier, but we kept having to pause it because he kept asking me a bunch of questions, so then we just stopped."

"Well, say hi to him for me, okay?" asked Steve. "I'll talk to you again soon."

"I will," Peter answered.

Setting down the tablet, Peter stirred the liquid in his beaker and leaned back on his hands. He had fifteen minutes to wait before the next step in the reaction, and he knew he could leave it if he wanted since DUM-E knew how to complete all the steps too, but he didn't know what else he could do. He'd already taken apart and put back together all of his Lego sets at least twice, and he couldn't talk to Ned until the evening because he was visiting his grandparents in Hawaii for the week, and it was still the early morning there.

"Will you keep an eye on things for me, DUM-E?" Peter asked as he removed his protective goggles and pushed himself up to his feet. The bot—who'd been hovering over him the entire time he'd been working, fire extinguisher at the ready—gave an affirmative beep.

"Ah, young Peter!" Thor exclaimed when Peter entered the living room, making him jump. In addition to Thor's boisterous voice, Peter still wasn't used to seeing him in regular Earth clothes. "Come and sit and watch this revelry with me!"

"Actually, I was hoping I could go down and see my dad for a bit," Peter said sheepishly. "Is that okay?"

To his surprise, Thor immediately looked stern. "I am afraid not, young Peter. Stark tasked me specifically to observe you closely, and that is what I intend—"

"Bruce's lab is only five floors away, Mr. Thor," Peter protested. "You can even come with me if you want."

"I must refuse your request, Peter," Thor said, shaking his head. "You are to stay up here with me until Stark returns."

"But, why?"

"Because Stark and Banner do not wish to be disturbed," said Thor firmly. "And I daresay that includes you as well. Now, if you do not wish to enjoy the hockey, then I hereby challenge you to a rematch of our chess competition."

Peter did not feel like playing chess at all, but as he was still more than a little intimidated by the tall and broad god of thunder, he nodded anyway. "Fine. I'll go and get the board set up."

"That's a good lad," Thor replied, whooping with glee as yet another fight broke out on the television.

Dragging his feet, Peter shuffled off to his room, unearthing the chess set from its spot under his bed. It wasn't that Peter didn't enjoy spending time with Thor. Thor had a ton of amazing stories about the various battles he'd fought across the Nine Realms, and even more stories about growing up with Loki and all the trouble they used to get into. Peter and Ned would often rehash the best of the stories during their lunch periods at school, and even Flash Thompson, who wasn't impressed by anything Peter ever said or did otherwise, would listen in on them from time to time.

No, it wasn't Thor's fault that Peter was so impatient right now. The problem was that Peter hadn't seen his dad this anxious since Steve Rogers had been found in the ice three years ago, right before Loki showed up, and Peter didn't like it at all. And then, ever since Thor arrived with the news about the Convergence and the Aether, Dad had been staying up super late most nights working in his lab, drinking way too much coffee, and nearly jumping out of his skin every time Peter tried to get his attention. He was just as bad as he was before the whole thing with the Mandarin, and Dad had promised Peter after that big mess that he'd never be like that again.

But the absolute worst part was that Peter hated feeling like there was nothing he could do to help. He desperately wanted to help, because he knew most of his father's anxiety stemmed from wanting to keep Peter safe. But Dad always said that it was his job to worry about Peter, not the other way around, which Peter basically took to mean that he was too small and too young to do anything useful.

As if he didn't hear that enough from all the mean boys at school.

"I am ready, young Peter!" Thor called from the living room.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Peter answered. He carried the board out, setting it down on the coffee table. "JARVIS, can you turn off the television please?"

"Of course, Master Peter," answered JARVIS.

"Am I to be the white warriors again, Starkson?" asked Thor as Peter started setting up the pieces.

"Yeah," answered Peter. Just like with Steve, if Peter wasn't playing with his dad, it felt wrong for anyone else to be using Dad's pieces. Peter only played the white side when he was with Dad. Otherwise, he played the black.

"Very well. Then I wish you good luck, young warrior. For I do believe that my skill has grown such that I might vanquish you from the board during this battle."

Thor had yet to actually win a chess match against Peter, but that didn't stop him from trash talking throughout the entire thing. If that's what they called it on Asgard.

"Did my dad say what time he'd be back?" Peter asked, stifling a giggle at the look of pure audacity that crossed Thor's face as he captured one of Thor's bishops.

"Stark's instructions stated that he would return in time for the evening meal," Thor replied, intently studying the board.

Peter let out a sigh as he glanced at the clock. It was only 2pm, and they usually ate dinner around six or so.

Four more hours.

"I don't have a lot of time, guys," Steve said, glancing furtively over his shoulder. The old man was wearing a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap that made Tony smirk when he first saw him. If Steve was trying to hide the fact that he was Captain America, that wasn't quite the right way to do it.

"Where even are you?" Tony asked. "You're not at your apartment?"

"Natasha showed me how to do a… what do you call it? A video chat? Anyway, I'm in one of the public libraries off the Mall in D.C."

"A public library?" exclaimed Bruce. "Steve, you can't get much less secure than that! Maybe you should go back to the Triskelion before you say anything else."

"No, no, Natasha gave me a device that's supposed to secure the computer line for up to fifteen minutes," Steve said. "I only used a few minutes with Peter, so we should be okay if we're quick."

"Wait a minute. You were talking to Peter?" demanded Tony. "Rogers, he doesn't know anything about any of this! What the hell did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything, Tony, so don't worry!" Steve retorted. "And I was looking for you!"

"Well, now you found me!" Tony snapped. "So start talking."

Steve pursed his lips. "It's worse than we originally thought. After I confronted Director Fury about what Natasha was doing on the Lemurian Star, he brought me down to the Insight hangar bay. I saw all three of them up close."

"Okay, so there's three," Bruce said, jotting it down on a tablet. "Tony and I weren't sure how many they'd managed to build yet."

"Yeah, but we delivered enough engines for twice that many," Tony reminded him. "So this could just be the start."

"Fury told me that this project came about after the Battle of New York," Steve continued. "After they're launched, the three helicarriers are going to be connected to a series of spy satellites and used to take out any future possible threats. His exact words were 'our satellites can read a terrorists' DNA before he steps outside his spider hole.' And he said the guns can eliminate a thousand hostiles per minute."

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Bruce. "A thousand people per minute?"

Tony tapped his chin. "Okay… so a preemptive response to possible terrorist attacks. I can see how that could be useful to SHIELD, as long as they're damn careful with their targeting."

"I think that's what it's supposed to seem like," said Steve. "But Tony, I really think it has to be more than that. I mean, what if they're not careful with their targeting? Innocent civilians could be killed!"

"Is that what your gut is telling you?" asked Tony.

"Yes, it is," Steve answered. "Fury said that once the carriers are launched, they'd never have to land. Now I don't know all that much about global defense programs, but that seems excessive to me. Three heavily armed airborne battleships constantly scanning for targets? That's too aggressive for a supposedly peacekeeping organization, and the risk of a targeting mistake seems pretty high with that kind of an elimination rate."

"Not that excessive," Tony muttered, thinking of his Ultron program still in development. "But definitely more aggressive than we've seen from SHIELD in the past."

"We're coming up on too much time here, folks," Bruce said nervously. "We should cut this off in the next minute or two."

"Right. So what're you gonna do now, old man?" asked Tony.

"I don't know, Tony," replied Steve, obviously frustrated. "I'm not a spy, I don't have any experience with this kind of stuff. That's always been Natasha's job."

"Okay, so what about Natasha?" asked Bruce. "Can we trust her?"

"I'd like to think so. But I don't know for sure. She had a completely different objective on the Lemurian Star than I did, and it almost compromised the whole thing."

"What exactly was her objective?" asked Tony.

"She said she was 'retrieving SHIELD property'," answered Steve. "Whatever that means."

Tony grimaced. "Well, that sounds ominous. So we assume she's just a lackey for Fury at this point?"

"We really need to be wrapping this up, guys," Bruce cut in. "It's already been way too long for my comfort level."

"Yeah, the big guy's got a point," said Tony. "Look, just keep your eyes peeled, old man. Check in when you can. Bruce and I will see what we can do here."

"Copy that. Good luck," said Steve, and the screen went blank.

Bruce turned to Tony as soon as Steve was gone. "Tony, we really need to be careful here. All our stuff—"

"I already moved everything to a dedicated private server," Tony said. "Anything we've designed for SHIELD and all inquiries I've made were moved as soon as Rogers left on this mission of his. So we should be good."

"Okay, but good for how long?" asked Bruce. "What happens if we discover that Fury's gone rogue and taken our technology with him?"

"That's the least of our worries, big guy," Tony said grimly, tapping commands into his monitor. He pulled up the Project Insight helicarrier blueprints, pointing out the massive cannons lining each one. "Because if these things end up getting launched, all these guns are going to be pointed at a helluva lot of someones. And personally, I'd like to know who's gonna have their fingers on the triggers."

"Tony," a soft voice said, breaking through his semi-consciousness as a light hand gently shook his shoulder. "Tony, wake up!"

Tony blinked open his eyes, wincing as he rubbed at the sharp crick in his neck. He was sitting up on Peter's bed with Peter sprawled out across his entire front, the boy's hands fisted tightly in Tony's shirt. He'd had another nightmare earlier in the night, and while Tony had been able to finally get him back to sleep, he'd woken up again as soon as Tony tried to sneak away.

"Yeah?" Tony said, his throat dry and his voice raspy.

"JARVIS woke me," whispered Pepper. "He said he had some important information for you."

"Now?" asked Tony, squinting at the clock on Peter's bedside table. "It's almost three in the morning!"

"I'm just the messenger, Tony," Pepper said. "Something about the Project Insight?"

"Oh shit," Tony muttered. Of course there'd be new news in the middle of the fucking night. It had been three days of complete radio silence from Cap, and the only thing Tony and Bruce had been able to uncover in the meantime had been the apparently useless fact that Richard Parker had been working with a Doctor List at SHIELD right before he was killed.

"Go, Tony," Pepper said. "I'll sit with Peter."

"Are ya sure? I thought you had a 6am this morning."

Pepper shrugged, a slight smile on her face. "Then I'll just have to be tired. It's not like that's anything new."

"I don't deserve you," whispered Tony, relief washing over him like a wave. If JARVIS thought this new information was worth disregarding Tony's Do Not Disturb command, then maybe this was the breakthrough they'd been waiting for.

It took over five minutes for Tony to wiggle out from underneath Peter's ironclad grasp, but once he was done and standing next to the bed, his heart nearly melted at the sight in front of him. Peter's curly head was resting comfortably under Pepper's chin, his hands clinging to the short sleeves of her nightshirt. If Tony had possessed any talent with a camera at all, he would've paused to take a picture.

Maybe I should buy Pete a nice camera for his next birthday, he thought. Kid was always taking pictures with his phone, and everyone was always complimenting him on them. Maybe he could teach Tony how to take a halfway decent picture.

"Go, Tony," Pepper repeated as Tony leaned down to kiss both their foreheads. "We're good here."

"Talk to me, JARVIS," Tony said as he entered his lab, scrubbing a palm over his scratchy face. When was the last time that he'd shaved?

"I do apologize for the interruption, sir," JARVIS said. "But I was conducting my hourly scan of Master Peter's email communications and I came across a rather curious message, sent from a Mrs. Rushman. I have already completed the decryption program."

"Mrs. Rushman?" muttered Tony. "But Pete doesn't have a teacher named Mrs. Rush—, oh! Let's see it!"

"Right away, sir," answered JARVIS. A second later the short message appeared across Tony's monitor.

At safe house with Nick, Maria, Steve, and Sam. Nick was attacked and presumed killed, likely under orders from Secretary Pierce. SHIELD compromised by HYDRA moles. Project Insight reactivated with HYDRA targeting algorithm, take immediate precautions. Will contact again if able.

Tony's eyes widened in shock as he reread the message. HYDRA?! Holy shit! I thought HYDRA died with World War II!

As the son of Howard Stark, Tony was well-versed in all the doings of HYDRA from during the war, and how Steve Rogers had crushed the Nazi organization practically single-handedly. It was one of the things that Howard had never seemed to shut up about. Especially when he was drunk, which Tony remembered him as being most of the time he was home.

Tony read the message one more time prior to running it through his eight deletion programs. "JARVIS, pull up all information on Project Insight and give me a virtual blueprint of the new carrier."

"As you wish."

A couple seconds later the lab was filled with the glowing blue light of the Insight helicarrier, the massive guns lining the underside outlined in orange. Stepping underneath the holographic projection, Tony examined the targeting systems with a critical eye, noting that they could be triggered by multiple satellites in the event that one of the satellites was damaged.

"JARVIS, any chance you can tell me more about this HYDRA targeting algorithm?" Tony muttered. He zoomed in further on the gun design, breathing out a small sigh of relief when he realized that at least they weren't compatible with any of the former Stark Industries shells. With the recent appearance in Sokovia of more rogue SI missiles and other weapons, Tony wasn't sure if he could handle having even more of his old weapons being used to potentially threaten innocents.

"I have a limited amount of data that I was able to decipher from SHIELD servers before they were taken offline, sir," answered JARVIS. "But I don't believe it offers any new information."

"Give it to me anyway. Can't hurt anything."

"Apparently the information retrieved by Agent Romanoff from the Lemurian Star contained the targeting algorithm. Agent Romanoff was able to trace the origin of the program to an abandoned Army barracks in New Jersey, but she and Captain Rogers were attacked as they attempted to decipher the algorithm."

"Attacked by whom, JARVIS?" asked Tony.

"It appears that they were attacked by SHIELD, sir. But as their remains were not recovered in the subsequent wreckage, I would assume they have escaped."

"Right," muttered Tony. "Escaped along with Fury and Maria Hill, and whoever this Sam person is. JARVIS, get Banner on the line."

A moment later Bruce's face filled the viewscreen, looking so thoroughly sleepy and disgruntled that Tony had to stifle a chuckle. "What's going on, Tony?"

"I need you up here, Banner," Tony said. "We've got some hacking to do."

"Now?" asked Bruce, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Bruce was the only member of their little Tower household of heroes who never purposely tried to compromise on his sleep. His excuse was that getting his proper rest helped ensure he wouldn't unwillingly Hulk out, but Tony also suspected it had something to do with Bruce just wanting his damn beauty sleep every night.

"Yeah, sorry. We got something to find, and I need your help."

"All right, fine," Bruce grumbled. "But why does this stuff always have to happen in the middle of the night?"

"I wish I knew, big guy," answered Tony. "I wish I knew."

"Yeah, yeah. Give me five minutes."

As soon as the screen went blank, Tony pulled up the SHIELD server that had contained the algorithm before it was pulled and began inputting commands, hoping to reconstruct it on his own private server so he and Banner could look it over at their leisure. But to his surprise, the program began rewriting itself almost as soon as the first command was entered, and Tony was barely able to keep pace with it as Bruce entered the lab.

"Get over here quick, big guy," Tony said, not taking his eyes off the monitor. "I can't stay ahead of this on my own."

Pulling up another keyboard, Bruce leaned in, squinting through his glasses at the code Tony was hastily writing in order to stay ahead of the program's built-in self-destruct. "What the hell is this, Tony? I mean, who designed this?"

"I have no goddamn clue, Bruce," Tony snapped. "But whoever it is—or was—is really fucking smart. The only other time I've seen code this complex is when I've written it. Now, get in here and back me up."

The program was relentless. Just as soon as Tony would think they'd finally gotten ahead of it, it would veer off in a new direction, rewriting everything they'd written from the middle outward, rendering their entire code string useless. By the time they were finally able to break in and start a decryption program the sun was already shining brightly between the surrounding skyscrapers, and Tony was sweating and shaking so hard he could barely keep typing.

"I apologize for the interruption, sir," JARVIS said as Tony sank onto a chair. "But Master Peter is asking to see you before he departs for school."

Tony huffed out a sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck with a sweaty palm as tears of pain and exhaustion pricked his eyes. As much as he wanted to tell Peter that everything was okay, there was absolutely no way he could leave the room at the moment, and he absolutely couldn't allow Peter to see any of this. It would scare the hell out of him.

"Tell him 'no', JARVIS," Tony said sadly, not taking his eyes off the monitor. "Tell him I'm okay and I'll see him after school, but he can't come in here right now. Bruce and I are working on something."

"But, why?" came Peter's loud, angry protest from the direction of the living room a few seconds later, nearly cracking Tony's heart in two. He could hear Pepper's soft voice in the background, trying to soothe him. She must have rescheduled her early morning meeting. "Daddy, please? Just for a second?''

"I'm sorry, buddy," Tony called, sniffing. "It's okay though, Pete. I'll see you later."

"But I don't believe you!" Peter cried. "You'll just be working and I'll have to sit with Bruce again! Or Thor! Or Happy! You're always working, when will you just stop?"

Please, buddy! Tony screamed internally. Don't do this right now!

"I can't stop right now, Pete," Tony said firmly, rubbing his eyes. "But I promise I will soon. I promise, buddy."

"Tony, look," Bruce said as he poked Tony's arm with his elbow. "The program's done decrypting."

Tony vaguely heard the apartment's elevator doors closing as he leaned closer to the monitor in front of him, blinking as a list of hundreds upon hundreds of names started crawling down the screen.

"JARVIS, what are we looking at?" Tony asked.

"It would appear that these are the names of the Project Insight targets, sir," JARVIS replied. "There are over seven hundred thousand listed in total that I have counted so far."

"Holy shit!" Tony exclaimed. "Are you sure, J?"

"There can't be that many terrorists in the world, Tony," warned Bruce. "Something's not right here."

But Tony was already ahead of him. "JARVIS, cross reference this list with known names and display."

The crawl on the monitor stopped as JARVIS completed the search, then blinked to life again, displaying a still-alarmingly long list of names. Tony quickly scanned down the list, his heart skipping a beat at what he saw.

Maria Hill
Nick Fury
Steve Rogers
Ki Wu - what the hell for?
Stephen Strange - isn't he some big hotshot brain surgeon? That doesn't make any sense!

"Bruce," Tony murmured a second later. "Big guy, you're on this list."

"So are you, Tony," replied Bruce, just as grimly. "I think it's safe to say that this algorithm is all HYDRA's doing."

"It's been HYDRA's doing all along," said Tony. "Looks like HYDRA's been buried deep inside SHIELD since its inception. This has to be the ghost organization that Fury was talking about."

And Howard and Peggy Carter and everyone else fucking missed it. Figures.

"Oh God, Tony. Look!" Bruce gasped, pointing at the monitor with a shaking finger. Tony's gaze followed the path, which led directly to the name that read Peter Parker Stark. He immediately choked, gasping for breath as his shocked, disbelieving eyes swept across Peter's name over and over and over again. All the breath left his lungs in one fell swoop, as if the Hulk himself had punched him square in the chest.

Because while Tony could fathom that there could be perhaps more than one Peter Parker living on this Earth, he would bet his entire fortune on the fact that there was only one Peter Parker Stark.

It was one of Tony's worst nightmares coming to life. HYDRA was targeting his son—his Peter—with their satellite-linked battleship carriers of death that he fucking helped to design. His son, the one thing he couldn't live without, who he'd sworn to always protect, was on the hit list for a terrorist organization.

No, no, no! Please! Not Peter!

"Why—?" choked Tony, drawing in a shaky breath. "Why him? Why's my son on here, Bruce? What did Pete ever do these HYDRA goons? He doesn't pose a threat to anyone, goddammit! He's just a kid!"

"The only thing I can think of is that it has something to do with his birth father, Tony," Bruce said gently. "You said Fury told you that Richard Parker was a casualty of one of these ghosts, right? Well, if the ghosts are HYDRA, then maybe HYDRA thinks they need to take out Peter too, in order to help achieve their twisted objectives. It doesn't make any sense otherwise."

"But that can only mean that Parker did something to him!" Tony cried. "That fucker must've been experimenting on Peter! What the hell did he do to him?"

"It doesn't have to mean that, Tony," Bruce objected. "Not necessarily. Maybe it could only mean that Peter has the potential to carry on Parker's work at some point, and HYDRA's trying to prevent that."

But Tony barely heard him as he doubled over, his fist pressed tightly against his chest that felt like it was threatening to split open. And he'd just sent Peter off to school without seeing him, without giving him a hug, without even saying goodbye!

"Tony, you gotta pull yourself together here," said Bruce, grabbing Tony's shoulders. "We still have to figure out what to do about this! These carriers are launching in only a few hours!"

It took nearly every ounce of Tony's strength to push himself back upright, his breaths still coming in panting gasps as he wracked his exhausted brain on what to do next.

"JARVIS," Tony croaked. "Intercept Pepper and Pete. Have Pepper take him directly to the Compound. Contact Principal Morita and tell him that Pete's sick or something."

"Right away, sir."

"Tony, that's not going to help anything if we don't figure out how to stop this," warned Bruce. "If these targeting satellites are as accurate as Steve said, they'll be able to track Peter up to the Compound just as easily as they could here."

"That's why you're gonna head up to the Compound too," Tony muttered. "JARVIS, contact Rhodey and Thor. Have them meet Pepper and Pete at the Compound. Oh, and have Rhodey swing by here to grab Bruce first."

"Very good, sir," replied JARVIS.

"Tony, having me at the Compound won't help anything! I'll still be a target!" Bruce exclaimed. "I can't put people in danger like that!"

Tony turned on him, his nostrils flaring in anger. "The Hulk can survive a bullet, yes? Even really big goddamn bullets fired from orbiting battleships?"

"Well, yeah," answered Bruce, looking even more alarmed. "But Tony, I won't Hulk out around Peter, or any of the others! It's too dangerous!"

"Which is why you're gonna be hacking into the targeting satellite programs while you're up there," said Tony, tapping new commands into his monitor. "And you won't be able to just take out one, because the satellites can compensate for missing components. You'll have to take them all out."

"And what if I can't?" Bruce demanded. "Tony, the two of us combined could barely break into the coding for the algorithm. How am I supposed to break into the targeting coding by myself?"

"I have full confidence in you, big guy," Tony stated. "Besides, I doubt it'll be as complicated. The satellites don't know that we know who the targets are."

"Okay, but still," said Bruce. "What. If. I. Can't?"

"Then when those guns start firing, you Hulk out and shield my son," Tony said grimly. Placing his hand on Bruce's shoulder, he looked him straight in the eye. "The Hulk saved my life once. I know he can save Peter's life too. I know he can. You just keep Pete as close to you as possible while you're working, and use the other guy only as a last resort. We'll be in constant communication, so you'll know when it's time. Bruce, I'm begging you. Please, I need you to do this for me."

Bruce shook his head, glaring at Tony for what seemed like an eternity. "All right, Tony," he finally said. "I'll do it. But what're you gonna do?"

Tony's jaw clenched, his upper lip curling into a sneer. "I'm gonna take out those fucking helicarriers."

"Not by yourself!" cried Bruce. "There's three of those carriers, Tony, and only one of you!"

"No, not by myself. I'll get Cap to help me." And Romanoff and Hill, and whoever the hell this Sam dude is. "Go, Bruce. Rhodey'll be here any minute, and you gotta get upstate ASAP. I'd very much prefer if you can get started before Pete gets there."

"Okay," said Bruce. Removing his glasses, he placed them in his shirt pocket before clapping Tony on the shoulder. "Good luck, Tony."

"You too, big guy."

"Sir, Colonel Rhodes has retrieved Dr. Banner," said JARVIS. "They are proceeding towards the Compound."

"Thanks, J," Tony said softly. He breathed in a shaky breath, not taking his eyes off Peter's name on the monitor.

Peter Parker Stark.

Eleven years old. Boy genius. Beloved son.

HYDRA target.

"JARVIS," Tony said through clenched teeth. "Can you backtrace the origin signal from that email sent by Romanoff?"

"I believe so, sir," replied JARVIS. "One moment."

Two minutes later the pale, haggard face of Natasha Romanoff appeared on the screen. "Tony," she said, her voice even raspier than usual. "I see you got my message."

"You're looking a bit rough there, Mrs. Rushman," Tony muttered. "What's your status?"

"I took a hit through the shoulder," Natasha answered with a shrug. "Nothing I haven't had before. Still damn painful though."

"Yeah. You guys got a plan?" Tony asked. "'Cause from what I've just found, we don't have much time."

"Why? What've you found?" asked Maria Hill as she came into view.

"Banner and I cracked the algorithm," Tony said grimly. "We've got a list of the Insight targets. You, Fury, Rogers, Banner, me… and Peter, among others."

"Peter?" asked Hill. "Who's that?"

"Peter?" Steve's voice said from the background. "Why him?"

"Hell if I know, Rogers!" Tony snapped. "Just tell me you've got a plan! Otherwise I'm flying down to D.C. and taking out these carriers myself!"

"That would be suicide, Tony," Steve said, replacing Natasha in the viewer. "And we do have a plan. Hill says in order to divert the targeting algorithm we need to break onto each carrier and replace their targeting blades."

Tony pursed his lips. "That makes sense. I've also got Banner up at the Compound working on disabling the targeting satellites."

"We'll use that as a backup, Tony," said Steve. "If we can change out the targeting blades we won't need the satellites redirected."

"Well, I'm not gonna tell him to stop, Rogers! Not when my kid's life is at stake!"

"Peter's not the only one—"

"He's the most important one!" snapped Tony. "Now. What kind of resistance we can expect?"

Steve let out a sigh, and for the first time, Tony noticed how utterly shaken Steve looked. Like he'd literally just seen a ghost. His face was even paler than usual, and his blue eyes carried such immense pain that Tony had to gulp and look away.

"You okay there, Cap?"

"I'll be fine, Tony," Steve said, giving his head a light shake. "As for resistance, there'll be a lot. SHIELD's been completely infiltrated by HYDRA, so their agents have the full arsenal of SHIELD weapons and technology at their disposal. Right now we have no way of knowing how many agents are loyal to HYDRA, but my instincts say at least half, maybe more."

"Shit," Tony muttered. "Okay. I'm on my way in five."

"Copy that. See you soon, Tony."

As soon as the screen went blank Tony held out his hand towards the storage vault for his suit, standing in place as the armor flew towards him and wrapped around his body. "JARVIS," he said. "I want updates on the carrier status every five minutes, and every thirty seconds once we're within five minutes till launch. And make sure Banner has a clear comm as well, he's gonna need to hear everything."

"Very good, sir."

Tony's stomach lurched as he realized that if Banner was listening in it would mean Peter would be listening in as well, but he couldn't see any way around that particular problem. He needed Peter to be as close to Bruce as possible, which unfortunately meant he was going to have a front row seat to everything that was going on.

"JARVIS," Tony said as he headed out the lab doors, over to his takeoff platform. "Tell Cap that I'm on my way."

"As you wish, sir," replied JARVIS. "And good luck."

Peter's stomach was churning so violently he was surprised he'd managed the car ride up to the Compound without getting sick. Something bad was going on—that much was obvious—but neither Pepper nor Happy had given him any details as to what the bad thing might be other than the fact that his dad had been called to assist Steve with one of his missions, and was currently flying towards D.C.

Arriving at the Compound, Peter was surprised to find that Bruce and Colonel Rhodes had already arrived, with Bruce already working frantically on something in his lab.

"No, no, little guy," Bruce said, not looking up from his monitor as Peter attempted to head over to his own lab tucked in the corner. "Tony wants you to stay right here with me."

"Why?" asked Peter, a little more snarky than he meant. "I'll be just over here in the corner with my stuff."

"Uh, because he said so," Bruce said, cringing as his fingers continued to fly across the keyboard. "Just… please. Don't ask too many questions right now, I'm trying to concentrate."

Wrinkling his nose, Peter shuffled back over to where Bruce was working, peeking around his arm at the monitor. "What're you working on?"

"I just said don't ask questions, Peter," Bruce warned.

"No, you said don't ask too many questions," Peter snapped. "I just asked one!"

"Peter! Now's not the time for—"

"No!" Peter cried. "Where's my dad? What's going on? Why am I here?"

"He's heading for D.C.," answered Bruce. "Just like I'm sure Pepper has told you already."

"Okay, but why's he going there?"

"Bruce, you all set?" came Dad's voice through the speaker next to Bruce's monitor. Peter's stomach dropped at how tense his father sounded.

"I'm already working on disabling the satellites, Tony," Bruce replied. "Just keep me posted."

"Daddy!" Peter called, not even knowing if his father could hear him. "Please tell me what's going on!"

"I'll tell you when it's over, Pete," Dad replied after a short pause, which Peter had come to realize was code for 'I'm doing something too dangerous to talk to you about until I know I'm not gonna get killed'.

"I hate when you say that," said Peter in a low voice. "That always means you're off fighting dangerous bad guys."

"Pete, believe me," Dad said. "I'm doing this for you. Just stay glued to Bruce's side, he and Thor will make sure you're okay."

"And who's gonna make sure you're okay?" cried Peter.

"Cap's with me, buddy. Remember when he told you that we're a team?"

"Yeah, I guess. But—"

"And that means we look out for each other." Dad stated. "He's got my back, and I've got his. Now, I gotta go, bud. I'll see you soon."

"But—!"

"Stay close to Bruce! Don't leave his side, Peter, I mean it!"

Peter's shoulders sagged as Bruce shot him a stern look out of the corner of his eye. "Can you at least tell me what you're working on?" Peter asked softly. "I promise I'll be quiet afterwards."

"I'm trying to disable some satellites," Bruce replied. "They've been… commandeered."

"Oh. Then what's my dad doing?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow, uttering a curse under his breath, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "He's watching my back, Peter. Just like he said; we're all a team."

"Listen up," said Maria Hill, handing Tony, Steve, and the man Steve introduced as Sam Wilson each two computer chips about half the size of a credit card. "These are the new targeting blades. You'll have to fight your way into the computer core on each of the carriers and manually replace the existing targeting chips with these."

"Seems easy enough," said Tony.

"Not so easy, Stark," retorted Hill. "The blades in all three carriers need to be replaced before Insight goes live, or the whole thing's a wash."

"Okay, so, let's get started!" Tony exclaimed. "There's a lot of lives at stake here!"

"Tony," said Steve. "You don't need to tell us what's at stake. We all know."

"Do you?" barked Tony, feeling a small twinge of remorse when Steve flinched. What the hell had happened to him on this mission?

"Yes," Steve said firmly. "I do."

"Can we talk about this some other time?" said Sam. "The clock is ticking!"

"Sam's right," said Hill. "We've got twelve minutes until launch."

"Great. You need a lift there, Denzel?" Tony asked Sam.

To Tony's surprise, Sam shook his head as he placed a pair of protective goggles over his eyes. Pressing a button on his chest, he gave Tony a rather sadistic grin as a pair of black and grey carbon fiber wings suddenly sprouted from the backpack contraption strapped to his back.

"Nope," he said proudly. "I got my own ride."

"Hey, those are pretty cool!" Tony said, impressed. "Can I take a closer look at 'em later?"

Sam's toothy grin grew even wider. "Sure thing, Iron Man."

"All right," Steve said firmly, tucking the targeting blades into the belt of his suit. "Let's roll."

"Copy that, Cap," Tony said. He walked over to the door that led outside. "I'm on Alpha."

"Be careful, Tony!" Steve called as he took off. "There's gonna be a lot of enemy crossfire!"

"I'll take enemy crossfire over being targeted by one of those death carriers!" Tony shouted back. "So get to yours!"

Steve wasn't exaggerating. Tony had only been airborne for about ten seconds when three of SHIELD's attack Quinjets suddenly appeared right in front of him, the center jet aiming directly for him while the outside two assumed flanking positions. Tony gritted his teeth, boosting his speed as he armed one of his shoulder missiles.

"C'mon, you assholes," Tony muttered as he launched the missile, weaving out of the way just in time to avoid being hit by the swerving flanking jets, which crashed into each other in a fiery blaze. "No one fucking messes with my son!"

"Cap!" Sam called over the comm. "How're we supposed to know the good guys from the bad?"

"If they're shooting at you, they're bad," Steve replied.

"I'm trying to scrounge up some air support," Hill said. "But I wouldn't count on it. Comm channels are loaded and we still don't know who we can trust. Assume anyone on those carriers is HYDRA until proven otherwise."

"I'll be air support as soon as I swap my blades out," said Tony, flying onto the Alpha carrier, immediately taking out another enemy Quinjet attempting to fire on him. How many of these damn things does SHIELD have?

"Copy that," said Steve with a grunt.

Flying up to the command level, Tony repulsed two foot soldiers away as he ran across the metal bridge that led to the computer core, keeping one eye on his surroundings as he retrieved the targeting blades from his arm gauntlet.

An RPG blast suddenly hit him from the back, directly between his shoulder blades, knocking him up against the core. Tony let out a gasp as one of the targeting chips fell from his hand and skittered across the floor, nearly out of reach under the core.

"JARVIS!" Tony cried, sinking to his knees to retrieve the chip. "Target enemy combatant and fire!"

"Right away, sir!" JARVIS responded. As he strained to reach the renegade chip, another of the shoulder missiles took off from his armor, taking out the HYDRA agent wielding the grenade launcher.

"Combatant has been neutralized, sir," said JARVIS.

"Thanks, J!" Tony grunted, his armored fingers finally closing around the targeting blade. "I owe you one."

"If we are actually keeping score, sir, I believe you would owe me a lot more than a mere 'one'," JARVIS replied.

"Yeah, well, we can talk about it later!" Pulling himself to his feet, Tony quickly tapped the command to unlock the computer core, ripping out the targeting blades and replacing them with his own.

"Alpha is locked, Cap," he said as he closed the core and headed back across the bridge. "Now, where do you need me?"

"Assist Sam, Tony!" Steve replied in a strained voice. "He's on Bravo."

"Hey now, I'm holding my own just fine!" Sam protested. "You're the only one who can't fly here, Cap!"

"Help Sam, Tony," repeated Steve. "That's an order!"

"Copy that!"

Peter couldn't tell what was worse. The fact that his father was almost killed by one—or many—of the very SHIELD soldiers who were supposed to be their friends, or the fact that Colonel Rhodes and Thor had joined he and Bruce in Bruce's lab to listen in on the battle, but still refused to tell Peter exactly what was going on. At this point all Peter understood was that SHIELD—or people who'd said they were working for SHIELD but were really bad guys in disguise—had built something they weren't supposed to build using something that Dad and Bruce designed which was now trying to kill a bunch of people.

"Bruce," Peter said, his voice trembling. "Please. Is my dad gonna be okay?"

"Tony's gonna be fine, Peter," replied Colonel Rhodes as he patted Peter's shoulder. "But you need to leave Bruce alone. He's working."

"But—!" Peter started, interrupted by the sound of another booming blast from the comm speakers. Peter immediately covered his ears, his head curling into his chest as he whimpered in fear.

Why do battles always have to be so loud?

"Hey now, it's okay, Peter," Colonel Rhodes said. Peter felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, pulling him against a broad chest, and he opened his eyes to see Thor winking down at him.

"The Colonel is correct, young Peter," Thor said. "You are safe here with us."

"Please, call me James," Colonel Rhodes muttered. "Or Rhodes, or even Rhodey if you want. Whenever I hear 'Colonel' I feel like I'm supposed to salute, and I don't really need to be doing that here. Not around my family."

"Ah," replied Thor. "Very well then, Rhodes."

Peter shivered as the speaker let out another crashing sound, drowning out the voice of his father as he directed someone named Sam on how to avoid enemy fire. Thor patted his head, taking care to be extra gentle so as to not hurt him. Thor didn't know his own strength sometimes, and Dad especially had been on the bad end of one of Thor's crushing shoulder claps more than once.

"But, then what am I supposed to call you?" asked Peter. "My Auntie May always taught me that it was polite to address military people by their rank."

"Well, she was right, Peter," said Colonel Rhodes. "But if you remember, I believe I introduced myself to you first as James, so I think it's okay if you drop the 'Colonel' now, four years later. Okay?"

"Okay," Peter said, nodding as he tried to smile.

"Bravo lock!" came Sam's voice from the speaker. "That's two!"

"Rogers, what's your status?" asked Dad.

"There's a lot of enemy fire coming from the forty-first floor of the Triskelion," answered Steve. "You and Sam get on it. I'm on Charlie."

"I'm on it, Cap," replied Dad. "Sam, where you at?"

"Heading to the forty-first floor!"

"On my way!"

"Dammit!" Bruce suddenly said, slamming his fists down on the counter and causing Peter to jump. "I almost had it!"

"Two minutes!" said the voice of some woman Peter had never heard before. "Steve, two minutes till launch!"

"Bruce!" Peter croaked. "Are they—?"

"Not now, Peter!" snapped Bruce.

"Try not to be alarmed, Starkson," Thor said. "Your father is a formidable warrior. I am confident that he and our fellow Avengers will be victorious."

"What happens in two minutes?" Peter asked frantically. "Can't someone tell me? What's launching in two minutes?"

But the only reply Peter got was the sound of yet another explosive blast from the speaker, followed directly on its heels by Dad letting out a very loud four-letter word.

"Rogers!" Dad shouted. "What's your status? Falcon's down!"

"I'm sorry, Cap!" said Sam a few seconds later. "Damn Winter Soldier tore one of my wings clean off!"

Wings? Was Dad fighting alongside a birdman or something? And who's the Winter Soldier?

"Get him to safety, Tony!" Steve replied in a strained voice, each word punctuated with what sounded like very hard punches and kicks. He seemed to be fighting hand-to-hand against someone who was just as strong as he. But wasn't that impossible? Steve Rogers was supposed to be the only Captain America. So far the only people Peter knew who could match Steve in strength were Thor and the Hulk, both of whom were right next to him.

"Dad!" Peter cried, tears pricking his eyes. "Steve needs help!"

The sudden deafening sound of a gunshot made Peter yelp in fear, burying his face into Thor's chest. "Daddy? Are you okay?"

"Thirty seconds, Cap!" yelled the woman.

"I'm on my way, Cap!" shouted Dad, his repulsors firing. "Stand by!"

"Daddy!" screamed Peter, the nearly overwhelming dread he'd been trying to stamp down for the last several days finally boiling over. "Daddy, please!"

"Tony, I can't do it!" Bruce cried in frustration, pushing himself away from the monitor. "There's not enough time!"

"Fifteen seconds!"

Peter's teeth clamped down over his trembling lower lip as his father's voice came over the speaker, eerily calm in the intense, building sense of doom.

"It's all right, Bruce," he said, repulsors firing. "But I don't think Cap's gonna make it. You know what needs to be done."

"Daddy? What do you mean?" Peter gasped, his eyes huge as he turned to Bruce. His heart was pounding so hard he felt woozy, like he might pass out. "Bruce, what does he mean?"

"Tony!" Bruce shouted. "I still don't—!"

"It's the only way!" interrupted Dad. "And Thor! As soon as those guns start firing, you light the place up. Maybe it'll disrupt their targeting!"

Guns? What guns? Space guns?

"Five seconds, Cap!"

Almost in slow motion, Peter watched as Bruce and Thor locked eyes. Thor gave Bruce a small but firm nod, lifting Peter off of his lap and handing him to Bruce as he raised Mjolnir in his right hand, pointing it up towards the ceiling. Bruce's arms wrapped around Peter, pinning his arms to his sides as Bruce twisted his body around, positioning Peter underneath him.

"It's okay, little guy," Bruce whispered. "I've got you."

"O—, okay," whimpered Peter, bracing himself even though he had no idea what he was bracing himself against.

"CHARLIE LOCK!"

Peter's eyes were squeezed closed, his entire body shaking under Bruce's larger form when the pained voice of Steve Rogers blurted out from the speaker. Whatever Steve meant by what he said, Peter didn't really know. All he knew was that Bruce let out a sigh of relief so profuse that he nearly collapsed them both onto the floor.

"Did everyone copy?" Steve asked, panting. "Hill? Charlie lock!"

"Copy that, Cap," replied the sharp voice of the woman, presumably this Hill person. "Programming new targets."

"Bruce!" Dad shouted. "Is Pete okay?"

"Yeah, Tony! We're both fine," Bruce called back. "But what about you guys?"

"Good job, big guy," said Dad, sounding just as relieved as Bruce. "Falcon's secure. Cap, where you at?"

"Steve, targets are set and the carriers are repositioned," said Hill. "You gotta get out of there now!"

"Fire!" cried Steve with a grunt, as if he'd just gotten punched in the stomach. "Hill, fire! That's an order!"

"Bruce?" Peter asked in a trembling voice. "Why are they still fighting?"

"I don't know, Peter" replied Bruce, his eyebrows knitting together. "I don't know."

"There are some battles that can have rather prolonged conclusions, young Starkson," said Thor. "Perhaps this is such a battle."

"Thor's right, Peter," agreed James. "I see it all the time in the Air Force."

But Peter only shook his head, his feeling of dread returning as Dad asked once again for Steve's location, only to be told to get and stay the hell out of the way.

"Stand down, Tony!" Steve commanded, his voice still thick with pain and what sounded like sorrow. "That's an order!"

"Daddy!" Peter said in Tony's ear, his heart skipping a beat as he detected the immense fear in his voice. "Daddy, are you okay? I think Steve's in trouble!"

"And I'm gonna help him, Pete. I don't care what he said," Tony replied, grunting as he boosted his speed towards the Charlie carrier. The massive ship was in a slow deadspin and heading straight towards the Potomac River, still taking fire from the Alpha and Bravo carriers as it fell. Tony wove carefully through the huge chunks of debris falling from the damaged battleships, still firing away at enemy HYDRA Quinjets as he flew.

As he landed on what used to be the Command deck, Tony immediately spotted Steve, shield in hand and his midsection covered in blood, fighting against a man dressed in black with a bad shaggy haircut and what appeared to be a solid metal arm. As Tony looked on in horror, the man pulled back his metal left fist and punched Steve square in the face, knocking him flat just as a huge piece of debris landed directly across Tony's shoulders.

"Rogers!" Tony yelled, now pinned down against the glass as the huge carrier tipped onto its side, heading rapidly down towards the river. He could no longer see Steve or the other man, but he could still hear the sound of the landing blows.

"JARVIS!" said Tony when Steve didn't reply. "Get me out of this!"

"The armor has been badly damaged, sir," answered JARVIS. "I'm rerouting power to the back thrusters, but it will take a moment."

"Well, hurry it up, otherwise we're all about to become fish food," Tony grumbled, struggling in vain to shimmy out from underneath the massive beam pinning him down.

"Please stand by, sir," said JARVIS.

Tony saw rather than felt the crash of the freezing river encompassing him as the carrier splashed down, the buoyancy the water provided giving him enough of a boost to slightly shift the beam covering him, just in time to see Steve go under the surface.

"Rogers!" Tony screamed, scanning frantically for the shaggy-haired attacker. "JARVIS, get me out of here!"

"I'm rebooting the system, sir. Please stand by!"

"We don't have time!" yelled Tony. Even as he knew that Steve already survived one crash into water, this time, as cold as this water was there still was no ice to preserve his body, and Tony had no way of knowing how badly Steve was already injured.

"System rebooted, sir," said JARVIS.

"Fire up the thrusters!" Tony snapped. Wrapping his hands around the beam, he pushed against it with all of his remaining strength, grunting with the effort while his thrusters fired, pushing him up off the glass. Just as he was able to lift the beam enough to shimmy out, his eyes caught Steve's attacker dragging him out of the river and onto the shore, dropping the unconscious Captain on the muddy riverbank before escaping into the thick, tall trees. The last thing Tony noticed before he disappeared into the mist was the red star of the former Soviet Union, embossed on the outside of the man's metal arm.

"Rogers!" Tony said, his helmet disappearing behind his head as he arrived at Steve's side. "Rogers? Give me a sign here!"

Tony shook his shoulder, breathing out a sigh of relief when Steve let out a loud, groaning exhale. Besides the gunshot wound to his abdomen, Steve's face was battered and bloody, both eyes were swollen and bruised, and there was a fairly wide gash extending from his lips out to his cheek. Only the super soldier serum coursing through his blood had prevented him from being killed at Metal Arm Man's hands.

"JARVIS, call for an ambulance," Tony commanded.

"Already done, sir," replied JARVIS. "Emergency services has been dispatched to your location with an estimated arrival time of four minutes."

"Dad? Is everyone okay?" Peter's frightened voice said over the comm. Tony squeezed his eyes closed as his lower lip started to shake. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to hug his little boy close and tell him that everything was going to be okay now.

But, was it really going to be okay? Or was this just yet another thing in a long line of things that are gonna keep happening?

Are we ever going to have any peace?

"I'm okay, Pete," Tony croaked. "And once I make sure Steve's gonna be okay I'll be zooming right back up there to ya. All right? So you just sit tight and wait for me."

He heard Peter sniff, like he always did when he was trying not to cry. "Okay. I'll be waiting. We're all waiting."

"You can go ahead and go if you want," Sam's voice suddenly said from the treeline, causing Tony to whirl around. Fury and Natasha must've dropped him off to look for Steve. "I'll stay here with Cap."

"Are you sure?" Tony asked.

"Absolutely," replied Sam. "Look. If I had a kid that overheard all the shit that just went down, I'd be wanting to get back to him too. I'm sure he's gonna have a lot of questions."

Tony patted Steve's shoulder one final time before pushing himself up to his feet and extending a hand to Sam. "Yeah, you have no idea. Take good care of Cap for me, yeah? Tell him I'll catch up with him once he's back on his feet."

"I promise," replied Sam, crouching down next to Steve's prone body. Tony could hear the sound of sirens approaching. "Go on, man. Don't keep your boy waiting."

"Is he asleep?" Pepper asked Tony, setting aside the paperwork she'd been looking over as Tony stepped into their Tower bedroom. "Seems like it took a little less time tonight."

Tony let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sank down onto the bed. "Yeah, maybe a few minutes. I doubt he'll last through the night though."

Pepper's hands reached for Tony's shoulders, trying to rub some of the tension away. "Well, I've already called his therapist, Tony. She'll be here tomorrow when he gets home from school."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Tony admitted, even though he was still skeptical as to whether or not this therapist lady actually did Peter any good. The way Tony saw it, the only way Peter would finally be free of his nightmares and fears would be when he thought he didn't have to worry about Tony anymore.

But, as the recent debacle with SHIELD had shown them, not knowing who your enemies even are makes it extra difficult to fight them. And Tony knew that he couldn't rest until all the possible enemies were found and eliminated. Until every terrorist, every rogue HYDRA agent, every possible anything that could want to harm his family or friends, was destroyed.

It'd been nearly three weeks since the Battle of the Triskelion. Three weeks since most of HYDRAs secrets—and SHIELDs—were dumped onto the live internet by Agent Romanoff. Three weeks of Congressional Hearings and dodging reporters and dealing with Peter's constant nightmares and clinginess in addition to Tony's own resurgent sleeplessness and anxiety.

It was just like the Battle of New York all over again. The only difference this time was that they'd been fighting the evil, corrupt versions of themselves instead of aliens.

Which almost made it seem worse.

"Tony," Pepper said in a low voice, her hands pausing their ministrations on his shoulders. "What're you thinking about?"

"Nothing, honey," Tony lied, grateful that Pepper couldn't see his face. "Just something that Banner and I need to get working on."

"Mmm," Pepper said, sounding skeptical. "Okay. Are you gonna take Peter to school in the morning, or am I?"

"No, I'll take him," Tony said quickly. "Don't you have another early meeting?"

"You know I can always reschedule the meetings, Tony," replied Pepper. "That is one of the perks of being the CEO."

"True enough. But no, I'll take him." What Tony didn't add is that he wanted to make absolutely sure that none of the reporters tried to go after Peter again. They'd been a lot better this time than after the Battle of New York, probably partially due to the fact that the battle had taken place outside of New York. But Tony was still afraid that if they saw Peter without Tony, they'd see it as an opportunity to pounce on him. Even if he was with Pepper.

And there was no way Tony could allow that. Poor kid had been through enough. He didn't need to be harassed by a bunch of newsies on top of everything else.

"Pardon me, sir," JARVIS said. "But Captain Rogers is asking to speak with you. He'd like to come up."

Tony huffed out a sharp breath, dropping his head down to his chin. Sometimes it seemed like Steve forgot that everyone else besides Thor required more sleep than he did.

"Yeah, okay, JARVIS," answered Tony. "Tell him to come on up."

"Very good, sir."

Leaning over to kiss Pepper's cheek, Tony smoothed away a stray piece of her strawberry hair. "Don't wait up for me."

Stepping into the dim living room, Tony was pacing back and forth when the elevator doors opened and Steve walked in.

"Tony," Steve said, his pale face pinched with sorrow and trepidation, but showing no lingering signs of his brutal fight against the Winter Soldier thanks to his enhanced healing. He clapped his hands together, his eyes flitting awkwardly around the room.

"Yeah?" Tony said, trying to sound lighter than he felt. "What's up, old man? Just needing some company?"

But Steve's pained expression only grew deeper. "For as long as I remembered, I only wanted to do what was right," he said softly. "But now, I'm not so sure I know what that is anymore."

"Rogers, what're you saying?" Tony asked. "Just spit it out. We're all friends here."

Steve shook his head, his lower lip shaking. "Tony… I… um… There's something very important that I need to tell you."

Chapter Text

Tony's eyes widened at the eerie sense of grimness in Steve's voice. While he thought the old man was often a bit more serious about everyday life than he needed to be, this was a lot more than that.

Steve looked broken. Completely and utterly broken.

"Yeah, okay," Tony said, clearing his throat and pointing over towards the living room couch. "You… um… need something to drink or anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," Steve said. He sank his large frame down onto the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes briefly. Tony knew that Steve didn't require as much sleep as the average human, but at that moment in his unprofessional opinion, Steve looked like he needed a long nap. Badly.

But a blink of the eye later and Steve's relaxed posture was gone, replaced by the rigid back and straightened shoulders of a well-trained soldier.

"Tony," he began. "I know Natasha dumped all that SHIELD and HYDRA stuff onto the internet, for the whole world to see, but—"

"Yeah, I've scanned through some of it," Tony said. "But I haven't really had a chance to look through it all. Pete's been having nightmares lately, again, so we've been trying to deal with him, and—"

"You haven't let him read any of it?" Steve demanded. "Have you?"

Tony's head snapped back in surprise. "Absolutely not! I haven't told him about any of it. It's bad enough he had to listen in on the entire goddamn showdown at the Triskelion!"

"Poor kid," Steve lamented. "I hope you'll let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Sam's offered to help too, he's got some experience with counseling. Not kids, he counsels former soldiers, but… just know that the offer is there. And not just for Peter, Tony. If you ever feel like you need someone to talk too… Sam said he's available."

"Thanks," Tony said quietly. "I appreciate it. He seems like a good guy."

"Yeah, he is," Steve agreed.

"But I don't think that's why you're up here in my apartment after midnight. Is it, old man?"

Steve let out a heavy sigh, his broad shoulders sagging. "No, it's not."

"Okay…, so…" Tony said, trying to not sound impatient. "Look, I'm not trying to rush you here, but since Pete's not sleeping all that great and I have no idea when he'll wake up again, we need to—"

"Have you ever heard of Arnim Zola, Tony?" asked Steve.

The unexpected question caught Tony off guard. His brow furrowed as he wracked his brain, knowing he'd heard that name before somewhere.

"Uh, yeah. I think my dad mentioned him a few times. Smart guy, worked for SHIELD, died of some bad cancer or something when I was a toddler. Why?"

"Well, before all that, Zola worked for HYDRA," Steve said. "Specifically for Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull. Zola was the scientist who helped to design all of Schmidt's weaponry during the war."

"So, why the hell was he working for SHIELD?" Tony asked. "That doesn't seem so smart on their part."

"Natasha called it Operation Paperclip. She said after the war, scientists with strategic value were recruited to work for SHIELD, without regard to their former affiliations."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "Wow. That seems a bit risky for a security organization." And not at all surprising. During his lifetime, Howard Stark's interest in fellow scientists and inventors almost bordered on obsession. It would make sense that he'd want as many of them as possible all in one place so he could glean from them.

"I suppose on the outside Arnim Zola didn't look like much of a threat," Steve said. "I think the people in the SSR thought he was only helping Schmidt because Schmidt had threatened to kill him."

"Okay, so… this guy Zola survives the war, then gets recruited to SHIELD to do… what exactly?"

Steve pursed his lips as his blue eyes filled with tears. "Zola was responsible for the rebuilding of HYDRA inside of SHIELD, Tony. He was the mastermind behind it all. And HYDRA grew inside SHIELD like a parasite, so that even after Zola was dead, he was still working." Steve paused, shaking his head. "That bunker that Natasha and I found, that's where I was first trained in the Army, and it was also the place where SHIELD was born. And in a secret level deep underground, we found what was left of Zola. He'd… downloaded his consciousness—or at least that's what Natasha called it—into hundreds of feet of that old tape that used to be your computers."

"Whoa!" exclaimed Tony. "He did that back in 1972? That's pretty impressive!"

"He was a genius, Tony," Steve snapped. "Like you are. Even Howard said so, and he was the smartest person I'd ever met before you."

A flash of pride at being called smarter than Howard Stark surged through Tony. "Yeah, well—"

"HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity couldn't be trusted with its own freedom," Steve interrupted. "And so Zola took the opportunity he had within SHIELD to continue the work he'd been doing with Schmidt. The Project Insight algorithm, Tony. That was all Zola's doing. He was the one who developed it."

Tony's heart immediately started hammering in his chest, and his hands clenched into tight fists. "He didn't happen to tell you why he was targeting my son with his deathships, did he?"

"We didn't know about the targets until you and Bruce cracked the algorithm, Tony," Steve replied gently. "But… Project Insight wasn't the only thing that Zola and the rest of the HYDRA agents were responsible for. The ghosts that Fury mentioned—"

"The ghosts were HYDRA," interrupted Tony. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"They were everywhere, Tony," Steve said. "HYDRA had agents everywhere. In the government, in the military, in hospitals, schools. They weren't just confined to SHIELD."

"Yeah, I heard ole Senator Stern was arrested for being one of the HYDRA goons," Tony said with a sneer. "Serves that fucker right."

"But Fury also doesn't think that we've flushed them all out yet," added Steve. "He thinks there's still agents out there. Cut off one head—"

"And two more take its place," Tony finished, shuddering. "So what does Fury wanna do about it?"

"Well, Fury's technically dead, so whatever he's doing it's going to be under deep cover. And Natasha's out there right now too, trying to build a new cover of her own. But once she gets back, I really think we need to try and root out as many of these HYDRA agents as we can. You and Bruce can find the location of their hidden bases, and then we'll all go in and eliminate them."

"Okay, that sounds all well and good and everything," replied Tony. "But who's the 'we' in this scenario? SHIELD? 'Cause that's not gonna fly. President Ellis is still up-in-arms about it, not to mention Congress. I've been up to my neck with Department of Damage Control stuff ever since the mess at the Triskelion, and you know I hate all that damn political stuff. Way too much smooth-talking and ass-kissing for my taste."

"No, not SHIELD. SHIELD technically doesn't exist anymore. I meant, we," said Steve, gesturing between himself and Tony. "Us. All of us. You, me, Thor, Bruce, Natasha, and Clint. The Avengers. We're the ones who are the best qualified to handle this."

"Barton? What the hell's he been up to all this time?"

"Natasha said that he's been running missions for Fury," Steve answered. "Like we were before all this happened. I can get in touch with him when we're ready."

"Mmm. And you think this is the way to go, do ya, old man?"

"Yes, Tony," Steve said firmly, even as his voice started to tremble. "I do. HYDRA has to be eliminated. They've… ruined too many lives already. They have to be stopped."

"Rogers?" Tony asked in a low voice. "What aren't you telling me? There's something else, isn't there?"

Steve let out a shaky breath, his chin dropping down to his chest. "Yeah, there is."

Tony's jaw clenched as he quickly glanced up at the clock, noting it was nearly 1am. Peter had been asleep for about two hours, which meant they had maybe another thirty minutes before he woke up, crying out for Tony.

"Rogers? What is it?"

"Natasha and I saw some things while we were down in that bunker at Camp Lehigh, Tony," Steve said, his flat voice almost a whisper. "Zola was taunting us, stalling us while HYDRA fired a missile towards the Camp. They tried to kill us."

Something about Steve's voice made Tony's blood run cold, and he shivered, his teeth catching on his lower lip. "What did you see?"

"Your mom and dad, Tony. They were—"

"They were killed in a car accident," Tony snapped. "Howard was probably drunk, as he usually was. What does that have to do with anything?"

Lifting his head, Steve locked eyes with Tony, his jaw twitching. "No, Tony. They were killed by HYDRA."

Tony let out a sound, somewhere between a choke and a gasp as he clutched his clenched fist to his chest. "You're absolutely sure?"

"I saw it, Tony," whispered Steve. "Natasha and I both did."

"Goddamnit," croaked Tony, slumping back against the couch. "Howard just couldn't keep his nose out of anything, could he?"

"It wasn't Howard's fault, Tony—"

"Yes, it fucking was, Rogers!" cried Tony. "He was obsessed! Everything he had, none of it was good enough! He wanted more! More knowledge, more technology, more stuff to do more… whatever!" Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Vanko. Hank Pym. This Zola asshole. Anyone who showed just the slightest hint of being as intelligent as him, he went after." Tony paused, letting out a morbid chuckle. "Everyone except me, of course."

"I'm sure he loved you, Tony," Steve protested. "You were his son!"

"Bullshit, he did!" snapped Tony. "He never loved me! Howard didn't even like me! All I heard about the whole time I was growing up was how I was never gonna match up to the great Steve Rogers! And that was only when he thought I was worthy enough to even speak to!"

Steve's head snapped back like he'd been slapped. "Tony, I only knew Howard when he was young and single. I didn't know—"

"Yeah, well, he never shut the hell up about you," Tony grumbled. "It was either Steve Rogers or whatever technology he was after or which new scientist he was trying to woo. And all it did, all his obsession got him in the end was to get my mom killed. Way to go, asshole!"

"I don't—, I don't know what to say, Tony."

Tony shrugged, blinking back tears as he looked off to the side. "There's nothing you can do. My parents have been dead for over twenty years now. But my mom, she deserved better. She deserved better than to go out like that. I think… I think she would've loved getting to meet Pepper, and her grandson." And who knows. Maybe even Howard would've been impressed by Peter. Kid could charm the socks off an alligator, so why not Howard Stark?

They were quiet for a few moments, the only sounds being the roar of the occasional airplane as it flew overhead, until Steve spoke up again.

"Tony, that's not everything I came up here to tell you."

"What now, Rogers?"

"I… um…" Steve stammered. "Natasha told me after Fury was attacked that there was a Soviet assassin out there that went by the name Winter Soldier. She said he was responsible for dozens of kills in the last fifty years."

Tony's throat, already raw from trying to hold back his emotions, tightened even more. "Did this assassin happen to be that dark-haired dude on the carrier in D.C.? With the metal arm? The one that nearly beat the hell out of you?"

"Yes," Steve choked out. "It was. I've thought he was dead this whole time. I watched him fall from a moving train down a cliff during the war, while we were raiding the HYDRA bases… I guess HYDRA captured him, they must've experimented on him, done something to him."

"Well, yeah, I'd say HYDRA did something to him," mumbled Tony. "Sounds like they scrambled his head pretty good."

A single tear rolled down Steve's cheek, and he hastily brushed it away. "He's my friend, Tony. My best friend. I thought he was dead. We'd known each other our entire lives, and now—"

"Now he's one of HYDRA's puppets," Tony muttered. "Who killed my parents."

"Tony, I—, he probably didn't even know what he was doing. I fought him, before I knew who he was, and he was brutal. HYDRA enhanced him somehow."

"He nearly killed you, Rogers," Tony said in a low voice. "I'd say he was just as brutal after you realized who he was."

"No," protested Steve. "He stopped. On the carrier, he could've killed me. His hand was raised, but he stopped. He stopped. That must mean that the real Bucky is still in there somewhere, underneath all the HYDRA programming."

Tony shot him a skeptical look. "Uh huh. And what exactly do you think you're gonna do about it? He's a ghost, and now without Pierce and the rest of whoever at HYDRA was controlling him, we have no way of knowing what he knows or where he's gone."

"Then that means I need to find him," Steve said firmly. "I need to find him before someone else does. And if Fury is right, that not all the HYDRA agents have been flushed out, then it's even more important that we find him before they do." Steve paused, looking intently into Tony's eyes. "I could use your help, Tony. Sam's offered to help too, but…"

Steve's voice trailed off, but Tony caught the intent behind his words anyway. Tony's vast resources and worldwide connections would certainly go far in aiding such a difficult search. Tony felt his upper lip curling, he had half a mind to tell Steve to shove it. That he wouldn't waste any time or money to help find the person who most likely murdered his parents in cold blood, brainwashed or not.

But from what Peter had told him about this Bucky person, he and Steve had been best friends since childhood, very much like Peter and Ned. And Tony knew without a doubt that if Peter and Ned were ever in a weird-ass situation such as this, Peter would do whatever he possibly could to help Ned.

And I'd do the same if it were Rhodey. And he for me.

"All right," Tony finally said. "I'll help you. But if there's still HYDRA cells out there, our main focus should be on wiping those out first. I'm not giving those fuckers another shot at my son, Rogers. Not ever."

"I agree," Steve said, his shoulders sagging a bit. "Thank you, Tony. And I'm sorry, you know I never meant—"

"Nothing anyone could've done," interrupted Tony. "Not your fault, either."

"But still. Howard was my friend, and your father. If there's anything I can do—"

But Steve was interrupted by a sudden loud wail coming from the direction of Peter's bedroom, the hair-raising sound causing Tony to shiver.

"No! Please, Daddy, no!"

"Go, Tony," Steve said as Tony bolted to his feet. "I can see myself out."

"Later, old man," Tony shot over his shoulder as he hurried out of the living room. Rushing into Peter's bedroom, Tony found him curled into a tight, sweaty ball on his bed, his head cradled in his arms as he sobbed.

"Hey, hey, buddy," Tony murmured as he pulled the boy into his arms, positioning Peter's head over his heart as Peter grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pinching Tony's skin in the process. "You're all right, Pete. I've got you. It's okay now."

"I'm scared, Daddy!" Peter cried, tears leaking out from under his closed eyes. He wasn't even fully awake. "They're too loud! Make them go away!"

"I've got you, Peter," Tony said firmly. His right hand curled into Peter's hair, rubbing his scalp. "I love you, buddy. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

It took over fifteen minutes of shushing and comforting before Peter was able to calm down. But finally, after his skinny body had relaxed and his breathing had evened out, Tony leaned his head back, tears of exhaustion and sorrow burning his eyes.

Are we ever going to have any peace? he thought. Or is it always going to be like this. Cut off one enemy's head and two more take its place?

"Hey, Peter!" Ned exclaimed as he rushed into their homeroom classroom and slammed his books down onto the desk, which wobbled slightly under the force. "Did ya hear? There's a new Millenium Falcon set coming out for Christmas this year!"

"No," answered Peter, failing miserably at trying to drum up even the pretense of enthusiasm. "I didn't. How many pieces?"

"I don't know yet," Ned said. "Dad only saw a blurb about it in one of his trade magazines. We should know more as we get closer to Christmas."

"Well, well, well. If it isn't little penis Parker!" called Flash Thompson as he entered the classroom, taking his seat directly behind Peter. Their homeroom teacher had told the class on the first day of seventh grade that assigned seats were unnecessary since they were only in this classroom long enough for the morning announcements. Unfortunately, that meant that Flash could sit wherever he wanted, and since Peter was always one of the first students to arrive in the classroom, Flash often managed to sit right behind Peter.

"That's not my name, Flash," Peter shot back, even as his exhausted eyes burned with tears. He'd been so sleepy that morning that he'd barely managed to get his contacts past his droopy eyelids. Peter didn't sleep all that great when Dad was home, which meant it was a thousand times worse when he was away on one of the Avengers raids.

"My name is Peter Parker Stark," Peter continued, emphasizing the 'Stark'. "If you're gonna make fun of my name, at least get it right."

"Oh, I know your name, little Parker," Flash retorted. He kicked one of the legs of Peter's chair, jarring him such that three of his heavy books fell onto the floor. "And I don't care who adopts you, or how many superheroes you live with. You'll always just be little penis Parker to me, and to everybody else at this miserable place. So you might as well just get used to it."

Peter's jaw tightened and he swallowed hard, biting back the urge to say something else, something just as mean. But his tired mind wasn't working all that well this morning, and he knew it would just be pointless anyway. For whatever reason, Peter couldn't ever come up with anything that didn't sound ridiculous in the heat of the moment like that. He just couldn't do it. Steve had tried telling Peter once that it was because he was too kind to think of such insulting, degrading things, but somehow that didn't help him feel any better.

He also had to hand it to Flash. The kid definitely had some balls to be making fun of the son of Tony Stark, little or not. And especially since Steve still drove Peter to school on occasion on his motorcycle. You'd think that being driven to school by Captain America would garner just a touch of respect from the class bully, but no. It never did.

Flash only keeps it up because he knows you won't say anything. He knows you won't fight back, Peter thought miserably. Not that I could without getting my ass kicked, anyway.

During the summer break, which was nearly three months of almost continuous boredom only broken on occasion by quick weekend trips up to the Compound and a twelfth birthday spent at Coney Island, Peter had returned to school to discover, much to his horror, that nearly every single one of his classmates had shot up in height. Even Ned, who'd always been a bit closer to Peter's height, had grown at least three inches over the summer, whereas Peter had grown maybe an inch and a half. Barely enough to even warrant buying new pants for the school year.

And if that hadn't been embarrassing enough, Pepper had even caught Peter crying about it one night in his room, about a week after school had started. Dad and the other Avengers were off on yet another one of the HYDRA raids, and Peter had gone to bed as soon as they had eaten dinner that evening, telling Pepper that he wanted to be alone. But even though Peter had locked his bedroom door and told JARVIS he didn't want to be disturbed, the AI must've let it slip that he was upset, because fifteen minutes later Pepper walked through his unlocked door and found him sobbing into his pillow, his arms tightly clenched around his old stuffed polar bear.

Pepper had tried her best to comfort him, even telling him that she'd been one of the youngest in her school class as well, and one of the last to start growing, but it didn't help all that much. Peter still looked up to every single person in his class, and was probably outweighed by at least twenty to twenty-five pounds. Especially Flash, who was turning thirteen in a few weeks and was already over half a head taller than Peter. Flash's voice had even started to deepen, which Peter had to admit was pretty funny at times when it changed pitch in the middle of a sentence. But he didn't dare allow Flash to see him laughing, or even smirking. There was no telling what the older, stronger boy would do if he ever caught Peter laughing at him.

"Shut the hell up, Flash," Ned said, shooting a nasty glare at the taller boy. "Why don't you pick on someone else for a change? I'm pretty sure Peter's had enough of your shit for awhile."

"There's no need for that kind of talk in my classroom, Mr. Leeds," their homeroom teacher said firmly as she stepped inside the room. She peered over her half-moon eyeglasses at Ned, eyeing him warily. "Is there, young man?"

Ned pursed his lips, dropping his sheepish gaze to his books. "No, ma'am," he replied.

"I should hope not," the teacher said as she sat down at her desk. "Now then, I require all of your attention for the morning announcements."

"Way to get your only friend in trouble there, little Parker," Flash whispered as soon as the teacher started reading. "At least we know that you're good at something."

Curling his shoulders, Peter rested his chin on top of his stack of books, his eyes staring straight ahead as the teacher droned on. He was so lost in his exhaustion that he barely heard Ned whispering next to him.

"When's your dad supposed to get back?" he asked.

"Dunno," Peter whispered back. "Couple days, I think."

"Where are they this time?"

"Last time Dad called he said they were in Iceland. I'm guessing they're still there since he said there were a bunch of bases they had to go through."

"Iceland!" Ned exclaimed, ducking his head down when the girl seated next to him shot him a glare. "That's so cool!"

"Yeah," grumbled Peter. "So cool."

"You don't think so?"

"I'd think it was cooler if I got to go too," Peter replied, pouting. "And if it wasn't so dangerous for them to be there in the first place." So far all of the HYDRA bases the Avengers had raided had been heavily fortified, and it didn't help Peter's mood at all that Dad kept coming home all bruised and battered, often with at least one black eye and sometimes even with broken ribs, which made it a lot harder for Peter to cuddle with him.

Plus, the fact that Dad didn't heal as quickly as Steve or Bruce only made Peter worry about him even more. Peter wasn't sure how much more his father's body could take being beaten up on such a regular basis. Even though he was encased in his protective armor, it still required a lot of physical strength to maneuver and fight, especially while he was flying. And not to mention the hits he took. Enemies always seemed to assume that he was invincible—he was Iron Man, after all—so it always seemed like they aimed directly for him.

"Mr. Stark?" the teacher asked, looking pointendly at Peter. "Is there something you wish to add to the announcements this morning?"

Peter felt his cheeks flushing red, and he quickly shook his head. Even though it had been almost four years since he'd been adopted, Peter still wasn't used to being called 'Mr. Stark'. Whenever he heard it, his first instinct was to turn around and look for his father.

"N—, no, ma'am."

"Then I trust you can keep quiet until I have completed them?"

"Yes, ma'am," Peter replied, as politely as he could muster. "I can."

"Very well. Let's try it and see, shall we?"

Ned gave Peter an apologetic look as Peter laid his head back down on the desk, not even trying to listen to what the teacher was saying. To make matters worse, Sam Wilson was supposed to come up to their apartment that evening after dinner to talk with Peter, and while Peter liked Sam enough, he wasn't in the mood for yet another counseling session. Dad had already dismissed Peter's old therapist, saying that Sam seemed to be helping Peter a lot more than she ever had. And while Dad probably had a point; Peter did enjoy talking with Sam more than he had the other lady, he still felt like an idiot most of the time, and Peter hated feeling like an idiot.

Because no matter how many times he and Sam talked, Peter still couldn't sleep without his polar bear, and he still had nightmares that made him cry out for his daddy in the middle of the night. Even when Pepper or James, or even Sam would try to comfort him after a nightmare, Peter still only wanted Dad.

No one else's heartbeat sounded like Dad's. Not even JARVIS could replicate the sound quite right.

There can't be too many more HYDRA bases left, Peter thought, trying to think optimistically. Maybe these will be some of the last ones.

And then maybe, just maybe, they could get back to normal. Even if it was their own weird, superhero version of normal, Peter wanted it. No, not quite. Want was too light a word. Peter didn't just want normalcy, he craved it. He craved it more than Mr. Delmar's sandwiches and watching movies and building with Legos and wanting to play football, even if he knew he'd likely get killed if he tried.

Peter just wanted his big hero family to be happy together. Dad, Pepper, Happy, James, Steve, Bruce, Thor, and Sam. Even Agent Romanoff too, if she wanted. Peter didn't mind her too much. He liked her voice, it kind of reminded him of Aunt May.

That wasn't too much to ask.

Was it?

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Tony snapped as he repulsed two more of the stubborn HYDRA agents away from the entrance to their underground bunker, wincing inside his helmet as their bodies hit the nearby concrete supports with a sickening crunching noise. "Why am I always waiting on the rest of you guys?"

"Sorry, Tony," Steve answered, knocking yet another agent aside with a massive swing of his arm as he landed easily on the concrete steps, one step up from where Tony was standing. "Not all of us can fly, you know."

"Yeah, well, you know I could probably solve that little problem if you gave me the time," Tony muttered as he shot again, knocking yet another agent back against the metal fence that surrounded the bunker. "I need to hotwire the lock, old man. Cover me."

"Copy that!" called Steve. Stepping up to the top of the stairs, Steve raised his shield, assuming what Peter liked to call his "hero position" as he awaited any further intruders. Tony quickly ripped the cover off the lock panel, burning through the metal layer with his arm laser and tearing out the newly exposed wires. Off in the distance, Tony could hear the ear-splitting roar of the Hulk as he thundered across the vast Highland, taking out any and all of the enemy agents in his path. It had taken quite a bit of convincing on both Tony and Steve's part to get Bruce to agree to join in on these raids. Even though Bruce had demonstrated that he could turn into the Hulk willingly during the Battle of New York, it didn't at all mean that he enjoyed it. Bruce had described coming back from being the Hulk as a very unnerving experience, likening it to a combination of the first desperate gulp of air after holding your breath for too long and trying to calm a wildly tantruming inner small child.

And if he was honest, Tony found it a bit disturbing as well. As such, after the first couple of raids Tony made sure to install a blanket warmer in the Quinjet, along with plenty of blankets, fresh clothes, and a pair of HD headphones that played whatever that stuff was that Bruce liked to call music. Opera? Classical? Tony didn't know. All he knew was that it sure as hell wasn't anything like AC/DC.

But if it helped Bruce to calm down and regain his bearings after a raid, it was worth it. And Tony was happy to provide anything he could to help his teammates. He'd already upgraded Steve, Clint, and Natasha's suits, making them immune to the residual vibrations from the impacts caused by Thor's hammer and Cap's shield, and lining them with some new prototype fabric that Stark Industries had been developing for the last couple of years. The fabric wasn't quite bulletproof, more bullet-resistant, but it was still better than nothing since wearing head-to-toe Kevlar wasn't really a good option for maintaining maneuverability.

Not that Kevlar would likely save anyone anyway, since most of the enemies lately seemed to have the armor-piercing rounds in their weapons stashes. Tony himself was almost a testimony to that way back in Afghanistan.

Three seconds later Tony had the lock disabled, smirking at the ease of it. He would've thought such a high-level terrorist organization would've had better security for their secret bunkers.

"Got it, Cap!" Tony called over the comm. "I'm going in!"

"We're right behind you, Tony," Steve said, grunting as he threw his shield across the Highland, aiming directly for Thor. Tony felt the massive vibration throughout the bunker as Thor batted the shield back towards Cap with his hammer, the resulting tremors taking out the rest of the defending HYDRA agents in one fell swoop.

"Why do you always save that little maneuver for the end?" Tony asked, approaching what appeared to be an abandoned scientific workstation.

"Ah well, you know how it is," Steve answered, panting for breath. "Gotta let them think they have a chance every now and then, don't we?"

Tony grinned behind his mask. Even though he knew what they were doing was dangerous, he couldn't deny that it felt damn good to personally kick the shit out of the bad guys that had dared to threaten his son.

And, Tony was glad that he wasn't the only one. Steve had confessed to him a few times that with these raids, and with the whole of trying to rid the world of HYDRA, he finally felt like he had his purpose back. That he was doing what he was meant to do.

"Yeah, sure, old man," Tony replied as his helmet folded back into the neck of his suit. Eyeing the rather complicated setup of equipment, Tony pulled a flash drive from his arm gauntlet, inserting it into one of the USB ports. "JARVIS, download anything useful here and relay it directly to the Avengers servers."

"Right away, sir," replied JARVIS.

"Find anything interesting?" Natasha asked as she came down the steps and sank onto one of the chairs, looking not too much worse for the wear.

"Only that the missile launch during the Battle of New York was an embedded HYDRA agent acting under orders from Secretary Pierce to take us out," answered Tony in a low voice. "JARVIS is doing a more comprehensive search now. Should know in a few minutes."

"How's Bruce?" Steve asked Natasha. "Doing okay?"

"Seems fine. Thor's with him now, they're heading for the jet," Natasha answered. "Going through that calming mantra they've worked out. And Clint's doing a final sweep of the area, looking for any stragglers."

"Good," said Steve. "Let's you and I do a quick search of the bunker while Tony downloads the data. See what sort of tech they were using here."

Natasha got to her feet, giving Steve a slight smirk. "Lead the way, Cap."

"Sir," JARVIS said a few seconds later. "I believe I have found something rather… interesting."

"Oh?" said Tony. "Let's see it, J."

A second later the monitor in front of Tony came to life, displaying what appeared to be a requisition order of some kind. Tony quickly scanned the form, his brow furrowing as he realized what it was for.

"Holy shit!" he said softly. "JARVIS, are we sure this is authentic?"

"I have found no evidence to suggest that it is not, sir," answered JARVIS.

"What's the deal?" Clint Barton asked as he slid up behind Tony's right shoulder, still clutching his massive bow in his right hand. Barton's eyes narrowed as he studied the image displayed on the screen. "Is that—?"

"Yep," Tony replied grimly. "It is. It's Loki's scepter."

"Son of a bitch," Barton said under his breath. "So now it's fallen into HYDRA's hands too?"

"Somehow I have a feeling it's been in HYDRA's hands since New York," grumbled Tony. "SHIELD only thought they had control of it." Goddammit! This definitely changes things a bit!

"Well, is it here?" asked Barton. "We should look for it!"

"No. This form says it was moved to… Sokovia," Tony answered. His heart started to thud against his rib cage. Wasn't that the same place where those renegade SI weapons were discovered not too long ago?

"Well, then I guess that's where we're heading next," Barton said firmly. "That damn thing's too powerful to be left in HYDRA's hands for too long. There's no telling what they could do with it."

"Bunker's empty," announced Steve as he and Natasha returned from their look-around. "There's nothing left here except the workstations. They must've cleared this one out awhile ago and just left the agents here to throw us off."

Great. Disposable agents. Wonderful people, these HYDRA assholes.

"Gotcha," answered Tony, still eyeing the form displayed in front of him. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing at the signature scrawled across the bottom. "JARVIS, who's that name belong to down there? Anyone we know?"

"I believe it says 'Doctor List', sir," replied JARVIS.

A violent shiver raced down Tony's spine. "Are you sure, J?"

"Quite sure, sir. It would appear this form was used to requisition the scepter to Doctor List's location in Sokovia."

"What's up with this List guy?" asked Barton. "He somebody extra special or something?"

"Ah, no," Tony lied, clearing his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Steve giving him an odd look, but he chose to ignore it. "Not that I know of. But I figured you'd be the one who'd know. Weren't you one of the actual SHIELD agents, Barton?"

Barton scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Ha! Yeah, but there were way too damn many of you nerds at SHIELD for me to bother trying to keep up with. I was only familiar with whoever I was assigned to protect." He shot Tony a rather suspicious look. "But anyway. Can we wrap this up soon?"

"Why?" Tony snapped, glaring at the archer. "You got someplace else you gotta be, Legolas?"

"And what if I did?" Barton snapped right back.

"That's enough!" Steve said firmly, preventing Tony from saying anything else. "Have you gotten everything you need, Tony?"

"I have completed the download, sir," said JARVIS.

"Yep," answered Tony, retrieving the flash drive. "So I guess we're done here."

"Good," answered Barton. "Then let's went. I'm ready to get outta here. Place gives me the creeps."

"And I'm calling the mission," Steve said as they climbed up the stairs that led outside. "This was the last of the bases located in this country, so I think we should take a break while we figure out what to do next."

"A break?" asked Tony. He was far too impatient to want to drag this whole mess out any longer than he had to. "Why?"

"I'm always up for a break," said Barton, not surprising Tony in the least.

"Because if we're going to be heading into Sokovia, Tony," said Steve in his best Captain's voice. "We should be prepared. And being prepared for a mission like that involves a lot of planning, even more so when that scepter is involved. I mean, we all saw the damage it's capable of already, and we have no way of knowing what kind of safeguards HYDRA will have placed around it. And I'm not willing to risk any of my team members' lives until we have a very detailed plan on how to get into the country, find the base, and retrieve the scepter."

Tony let out a heavy sigh. He knew Steve was right. He was tired, the whole team was tired, which only increased the potential for mistakes exponentially. Not to mention the fact that they'd already been gone for over a week, and Tony always got extra jumpy after being away from Peter for that long, even with Rhodey, Sam, and Pepper watching over him.

"Yeah, okay," Tony grumbled. "But then let's finish this. I'm ready for all of it to be over." And so is Pete.

Arriving back at the Quinjet, Tony was pleased to find Bruce sitting on his padded chair, wrapped in one of the warm blankets and listening to his screechy opera on his headphones while Thor watched over him. "He doing okay?" Tony asked Thor.

"It would appear so," Thor answered. "In fact, I do believe this transformation was the least traumatic that I have witnessed thus far."

"Excellent," Tony muttered, clapping Thor on the shoulder. "Thanks for watching over him for me. I know Bruce appreciates it too."

"I am happy to do so, Stark," Thor said with a smile. "Banner is a most formidable ally, and one I am proud to call my friend."

As soon as Natasha and Barton were on board Tony stepped out of his armor, attempting to make his way up towards the cockpit when he was stopped by Steve's hand on his arm. "Why don't you let Clint take the first pilot's shift this time. Is that okay with you, Clint?"

"Yeah sure, Cap," Barton said as he plopped down into the pilot's seat.

It was on the tip of Tony's tongue to protest. He always felt more at ease flying the Quinjet himself, even if Barton technically had more hours flying these types of jets. But the look in Steve's eyes didn't leave any room for argument, and Tony felt it wasn't worth it for him to try. He was way too damn tired.

"Yeah, okay," he replied, allowing Steve to lead him towards the seats in the back of the jet. Natasha shot them a strange look as they passed her, but Steve didn't seem to notice.

"Tell me what's going on, Tony," Steve said as soon as they sat down. "I know you saw something down in that bunker. What was it?"

Tony pursed his lips, a little embarrassed that Steve could read him so easily. "That Doctor List asshole. I've seen his name before."

"Where?" asked Steve.

"During the whole Project Insight mess. One night before it all went down, JARVIS found a document stating that Richard Parker had been working with this Doctor List on something. It was dated about two months before Parker was killed."

Steve leaned forward, his eyebrows knitting together. "What do you think it means?"

"I have no fucking clue, Rogers!" snapped Tony, drawing another concerned glance from Natasha several feet away. "I don't know, Cap," Tony repeated, a bit quieter this time. "According to what we found today, this List dude is most likely a HYDRA agent."

"So you think that Parker was a HYDRA agent as well?" Steve asked. "I thought Fury said Parker was killed by one of the ghosts."

"Yeah, that's what he said," answered Tony.

"Well, haven't we determined that the ghosts were the HYDRA agents operating inside SHIELD?"

"If we can trust what Fury said," Tony grumbled. "Which, given the man's history of only doling out whatever little breadcrumbs of information he deems appropriate at any given time, I'm not so sure that I can."

"I don't think Fury would lie about something like this," Steve said. "It wouldn't make sense to—"

"And why not?" interrupted Tony, his upper lip curling into a sneer. "Fury didn't tell me that Peter was under surveillance the entire time he lived with that aunt and uncle of his. He didn't tell me that he orchestrated the phone call from DSS after the Expo. Now, I can maybe understand him choosing to not share that information when I first took Pete in, not knowing how things might work out. But to keep it from me even after I adopted him? There was no good reason for it."

Steve was quiet for a moment, his head resting on his closed fist as he thought. "Tony," he finally said in a quiet voice. "You said Fury knew your father, correct?"

Tony's head jerked back in surprise. "Yeah. Why?"

"And did he know that things between you and Howard weren't—"

"That Howard was a shitty dad?" Tony asked, scowling. "Yeah. I even told him as much."

"And when did you tell him that?"

"Aahh, a couple days before the Expo disaster," Tony replied. "What the hell are you trying to get at, Rogers?"

"Well, maybe Fury was just trying to let you and Peter get to know each other on your own terms," said Steve. "You know, without all that… what do you call it? Baggage? Without all the extra baggage. I mean, from what you and Peter have both told me, he's been through a lot for such a young kid. Maybe Fury just wanted him to have a shot at being normal for a change."

"Normal?" Tony asked, incredulous. "What about any of our lives would you consider 'normal', Rogers? And even before all of this Avengers stuff, I was in no way 'normal’. Fury even said that. Called me narcissistic, said I didn't play well with others, etc, etc. I still can't believe he thought I was worthy enough to take in a kid."

"Okay, okay," Steve said, raising his hands. "As normal as possible then, given the circumstances. But like you said, Tony. Fury doesn't always tell us everything. And really. How long did it take for Peter to endear himself to you?"

"'Bout two days," Tony admitted. He allowed himself a slight grin, remembering how easy it was for tiny Peter to worm his way into Tony's walled-up heart of titanium. "Scared the hell outta me, to be honest."

"And do you think knowing all this stuff about Peter's birth father at that point would've changed anything?"

"I guess not," Tony said grudgingly. "But Fury still should've told me sooner. Especially since we now know that HYDRA was targeting him all that time, and we still don't know why."

"You still think Parker did something to Peter?" asked Steve.

Tony threw up his hands. "Hell if I know, Cap. But I won't lie, it keeps me awake at night wondering. I just want to keep my son safe, ya know? Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not, Tony," Steve said. "But I also worry that you might be jumping to conclusions, and I don't want those conclusions to affect your judgement. Especially if they're unfounded."

"If that's the case, Rogers, then why did that Killian fucker say what he said about Pete, huh?" Tony snapped. "And why did Fury think it necessary to keep an eye on Peter after Parker was dead? And why the hell was he one of the goddamn Insight targets?"

"Tony—!"

"Pardon me, sir," JARVIS cut in. "But Master Peter is requesting to know when you plan to arrive back at Avengers Tower."

"Should be 'bout five hours, Tony," shouted Barton from the cockpit.

"He is also requesting to be allowed to remain awake until you arrive, sir," added JARVIS. "It would be approximately two hours past his usual bedtime."

"Yeah, tell him that's fine, J," answered Tony. "I highly doubt he'd be able to get to sleep before then anyway."

"Very good, sir."

"I'm sorry this has been so disruptive for Peter, Tony," Steve said gently. "I'd like to say that we could do these raids without you, but I'm really not sure that we could. We all need each other out there."

"No, I agree that we need the entire team together," Tony said quickly. "I'm just… looking forward to when we'll be done. Give us all some normalcy, ya know? At least our version of normal, for a little while."

Until the next two-headed monster arrives.

"I'll admit, a vacation does sound nice right about now," Steve agreed. "But not until we retrieve that scepter. It's way too powerful to just leave in HYDRA's hands."

Tony slumped down in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh. "Yeah. The scepter."

Tony wasn't at all surprised to find Peter waiting for them on the landing platform when the Quinjet touched down at the Tower. And despite how tired Peter looked, with his red-rimmed eyes evidence that he'd fallen asleep wearing his contact lenses again, Tony's heart soared when he saw him.

"Hey, Pete!" Tony exclaimed as he held open his arms. Peter immediately ran towards him, grinning widely.

"Hey, Dad," Peter said, his voice muffled against Tony's chest. "I missed you."

"We'll debrief in the morning," Steve said as Thor, Natasha, and Bruce all said their goodnights and headed for the elevator that led to the residential section. Steve paused to give Peter's hair a ruffle. "You doing okay, Peter?"

"I'm better now that you guys are back," Peter answered with a smile.

"Good," said Steve with a wave. "Do you mind if I come up tomorrow after you get home from school? I feel like we haven't caught up in awhile."

Peter quickly glanced up at Tony, who gave him a slight nod. "Sure," he replied. "That sounds good."

"Great! See you then!"

"'Night, Cap," Tony said, giving Steve a mock salute as he tugged Peter inside the doors to his lab. Despite his outward lack of injury this time, he was still exhausted.

"Give me a few minutes to say hi to Pepper, okay, bud?" Tony asked. "Then I'll come and sit with you for a bit."

"Yeah, okay," Peter said. "She said she was gonna try and wait up for you too."

"Hey," Pepper said as Tony entered their bedroom. She was sitting up on the bed, going over more paperwork. "Did you see Peter yet?"

"Yeah," Tony said, leaning in for a quick kiss. "I think he must've fallen asleep in his contacts while he was waiting for us. His eyes are all red and squinty."

"Oops. I should've reminded him to take them out," Pepper said, wincing. "I usually do, but…" she gestured at the piles of paperwork strewn across the bed and bedside table. "We've been pretty busy this week. Three more companies have offered leases on the arc reactor technology—one of which is headquartered in India, of all places—and those new phones that we just released two weeks ago are completely sold out already. So tomorrow I need to figure out how to get the factories to produce another run and—"

"And there are no better hands to juggle all of these things than yours, honey," Tony said. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Even if you still refuse to hire another assistant."

"I have three already, Tony," Pepper said, tilting her head. "And two secretaries. I don't need another assistant. What I need is—"

"Sorry," Tony said with a smirk. "My cloning technology is still a few decades away. Besides, who could possibly improve on perfection? Daresay I think that not even I would be up to that task."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Ah. But it's what I meant," said Tony, shushing her with another kiss.

"Mmm. You're still an incorrigible flirt."

"Oh, but I only practice on you, honey," Tony murmured. "Want me to tuck you in before I head over to see Pete?"

Pepper's shoulders dropped as glanced around at the piles of paper. "You know… yeah. I can do more of this tomorrow."

Five minutes later, with Pepper tucked snugly into their bed, Tony headed for Peter's room, not at all surprised to find him already under the covers and clutching his polar bear. His eyes were already at half-mast when Tony sat down next to him, but he wasted no time in crawling onto Tony's lap and settling his head down against Tony's chest. Tony immediately curled his fingers into Peter's hair, inhaling the green apple scent that he found so calming.

"I missed you, Dad," Peter murmured a moment later. "I don't like it when you're gone."

Tony's arms tightened around Peter as he kissed the top of Peter's head. "Me too, bud." He wanted so badly to tell Peter that he'd never have to leave him again but knew it would be a lie, and trying to lie to Peter was pointless. The kid always managed to see right through them.

If only we could get Ultron to work, Tony thought. Then I really wouldn't ever have to leave again. I could be that stay-at-home Dad that everyone always thinks is so cool.

Tony and Bruce had made some big strides with the Ultron program over the summer, even applying some of it to Tony's new Iron Legion protocol, which consisted of a small squad of unmanned suits designed to act as a temporary peacekeeping and protection detail in the event of an emergency. So far, the Avengers had utilized the Iron Legion a couple of times to protect civilians during their raids on the HYDRA bases, and Tony was pleased with how well it had performed.

But the Iron Legion's protocols were limited to basic protective functions only. In order for them to become fully automated, Tony and Bruce would have to perfect the Ultron program first.

"How long before you have to leave again?" Peter asked.

"Not for awhile," Tony answered. "Cap says we need a bit of a break first."

Peter lifted his head, his brown eyes boring intently into Tony's. "Why?"

"What do you mean, ‘why’? I thought you'd think that was good news."

"Steve never gives you guys a break for too long," Peter said warily. "So that can only mean that you need to plan for something bigger. What's going on?"

Tony narrowed his eyes. "You're too smart for your own good sometimes, Pete," he grumbled. "You know that, right?"

"So, I'm right?" asked Peter.

"Yeah," Tony said after a short pause. "You're right. But this should be it. We think we know where Loki's scepter's being kept. All the HYDRA bases we've raided so far seem to have been cleared out for awhile now, so we're assuming that everything's been sent to this one location, including the scepter."

"So once you find the scepter, that should be it?" asked Peter.

"Should be, buddy." He tugged Peter's head back down to his chest, burying his nose in Peter's hair. "That's the plan, at least."

"And then you can stay home?"

"Yep," said Tony. "At least long enough for you to get sick of having me around."

Peter scoffed. "Not a chance."

"You don't think so?"

"Nope," replied Peter, yawning. "No chance."

Fifteen minutes later Peter was sound asleep, his breathing deep and heavy with those little squeaky noises he sometimes made when he was overtired. Tony carefully rolled him onto his pillow, tucking his polar bear under his arm and gently smoothing the curls off his forehead. Kid needed a haircut again.

As he exited Peter's bedroom, Tony paused to lean against the doorway, torn between wanting to head to his lab and do some work and heading to bed. He was exhausted, and the thought of curling around Pepper's lithe body and sleeping for the next six or so hours was sorely tempting.

Unfortunately, Tony also knew that he'd likely be unable to sleep, knowing what he now knew about this Doctor List. It can't have been a mere coincidence that Richard Parker had been working with an embedded HYDRA agent right before he was killed.

I have to be getting close, Tony thought, clenching his fists. I have to be. All these damn coincidences have to mean something.

"Hey, JARVIS," Tony said as he entered his lab, tapping his monitors to life. Even DUM-E beeped out a quiet greeting from his usual corner.

"Good evening, sir," answered JARVIS. "Working late tonight?"

"As usual, J," Tony replied.

"How can I assist you, sir?" JARVIS asked.

Tony breathed out a sharp breath. "Got that data from the Iceland HYDRA bunker handy?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good," Tony said, pulling a chair up to the monitor. "Show me everything you got on that Doctor List dude."

A couple of seconds later a file appeared on the monitor, displaying the personnel file for Doctor List. Tony quickly scanned down the file, his brow furrowing as the word 'enhanced' caught his eye.

"JARVIS, wasn't the term 'enhanced' used by SHIELD to describe people like Steve Rogers?"

"That is correct, sir," answered JARVIS. "SHIELD used the term Enhanced to describe humans who possess innate extraordinary abilities. Steve Rogers is one such Enhanced human. As is Dr. Banner."

"And that Winter Soldier guy who messed up Steve," mumbled Tony. "But neither Steve nor Bruce ever worked with this guy List before. Correct?"

"That is correct, sir."

Tony's heart began to thud. "JARVIS, didn't Richard Parker's work with SHIELD involve attempting to combine human DNA with animals?"

"That is also correct, sir."

"Okay. And Bruce said that he was killed not too long after he finally succeeded, after years of failure."

"Again, sir, that is correct."

"Sooo, if he had managed to combine a human's DNA with an animal's, would it be then appropriate to call that human an Enhanced? I mean, even that original file you found for me over four years ago described characteristics that could be considered Enhanced."

"I believe that would be appropriate, sir," said JARVIS.

Holy shit.

"Okay," Tony said. "So, if they managed to actually create an Enhanced human, and this Doctor List person was HYDRA, then it would make sense for them to want to hide whoever this Enhanced was."

"That would make sense, sir. But, may I remind you that there has been no evidence recovered that Dr. Parker ever actually created an Enhanced human. All the available evidence, from both SHIELD and HYDRA databases, indicates that his research was discontinued following his death."

Tony scrubbed his palm over his face. "Okay, but why? Were his experiments so complex that they couldn't be replicated? For some reason I find that hard to believe."

"Or perhaps it was because he refused to continue to cooperate following his success," JARVIS said.

"Yeah, that could be," Tony admitted grudgingly. "It still doesn't explain why Fury thought it necessary to keep Peter under surveillance after Parker's death though. It's almost as if Fury had been trying to use Peter as bait, as a way to try and lure HYDRA out in the open."

"I suppose that would be a possibility, sir," said JARVIS. "However, I would consider it unlikely."

Tony pressed his fist to his chest, trying to keep his breathing steady even as his heart continued to stutter. He was nearly on the verge of another panic attack. "Unlikely or not, Fury better hope that's not what he was doing," he said in a low voice. "Or I'll damn well take out his other eye the next time I see him."

"Yes, sir," replied JARVIS. "Are you in need of assistance? Shall I summon Miss Potts?"

"No, no," Tony croaked. "I'm fine, J. But… let's close this stuff for now, yeah?"

"Very good, sir. Perhaps some sleep will help you recover?"

Rolling his eyes, Tony reluctantly closed down his monitors. "Yeah. Good idea."

"Sleep well, sir."

But, just as he'd suspected, not even his exceedingly comfortable bed or the presence of Pepper next to him was enough to help Tony calm down. His mind continued to race, wondering how in the hell all of these seemingly random things were connected. Had Richard Parker actually managed to create an Enhanced human? Was that why he was killed? And if he did, did he do it for SHIELD, or for HYDRA?

And, perhaps the most important question of all: if Richard Parker did in fact create an Enhanced human, then where were they now?

Chapter Text

Peter stood on the landing platform of the Tower, shivering in the damp, chilly late October air as Dad and the rest of the Avengers loaded up the Quinjet with supplies, preparing to leave for Sokovia.

In the planning stages for over a month, this was supposedly going to be their final HYDRA raid, with all the available evidence pointing to the fact that HYDRA had concentrated its manpower and defenses on protecting this one final base. The fact that the Sokovia base was also the location for the scepter Loki used when he helped the Chitauri invade New York nearly four years ago was the main reason for all of the detailed planning and preparing. Dad told Peter that Steve wanted to make absolutely sure the team knew what to expect when they got there, which meant plenty of satellite surveillance, sending in the Iron Legion to spy and apply tracking tags to the weaponry along the perimeter, and getting the team as in shape and healthy as possible.

To that end, Steve had developed a series of workouts, each designed to emphasize the varying abilities and strengths of the individual team members. Steve had even asked Peter to demonstrate some of his gymnastic moves and routines to the team, which Peter found absolutely thrilling. After feeling like he was constantly just sitting on the sidelines, watching helplessly while nearly his entire family was always flying off into dangerous situations, it felt wonderful to actually get to help with something. And it got even better when Natasha pulled Peter aside a couple of times and asked him to help her with some of the side and front flips, saying that she was planning on incorporating them into her repertoire.

But now all the training and planning and strategizing was done, and it was time for the actual mission to begin.

Which meant the team had to leave. Again.

"That's the last of it, old man," Dad said to Steve as DUM-E carried a large box of provisions over to the jet. "I think we're ready for lift off."

Peter's lower lip started to tremble and he caught it between his teeth, trying to keep his tears at bay. He was getting far too old to keep crying every single time his dad had to leave. Even if his dad's "business trips" weren't exactly the same kind of business trips that Mr. Leeds took when he went out of town twice a month.

"You hold down the fort for us while we're gone, okay, Peter?" Steve asked, pulling Peter in for a tight, one-armed hug. "I'm counting on you."

"Yeah, I will," Peter answered, his voice muffled against Steve's side.

"Sam should be back day after tomorrow," Steve added. "I know he's looking forward to spending some time with you while we're gone."

"Yeah, I know," said Peter, a little less enthusiastically. It wasn't that Peter didn't like Sam. He just wished that not every conversation with him had to turn into an impromptu counseling session.

"All right, old man, quit hogging my kid," Dad said, tapping Steve's arm with his hand. Steve let out a chuckle as he released Peter from his grasp directly into Dad's arms, giving Peter's hair a quick ruffle before boarding the jet.

"I'm gonna miss you," Peter mumbled, his head ducked down under Dad's chin. Dad's fingers were in his hair, rubbing his scalp, and Peter squeezed his eyes closed with a sigh. Having his head rubbed was one of his absolute favorite things, and only his father knew how to do it right.

"I'm gonna miss you too, buddy," Dad whispered. "But just remember—"

"Yeah, yeah, this is the last one," Peter said, trying not to sound too snarky. "I sure hope so."

"Should be, bud," Dad said. "Once the scepter is retrieved our work should be done."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Pete." Dad pulled back, scowling a little as he looked down at Peter, his eyes intense. "I do. I'm ready for all of this to be done. I've… had enough superheroing for awhile."

"Really?" Peter asked, biting his lip. "Does that mean Ultron's ready?"

"No, not quite," Dad admitted. "We're close, but we're not quite there yet."

"Then—?"

"C'mon, Tony!" called Bruce from the door to the jet as its engines flared to life. "Let's get this freak show on the road!"

"Look, we'll talk about it more when I get back, Pete. Okay? But I'm serious." Dad pulled Peter's head back to his chest, planting a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, buddy. Stay safe. Don't go anywhere without telling Happy, Pepper, or Rhodey. Or Sam, once he gets back. Understand?"

"I understand," answered Peter. He tightened his arms around Dad's chest, listening to his heartbeat. "And I love you too. Please, be careful!"

"I will. Go on now, or you'll be late for school. Happy's probably doing that weird dance he always does when he's extra impatient."

"Mmm," grumbled Peter. He couldn't have cared less in that moment about Happy's impatience. And he was never in all that much of a hurry to get to school anyway. So far the seventh grade was turning out to be not his favorite school year.

With a final squeeze, Dad released Peter, ruffling his hair as he backed up towards the jet. Peter watched the jet lift off from the platform, wrapping his arms around his front to shield himself against the harsh gust of wind as it took off. It really was too cold outside for the thin hoodie he was wearing, but Peter had been too distracted to notice until now.

Once the jet had disappeared from view, Peter went back inside, reluctantly grabbing his new backpack from his room and shoving his homework inside. He was already on backpack number two for the year, which was about on par with his usual.

"See ya later, JARVIS," Peter said, exiting his bedroom and heading for the elevator. Pepper had already left for work about an hour ago.

"Have a wonderful day at school, Master Peter," answered JARVIS. "Colonel Rhodes and Mr. Hogan are waiting for you down in the garage."

"Thanks."

"It is my pleasure."

Dad was right; Happy was doing his silly impatient dance by the time Peter arrived in the garage. Happy and James needed to take a trip up to the Compound that morning for something or other, a fact which Happy wasted no time in reminding Peter of as soon as he stepped off the elevator.

"C'mon, we gotta get going if we're gonna beat the traffic," Happy said, checking his watch. James was already in the car, reading some military briefing on his tablet. Happy reached for Peter's backpack, his face falling as he looked Peter up and down. "Are ya okay, kid?"

"Yeah, sure," Peter answered, sniffing. How was it that everyone around him could always read him like a book? "I'm fine. Why?"

"You don't look fine," Happy said kindly, clapping his hand on Peter's shoulder. "You look upset."

Peter shrugged. "It's just… you know. Same thing it always is."

"Mmm. Wanna stop for some ice cream on the way home from school?" Happy asked with a wink. He patted his rather broad abdomen, leaning in conspiratorially. "I won't tell Pepper if you don't. You can even invite your friend to come with if you want."

After a recent incident with a not-quite-a-heart-attack-but-close-enough-to-be-scary, Happy's cardiologist had placed him on a rather strict diet, informing him that he needed to lose some weight. Pepper, never one to let the men in her household slack off too much, had taken it upon herself to help Happy with his new diet, even offering to hire a chef for him if it made it easier. As such, Peter was fairly certain that eating ice cream in the middle of the afternoon was not on Happy's approved meal plan.

"I promise," answered Peter, trying to smile as he slid into the backseat of the Audi sedan. Maybe a double-scoop peppermint ice cream cone after school would help cheer him up a bit. "Thanks, Happy."

"I heard that," James said as soon as Peter closed the car door. He looked back at Peter, his eyes narrowing.

"Heard what?" Peter asked, trying to look innocent.

"Don't you try and play coy with me, Peter," James said in his most stern Colonel's voice. He paused, and Peter's heart started to thud as he stared at him. "And those sweet puppy-dog eyes don't work on me either, so you can just quit with that right now. If you yahoos are going out for ice cream, then I'm coming with you."

A relieved laugh choked its way out of Peter's throat. "Yeah, okay. As long as you don't—"

"Don't tell Pepper," James said, smirking. "Yeah, I got it."

"Okay. What're we looking at here," Tony asked, looking over Steve's shoulder at the tablet in his gloved hand, the various blinking greenish dots each indicating a perimeter guard for the Sokovia base.

"There's two to three times as many guards from what we've seen before, on what appear to be both towers and bunkers," answered Steve. He tapped the tablet, expanding the view of one of the towers, pointing to their mounted guns. "More advanced weaponry too. These here look like the kind of pulse canons I saw back in the war that Johann Schmidt built using the tesseract. Definitely HYDRA weapons."

"Then it looks like our theory was correct," said Thor. "This must be the location for Loki's scepter. This Strucker fellow must be the mastermind of whatever HYDRA experiments have been using the scepter."

"So what's the play, Cap?" asked Tony.

Steve pursed his lips, pointing to one of the perimeter corners. "I say we start here, on the northwest corner. If we can take out the guards there quietly, maybe we can prevent them from sounding any sort of alarm."

"Take 'em by surprise? I like that plan," said Tony. "Station Barton up in the tree nearby and just pick 'em off, two by two."

"You meant three by three," Barton said with a smirk, twisting the explosive arrowhead onto one of his arrows. "Didn't you, Tony?"

"Sure," answered Tony, rolling his eyes. "Whatever math or formation you feel like doing is fine with me as long as the guards keep dropping."

"Commandeering a couple of those trucks might be nice too," added Natasha, indicating the armored jeeps parked next to each of the bunkers. "Once Clint takes out the guards, he and I can use those to move from point to point."

"Good idea," agreed Steve. "Clint and Natasha will start, taking out the perimeter guards as quietly as possible. The rest of us will move in as soon as they start making too much noise. Thor, Bruce, and I will spread out, concentrating on each of the perimeter bunkers while Tony focuses on disabling the main building defenses so we can get at the scepter."

"Copy that," Tony said softly.

"Sounds good, Cap," said Barton. "I'm ready when you guys are."

"All right," Steve said, setting down the tablet. "Clint, get into position."

Stepping into his armor, Tony watched as Barton climbed up one of the tall trees about twenty or so yards away from the northwest perimeter bunker, rather envious of the man's grace as he navigated the thin branches and drew back his bow armed with three arrows, preparing to shoot.

"I'm in position, Captain," Barton whispered over the comm.

With a quick glance at Tony, Steve nodded. "You have a go, Clint. Take 'em out."

Not three seconds later Tony heard the telltale whooshing sound as Clint's arrows flew through the cold, dry air, each landing directly into their intended targets. As the three perimeter guards landed on the frozen ground with a loud thunk, Natasha took off, heading directly for the jeep parked next to the tower.

"Let's hope they left the keys," she said, flipping over the back and into the driver's seat. "Good," she added a second later. "They did leave the keys."

"Pete show you that little maneuver, Widow?" Tony asked.

"Yep," answered Natasha, motioning for Barton to climb into the truck. "Your kid's a good teacher, Stark."

"Yeah, I know it," Tony said proudly. "Keep your eyes peeled out there, yeah?"

"Copy that."

The next couple of towers were taken in much the same manner, and just as Tony was starting to think they might not have needed all of their elaborate planning and training, a booming klaxon alarm started blaring from the main building, interspersed with an intruder alert broadcasted in German.

"Think we lost the element of surprise!" Clint shouted over the comm as his arrows continued to fly. "I'd say it's time to engage!"

"That's our cue!" Steve said firmly. He clapped Tony on the shoulder, ducking back inside the jet to grab his brand-new motorcycle as Tony's helmet closed over his head. "Let's roll!"

"Right behind ya, Cap," Tony said as Barton swung down from one of the nearby trees, landing in the back of Natasha's truck just as she took off across the forest, aiming for the road that ran alongside the northernmost guard towers.

"We got this side, Steve," Natasha said.

"Copy that," answered Steve, zooming forward on his bike towards one of the southern towers, his shield bouncing off trees like a ping pong ball, knocking out agents with each hit. Tony immediately took off, aiming a repulsor blast at the driver of another truck just as his HYDRA teammate was attempting to take out Barton.

"Nice shot, Tony," Barton said as Tony passed overhead. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Tony answered. As he continued on towards the main building, he picked up the now-familiar sounds of Thor's hammer, fists, and feet taking out the enemy agents and weapons, with the thundering footsteps of the Hulk following closely behind.

As Tony approached the heavily fortified main building from the treeline, dodging the nearly continuous laser cannon blasts that reminded him all too much of that Death Star run in the first—or was it the fourth?—Star Wars movie, Tony angled down, intending to get a read on the location of the entrance. But just as he approached the far corner of the building his suit skittered off the top with a loud bwanging noise, nearly knocking him completely off of his flight path.

"Shit!" Tony exclaimed. "What the hell?"

"Language!" Steve called over the comm. "JARVIS, what's the view from upstairs?"

"The central building is protected by some kind of energy shield," answered JARVIS. "This technology is well beyond any other HYDRA base we've taken."

No shit! Tony thought. I just bounced the hell off of it like one of Pete's trampolines!

"Loki's scepter must be here!" shouted Thor. "This Strucker fellow couldn't mount a defense like this without it! At long last!"

"At long last is lasting a little long, boys," Natasha piped up over the sound of a smattering of machine gunshots.

"Wait a second!" Tony exclaimed, flying down a set of concrete stairs as he repulsed more guards away from what appeared to be the main entrance. "No one else is gonna deal with the fact that Cap just said 'language'?"

"I know!" retorted Steve. "It just slipped out! Thor was starting to think that's how regular people actually speak, and I—"

"I am not currently interested in joining this conversation regarding your petty human linguistics!" Thor shouted in between swings of his hammer. "I simply wish to retrieve the scepter!"

"Way to leave me hanging out there, Thor!" Steve said, grunting as he flipped over the handlebars of his motorcycle, tossing it directly into the path of an oncoming truck full of HYDRA agents.

"That bike was brand-new, Cap!" protested Tony, circling back around, dodging more cannon blasts. "You hadn't even gotten to know her yet!"

"You humans refer to your transport vehicles as females?" Thor asked, sending another HYDRA agent flying into a tree. "I find that rather… odd."

"I thought you weren't interested in our 'petty human linguistics'," Tony grumbled. "JARVIS, find me a way into this damn bunker!"

"Certainly, sir" answered JARVIS. "But I must also inform you that the city is taking fire."

"Well, we know this Strucker asshole isn't gonna be worried about civilian casualties," said Tony. "Send in the Iron Legion."

"Right away, sir."

Tony made another pass around the large complex, rapidly losing his patience as he scanned for a way to break through the energy shield.

"C'mon, J! Find me something!" he exclaimed as the six Iron Legion suits took off from the Quinjet and flew off in the direction of the city.

"Working on it, sir!" answered JARVIS.

"Guys, there's something else out here!" Barton called from somewhere out in the woods. "Quick little bugger, just knocked me—, AAHH!"

"We have an Enhanced in the field!" Steve said. "Stay sharp people!"

"Clint's been hit!" cried Natasha. "Someone wanna take care of that bunker?"

A couple seconds later the distinct roar and pounding footsteps of the Hulk reverberated throughout the dense forest, quickly accompanied by the crash of concrete layered over the sounds of muffled screaming as the huge creature broke completely through the reinforced concrete bunker.

"Thank you!" said Natasha.

"Tony, we really need to get inside!" said Steve.

"I'm getting there!" Tony retorted. "JARVIS, am I getting there? Do you see a power source for that shield?"

"There's a particle wave signature below the north tower, sir," answered JARVIS.

"Great. I wanna poke it with something." Arming one of his shoulder missiles, Tony launched it at the pinpointed location, letting out a small triumphant yell as the energy shield surged bright blue before fading away down the outside of the building.

"The drawbridge is down, people!" boasted Tony.

"Go on in and get started, Tony," said Steve.

"Where is the Enhanced?" asked Thor.

"He's a blur," replied Steve. "I've never seen anything like this. In fact, I still haven't."

"Clint's hit pretty bad, guys," said Natasha. "We're gonna need evac."

"I will see Barton safely to the jet before I return for Banner," said Thor, presumably talking to Steve. "The sooner we're gone, the better. Captain, you and Stark secure the scepter."

"Copy that!" replied Tony as he flew directly through the large window near the entrance, immediately drawing the fire of the agents inside.

Who the hell puts a window in their secret bunker? Tony thought as he fired his guns at the agents' legs, rendering them immobile. A movement at the workstation to Tony's right caught his eye, and he turned to see a man in a white lab coat, frantically attempting to erase computer files. Tony raised his palm, repulsing the man away from the station just as the name embroidered over the pocket of his coat appeared across Tony's HUD.

The man was Doctor List.

"Shit!" Tony cried, his heart pounding as he rushed over to feel for the man's pulse, finding nothing. "No, no, no, I didn't hit him that hard! JARVIS, can we do something?"

"Unfortunately, sir, it appears that this man had an underlying heart condition which contributed to his rapid demise," said JARVIS. "I am sorry."

"Oh, God," Tony whispered, squeezing his eyes closed as his heart started to stutter. "He must've known… I should've… he could've told me… Peter… and…" He pitched forward, bracing himself up on one hand as he tried to ignore the waves of panic threatening to drown him. This was neither the time nor the place for another anxiety attack.

"Tony?" said Steve, startling Tony as he came up behind him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Tony croaked, standing back up to his feet. He inhaled a deep, shaky breath, letting it out slowly like Sam had taught him. "Yeah, I'm good."

Steve shot him a skeptical look, his blue eyes narrowing. "Hmm. If you say so. The perimeter is secure and I'm gonna have a look around. You sure you're good here?"

"I'm always good," Tony mumbled, stepping out of his armor and heading straight for the workstation. Inserting his flash drive, he immediately started the file download. "Sentry mode," Tony ordered the suit as his fingers flew over the keyboard, trying to keep ahead of the deletion program Doctor List had started before he was killed. Please, please let there be something here that explains all this shit with Richard Parker!

"Barton is secure in the jet, I am returning for Banner," said Thor over the comm.

"Copy that, Thor," answered Steve.

Tony tapped his chin, looking around the room. It did seem awfully small for such a large bunker that had been so well-protected. "I know you assholes had to have been hiding more than files," Tony muttered to himself. "JARVIS. Give me an IR scan of the room."

The eyes of the suit glowed red as the infrared beam scanned the entirety of the square-shaped room, focusing in on one section over near the northwest corner.

"The wall to your left. I'm reading steel reinforcement," answered JARVIS. "And an air current."

"Okay," replied Tony. He walked over to the indicated wall, running his hands along the bricks. "Please be a secret door!"

To Tony's shock, the wall gave way at only a light push, folding back behind itself to reveal a long, metal staircase illuminated with only a couple of lights attached to the concrete walls. Gulping, Tony pressed his fist to his chest as he carefully made his way down the stairs, knowing he would likely catch hell from Steve later about going down an unexplored hallway without his armor, or at least some backup. But Tony wasn't patient enough to wait, and he really wasn't in the mood for Steve to be babysitting him right then.

"Guys, there's a second Enhanced!" called Steve over the comm, grunting as if he'd been knocked down. "Female. Do not engage!"

"We're all secure in the jet, Steve," said Natasha. "You guys need backup?"

"Is Bruce doing okay?" Steve asked.

"He is," answered Thor. "He is currently donning his clothing."

"Then yes," replied Steve. "Thor, you and Natasha come and take the sentry posts near the entrance. If Bruce is okay he can monitor Clint until we take off. Keep your eyes up for the Enhanced. Both of them."

"Copy that, Steve," answered Natasha.

"Tony?" Steve asked a few seconds later. "What's your status? I've got Strucker."

"Yeah," Tony answered, his eyes widening in horror as the narrow hallway opened up into a huge room, the likes of which was filled with Chitauri technology and artifacts. Tony's mouth went dry at the sight and he froze, unable to move even as his eyes continued to scan the room.

It was as if Tony had stepped directly into space, the day he flew the missile through the wormhole during the Battle of New York. That horrifying sight that had haunted him ever since, it was all laid out, directly in front of him.

"I got something bigger," he mumbled, stifling a shudder, unsure if Steve could even hear him.

"Be careful, Tony," said Steve. "The Enhanced—"

"Thor," Tony said as his eyes picked up the glow of a bluish light, following it to its source. His lips pursed in determination as he stepped forward, reaching for the scepter. "I've got eyes on the prize."

"Use extreme care, Stark!" Thor called. "That scepter is powerful! It should not be much handled by mortal men!"

But Thor's statement was cut off as a sudden screeching sound, like an amplified version of fingernails on a chalkboard, abruptly filled Tony's ears, nearly overwhelming his senses. Tony stopped, his eyes still trained on the scepter as he felt a small whoosh of freezing air move across his neck, so fast that at first he feared he'd only imagined it.

Tony's hands clenched into fists, his heart thudding against his ribcage as he took one step forward towards the scepter. Reaching his trembling hand forward, he was just about ready to grab for it when all of a sudden the huge Chitauri alien dangling from the ceiling above let out a roar, so loud that the concrete walls of the bunker started to rattle. Tony immediately dropped down to the floor, covering his ears with his fists against the deafening noise as his eyes followed the Chitauri out into space, the light from a distant star illuminating what appeared to be a great battlefield spread out in front of him.

Getting slowly to his feet, Tony clenched his jaw as he took a single, shaky step forward, letting out a soft gasp when he saw what appeared to be the Hulk lying on his side in the rubble, fatally injured. As the Hulk laid there, gasping for breath, Tony's gaze swept across Natasha, lying awkwardly on her back with her head lolled to the side, a trail of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Thor was next to her, his hammer flung haphazardly across his chest, which was as still as a gravestone. Barton sat next to him, his bow broken, his back grotesquely bent, directly across from the prone, battered body of Steve Rogers.

Choking, Tony stumbled forward, his hand reaching for Steve's neck to feel for a pulse when the agonizing cry of "Dad!" floated across the frigid, still air, causing Tony's head to snap up in shock.

"Peter!?" Tony yelped, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he frantically searched for his son in the ruins. "Where are you?"

"Dad!" the cry came again, weaker this time, filled with an overwhelming terror the likes of which Tony had never heard from him before, not even in the throes of one of his nightmares. "Help me!"

"Peter!" Tony croaked, forcing the word past the marble-sized lump in his throat as he attempted to climb over a massive pile of concrete and twisted steel. "Peter! Hold on, buddy, I'm gonna find you!"

"Help me!" Peter cried, his voice coming from the opposite side of the rubble heap. "Please, Dad, help me!"

A small shift in the rocks about twenty feet away caught Tony's eyes and he lurched forward, stumbling over loose debris as he scrambled towards the sound of his son's voice, which seemed oddly deeper than Tony remembered.

"Dad!" Peter called again. "Please! I don't wanna go!"

Hot tears stung Tony's eyes and spilled over, burning a path down his frigid skin as he saw Peter's hand rise up above a mound of rubble, reaching for him. Lunging forward, Tony wrapped his fingers around his son's hand, which was so covered in blood that his hold nearly slipped.

"Oh, God!" cried Tony, tossing aside the broken bricks that covered Peter's chest and abdomen until he could lift him out of the wreckage. He gently brushed Peter's matted hair from his bruised forehead, cradling his head against his chest. "Buddy, who did this to you?"

"I don't—, I don't know," Peter whispered, his voice raspy and his lungs rattling, as if he was in the midst of another asthma attack, his hands scrabbling across Tony's chest, trying to hold on. "They came in the night. I couldn't see them, but they were so loud, Dad. So loud! They scared me!"

They came in the night. Loud men who came in the night. "It doesn't matter, Pete," Tony assured him. "I've got you. It's okay now. You're gonna be all right, I'm gonna get you outta here."

"Dad," Peter rasped, raising his right arm, which was covered in deep puncture marks, his bloody hand cupping Tony's cheek "I think you're too late. You can't help me anymore."

"No talking like that," Tony choked out. He tightened his arms around Peter, straightening his back so he could lift him, get him away from this awful place. Someplace where he could be safe again. "Do you hear me? I forbid it, Pete."

"Daddy!" Peter begged, his breaths now coming only in faint, torturous gasps, his hands struggling to keep their grip on Tony. "I don't wanna go! Please, I'm scared! I don't wanna go!"

"Peter!" cried Tony, dropping back to his knees as Peter's eyes started rolling towards the back of his head. "No, no, no, buddy! Don't do this! Don't leave me here alone!"

With all the strength remaining in his broken body, Peter lifted his head, his terrified brown eyes boring directly into Tony's soul, ripping it to pieces. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

And then Peter's head fell back, his entire body going still in Tony's arms as he breathed out his final breath.

A sound, somewhere between a cry and a scream, forced its way up from Tony's lungs only to get jammed in his throat, causing him to choke. More tears, burning with the intensity of a thousand suns, trailed down his cheeks, dropping down onto Peter's battered face.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Oh, God, this can't be happening!

Peter was his son, who Tony loved more than his own life. His son, who he had vowed to always keep safe, to always protect.

And he had failed.

Tony's shoulders shuddered with the intensity of his sobs, clinging to Peter's limp body as an entire Chitauri army, which appeared to have been simply lying in wait above him all this time, started moving towards Earth through a hole in space.

He knew that he should try and stop them. That he was the last possible line of defense that Earth likely had.

But Tony couldn't move. His body was completely frozen, as if he'd been welded to the ground. His face was buried in Peter's hair, but it no longer carried the scent of the green apple shampoo that he loved so much.

No. Now it only smelled stale, like the dank, still air that surrounded them. All around Tony the stench was stifling, as if the air itself was closing in on him, seeping into the very pores of his skin, bringing with it nothing but pain and death.

And as the Chitauri army moved closer and closer to Earth, all Tony could do was watch, holding his beloved son's lifeless body in his arms, surrounded by his dead Avengers family, his thoughts racing with self-deprecating words of failure.

I should've been better. I should've stopped this. I should've done more.

I should've saved him.

I should've saved them all.

I could've done more.

Why didn't I?

After what seemed to be an eternity Tony's head jerked up, as if he'd been struck, and Peter and the rest of the landscape suddenly disappeared, replaced by the bluish glow of the scepter, standing upright on the table directly in front of him. Tony's knees buckled, his disbelieving eyes sweeping around the large bunker room that held the stolen alien artifacts.

He was back in the HYDRA bunker, in Sokovia. And the scepter was right in front of him. The scepter that HYDRA had obviously been using to power the advanced weaponry and robotics that Tony and the rest of the team had witnessed here.

Tony's heart stuttered in his chest as he licked his lips, his eyes mesmerized by the blue light emanating from the glowing gem. The scepter. That was the key. That's what could make it all work.

The scepter was the key to perfecting Ultron, and Ultron was the key to saving Peter, saving his family. It was almost as if Tony could hear the gem that powered it, whispering to him.

"JARVIS," Tony said, clearing his throat. Before he did anything, he had to make sure that Peter was in fact okay, that he hadn't actually been tortured and beaten until there was nothing left of him except blood, sweat, and tears. "JARVIS, what's Peter's current location?"

"Master Peter is currently asleep in his bedroom at Avengers Tower, sir," answered JARVIS.

Tony let out a strangled sob, squeezing his eyes closed as he pitched forward, nearly collapsing onto the floor in overwhelming relief. "JARVIS, confirm! Is he okay?"

"Master Peter is in good health, sir. Miss Potts is scheduled to transport him to school in approximately four hours. Would you like me to wake her?"

"No, no," Tony said hastily. "Thanks, J."

Peter wasn't lying in some wretched pile of ruins, poked and prodded and tortured until he was bloodied nearly beyond recognition.

He was okay. It had all been some horrible damn hallucination.

But what the hell had caused it?

"Tony?" came the concerned voice of Steve over the comm, sounding very much alive. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," answered Tony. He held out his right hand, calling for the arm gauntlet of his suit, reaching for the scepter as soon as the gauntlet stretched out across his forearm.

"Everything's good now, Cap."

The skies were smooth above the clouds as the Quinjet flew across the Atlantic back towards New York. Tony's mind was racing with formulas and calculations as he spoke with Dr. Helen Cho, one of the world's top medical doctors and an expert in genetics, arranging her arrival at the Tower. She was planning on using her new tissue regeneration technology to treat the deep wound Barton took in his side during the raid.

"Hey, Bruce?" Tony called over his shoulder. "Can you tell Barton that Dr. Cho's gonna be waiting for him when we get there?"

"Clint says that sounds good, Tony," answered Bruce a few seconds later.

"'Kay," said Tony. He pushed the button to engage the autopilot and leaned back in his chair, bringing his arms up to try and stretch his aching lower back. He felt like he actually had tried to lift Peter from those ruins.

"Tony?" Steve said as he entered the cockpit, settling his large frame into the co-pilot's seat. "You need a break?"

"Nah, I'm good," Tony said quickly. "JARVIS has the wheel for now. I'll take the controls back once we're on the approach."

"Good," Steve said firmly. "Then you have time to answer a few questions."

Almost instantly Tony's jaw clenched and his heart started to thud. "About what?"

"About what happened down in that bunker," answered Steve. He placed his hand on Tony's arm, a silent request for Tony to meet his eyes. "Did you see the second Enhanced? The girl?"

"No," Tony replied, his eyes flicking towards Steve and flitting away just as fast. "I didn't. But I'm pretty sure she saw me. I… felt something. Like a whoosh of—"

"Cold?" asked Steve. "Almost like what people sometimes describe as ghosts?"

"Yeah, something like that," Tony said. He kept his eyes trained out the cockpit windows, fixed on the fluffy clouds beneath the jet. "I felt it go across the back of my neck, and there was this sound…" He let out a shudder at the memory. "It was…"

"That's pretty much the same thing I felt when she knocked me down the stairs," said Steve. "I felt that rush of cold air right before she hit me. It was almost like she was moving the air itself, turning it into a weapon."

"Sounds about right," mumbled Tony. He could feel Steve's intense blue eyes boring into his temple. Can you leave me alone now, old man?

"Are you sure that's all, Tony?" asked Steve after a moment's pause. "Because you looked pretty upset—"

"I'm sure, Cap," Tony retorted. He felt a twinge of remorse at lying to Steve, but it was as if he couldn't help it. He had a strong feeling that if he told Steve the whole truth, told him exactly what he'd seen, that somehow Steve would only think he'd gone mad.

Am I going mad?

"Captain," Thor said as he entered the back of the cockpit. "I believe I should bring the scepter to Asgard. It would be much safer stored in the hidden vault of my father's palace than it would be here on Earth."

Tony's head snapped up in shock at Thor's words. No, no, no! I need that scepter, you can't take it away!

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," replied Steve, shooting Tony an odd look. "Especially since we still don't really know who to trust in any of the Earth governments. Even if this was the last large HYDRA base, their deep cover agents could still be out there."

"Can Banner and I have a look-see with it first?" Tony asked, pressing his fist to his chest. "I saw some pretty advanced robotics down in that lab. I'd love to see if we could get a peek at whatever door Strucker was knocking on. Besides, the big party's on Saturday. The one I told you guys about? I know all the bigwigs are gonna want to meet ya."

"Victories should always be honored with revels," Thor said, clapping Tony hard on the shoulder. His lips quirked into a rather proud smirk. "Very well, Stark. It seems I am quite popular with the people on Earth."

"Well, you're at least popular with the seventh graders," Tony grumbled, rolling his eyes. It still made him laugh at how much Ned Leeds loved to fawn all over Thor whenever he spent the night at the Tower.

"Rogers? You and Sam are gonna make an appearance, aren't ya?" asked Tony. "You know Pete'll want you guys there."

"Sure, Tony," Steve answered. "We'll be there."

"Great," Tony said. "Saturday at eight, and there'll be plenty of food and beverages, adult and otherwise."

"Adult beverages do tend to encourage revels," said Thor, smiling broadly. "Very good, Stark. I am looking forward to this gathering."

"You sure everything's okay, Tony?" Steve asked once Thor had wandered back to sit with Bruce in the back of the jet. "You seem… on edge."

"Just looking forward to getting home," Tony mumbled. "Us taking out that base will hopefully help Pete sleep a little easier."

"Mmmhmm," said Steve, looking unconvinced. "You know I'm here if you decide that you want to talk."

"Appreciate it, Cap. But I'm good."

Steve stared at Tony a few more seconds, a deep frown marring his face. "All right. Well, since Clint's out of commission, let me know if you need me to take a shift at the stick, yeah?"

"Thanks," said Tony. "But I'll be okay." Now, go away.

The remainder of the nearly eleven hour flight seemed to pass in a blur, with Tony running numbers and designing matrices in his head the entire time, hoping that keeping his mind busy would help him calm down, as it usually did.

Instead, by the time Tony expertly landed the jet on the Tower's landing platform, he felt almost manic, similar to how he felt in the months following the Battle of New York. It had been at least 30 hours since he'd last slept, but he didn't feel tired at all.

He just wanted to get to work.

Stepping off the jet, Tony's breath hitched as he saw Peter, holding the door open so Dr. Cho could direct Barton as he was wheeled into the Tower. Tony bounced on his feet, impatiently waiting as everyone else filed inside, nearly tackling Peter once he finally reached him, wrapping him into an extra tight bear hug.

"Dad?" Peter asked, his voice muffled against Tony's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, buddy," Tony murmured. He buried his nose in Peter's soft, curly hair, breathing in that green apple scent he so loved. "I'm okay."

"I got worried when Dr. Cho showed up," Peter said. "It looks like Mr. Barton got hurt pretty bad."

"Nah, he'll be fine," said Tony, planting a kiss on Peter's temple. "Dr. Cho will fix him up good as new." He pulled back, cupping Peter's face in his hands as he looked him up and down. There was no outward sign of any bruises, cuts, or any of the other traumatic injuries Tony had seen in his… whatever the hell that had been back in the bunker.

"Dad?" Peter said worriedly when Tony drew up the sleeves of his hoodie, inspecting his arms for puncture marks. "What're you doing? You're acting funny."

"Just making sure you're okay, Pete," Tony said quickly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason." Tony pulled Peter in for another hug. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," said Peter. "Does this mean you won't have to go away anymore now?"

"That's the theory, buddy," answered Tony, swiping at his nose. He kept his hand on Peter's shoulder, guiding him inside the Tower. "Finding that scepter was the number one priority, and now we've got it."

"Good," Peter said. "Now you can take a break."

Tony let out a sigh. "Not yet, Pete. Thor said he wants to take the scepter to Asgard since its so powerful, to put it in storage there. I've asked him to wait until after the party so Bruce and I can take a look at it, but that's only three days from now, so we're gonna be pretty busy until then."

"Mmm," Peter grumbled. "Fine. Can I at least watch you guys? You and Bruce are funny when you work together."

"When you're not in school," answered Tony, grinning as he ruffled Peter's hair. "And then, how about we have a movie day on Sunday, after the party. Sound good?"

"Really?" Peter exclaimed, so excitedly that Tony's throat tightened. Had he really been that absent lately? "That sounds great!"

"Then it's a date," Tony said. "Now, how much homework do you have?"

"Not too much. I did most of it while I was waiting for you guys."

"Okay, so why don't you go and finish up while I check in on Barton," Tony said. "Sound good?"

"Is that dad code for 'scram kid, I have work to do'?" asked Peter.

Tony chuckled. "Whatever you wanna call it, Pete. But you can come find me when you're done."

"Uh huh."

"So, what's the verdict?" Tony asked as he entered the lab where Dr. Cho was busily repairing Barton's wound. Setting down the tray of smoothies he was carrying, he handed one to Barton.

"I'm afraid he's still gonna be Clint," said Bruce, watching the regeneration process in awe. "Tony, this is amazing! She's actually creating tissue!"

"Pretty cool," Tony agreed. "You developed this technology on your own, didn't you, Doctor?"

"Not on my own, Mr. Stark," replied Dr. Cho. "I have an extremely hard-working staff back in Seoul who—"

"Right," interjected Tony. "But you're the brains behind this… Cradle of yours, correct?"

"I helped develop the Cradle," said Dr. Cho. "In fact, if we were in my lab, I'd be using it on Mr. Barton here. The tissue-bonding process is much faster using the Cradle."

"Mmmhmm. And, how long have you worked for SHIELD?" asked Tony, causing Bruce to raise his eyebrows.

"I'm technically a consultant for SHIELD," she answered. "Well, technically I was, before—"

"Do you know if your Cradle thing was ever used for any experiments other than your own?" Tony asked. "You know, under orders from SHIELD or something?"

"Tony, what're you getting at?" asked Bruce. "Helen just said she and her staff invented the Cradle."

"Nothing," said Tony, a bit too quickly when Bruce frowned. "Just curious, is all."

"The Cradle has been housed in my lab ever since we built it," answered Helen, glaring at Tony. "And no, my staff and myself have been the only people who've had access to it."

Tony inhaled a deep breath, grabbing one of the smoothies and taking a long drink. "Cool. Thanks. Um… just let me know if you need anything."

"Tony?" Bruce said, following Tony as he exited the area, walking over to where the scepter was being kept. "What's going on?"

"The scepter," Tony said. "On the way home I was wondering how that Strucker asshole had managed to get so inventive, and it occurred to me that the key wasn't the scepter itself, but the gem. It seems to work in a similar manner to the tesseract that caused so much trouble a few years ago."

"Uh huh," said Bruce cautiously. "The tesseract that nearly helped destroy all of New York? That one?"

Tony pursed his lips, scowling. "Here," he said, throwing a golden holographic schematic of JARVIS's operating matrix out next to where Bruce was standing. "This is JARVIS."

"Hello, Doctor," JARVIS said.

"JARVIS," answered Bruce.

"Now, at first JARVIS was just a virtual assistant, if you will," Tony said. "But now, he runs the Iron Legion, runs the Tower and the Compound, and he runs more of my company than anyone besides Pepper. He's top of the line."

"I suspect that's about to change," said JARVIS.

"Meet the competition," said Tony. Reaching towards the blue gem housed inside the scepter, Tony tossed its holographic schematic out, right next to JARVIS. As the matrix assumed its form, Tony felt the skin prickle along the back of his neck.

"Wow," Bruce said as he walked around the glowing blue structure, sparkling and firing and over twice the size of JARVIS's matrix. "It's beautiful!"

"What's it look like it's doing?" asked Tony.

"Like it's thinking!" replied Bruce. "This is incredible! I've never seen anything like this before. It looks like a mind!"

"I think that's exactly what it is," said Tony. "And I think Strucker was trying to use this… mind, hidden inside the gem, to power the robotics that they were building."

Bruce shot him a confused look. "Artificial intelligence?"

"Yep. I'd say our raid on that base was timed pretty well. They were knocking on the door, Bruce. They were nearly there. And if they'd succeeded, there's no telling what they could've done. They would've been damn near unstoppable."

"And… you're telling me this because…"

Tony inhaled a deep breath through his nose. "Bruce, this could be the key to creating Ultron."

"I thought Ultron was a fantasy, Tony," Bruce said, with a rather patronizing chuckle.

"Yesterday it was," Tony insisted. "But now, if we can harness this power, apply it to the Iron Legion protocol—"

"That's a pretty big 'if', Tony," Bruce replied. "I mean, this is far beyond anything we've ever seen, or even contemplated!"

"Yeah, and pretty much the whole reason for the Avengers to even exist is to take care of the 'ifs'," Tony retorted. "But what if we didn't have to anymore. What if the world was safe? What if you never had to worry about another Code Green?" Tony paused, his throat catching. "What if my son never had to worry about whether or not I was gonna come home again? And what if I never had to worry about the next Project Insight coming after him?"

"Tony—" Bruce started.

"You don't think that's worth something? You don't think it's worth being able to sleep at night, knowing you don't have to think about the next time the aliens come knocking at Earth's door? Or whether or not some sky cannon is gonna be targeting you the next time you make a coffee run?"

"Of course I do! It's just—"

"Whoa," came the awed voice of Peter as he entered the lab, his brown eyes wide as he studied the schematics in front of him. "That's so cool! What is it?"

"Um, ahh," stuttered Bruce.

"What's it look like to you, Pete?" asked Tony.

"Well…" Peter murmured, walking around the golden and blue matrices floating in the middle of the room. He pointed first to the golden one. "This one's JARVIS, but—"

"How'd you know that, Peter?" asked Bruce.

Peter bit his bottom lip, looking sheepish. "Um… because I've—"

"Pete's been known to tinker with JARVIS on his own from time to time," interrupted Tony, winking at Peter. "Right, Pete?"

"Uh huh," answered Peter, grinning shyly. "But I've never seen the blue one that looks like a brain before. Is that from the scepter?"

"Yep, it is," said Tony. He clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder, ignoring the wide-eyed look Bruce was throwing him. "Wanna help me and Bruce work on the interface for the Iron Legion?"

"Can I?" yelped Peter. "Oh, that sounds awesome!"

"Go set up your workstation," Tony said, squeezing Peter's shoulder. "Let's get started."

"Tony!" Bruce said in a loud whisper as Peter scurried over to his monitor, tapping it to life. "Are you sure about this? We haven't even discussed it with the rest of the team!"

"Absolutely," Tony said firmly. He jerked his head towards Peter. "Pete's sure. Look how excited he is. Besides, we don't have time for a committee meeting. We've only got the scepter for three days."

"Peter is twelve, Tony," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. "Not that your kid isn't brilliant, but I'm not sure he completely understands what you're suggesting here."

"No, he might not," Tony admitted. He looked over at Peter, his innocent face scrunched in concentration, and Tony's hands clenched into fists. "But I do. I see a suit of armor around the world. So let's get started."

Because someone that lovable, and brilliant, should be protected at all costs, from any possible threat.

Shouldn't he?

They worked almost constantly for the next three days, trying various methods to interface the gem's complex matrix with Tony's Iron Legion protocol. Peter helped out when he wasn't at school or gymnastics, even coming up with several suggestions that neither Tony nor Bruce had previously thought of. And yet, to Tony's immense frustration, not even the collaboration of their three brilliant minds could seem to nail down the intricate programming required for the interface. As the time grew closer for the party, and Thor's imminent departure with the scepter, Tony grew more and more restless and agitated.

"Goddamnit!" Tony shouted as yet another interface simulation resulted in a cascade of blinking red lights across their holographic projections. "What are we missing?"

"Maybe it's just not compatible, Tony," Bruce said, stifling a yawn. He reached for his coffee cup, promptly missing his mouth as he attempted to take a sip, spilling coffee down the front of his white lab coat. "I mean, after three days of this I'm not exactly working at my best here, and—"

"But we're running out of time!" Tony snapped, shoving aside a pile of papers. His heart rate, already elevated from too much coffee and too little sleep, sped up even more. "Thor's leaving tomorrow!"

"Then it's not gonna work, Tony!" Bruce said firmly. "It's just not. We'll have to figure out some other way."

But there is no other way! Tony cried internally. "JARVIS," he said instead. "Tell Pete it's time to get dressed for the party."

"Master Peter is nearly ready, sir," answered JARVIS. "Might I suggest that you begin preparing for your guests as well?"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony grumbled. Maybe I can convince Thor to give us a few more days. I think we could get it with just a bit more time.

"Earth to Tony," said Bruce, already shutting down his workstation. "Are you there?"

"Yeah, big guy," Tony said softly. "I'm still here. JARVIS, keep running through the interface permutations. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Very good, sir. And enjoy yourself."

"I always do, J."

Peter stood off to the side of the bar, watching as the groups of people mingled around, talking and laughing and carrying their various beverages. He'd always felt uncomfortable at large social gatherings, and even more so when said gathering was made up entirely of adults that his dad felt required to spend time talking and otherwise socializing with.

Sighing, Peter shifted on his feet, tugging on the tight collar of his dress shirt and wishing he could rip the tie from around his neck and throw it off the very top of the Tower. He'd never been the biggest fan of wearing suits, and in fact had nearly thrown an extremely childish tantrum after Dad told him about the party's dress code. But Dad had insisted that jeans and hoodies were not appropriate for the party's rather exclusive clientele, and that Peter could suck it up in a suit for just one evening.

Just one evening, Peter thought. More like just one evening of torturous boredom.

"Hey, Peter," said the voice of Sam Wilson, startling Peter as he came up to him from behind. James always did the same thing, and it never failed to make Peter's heart leap into his throat. What was it about all these military people that made them so quiet on their feet all the time?

"Hey, Sam," Peter replied, gulping. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Oh sure," answered Sam, not without a hint of sarcasm. He looked about as comfortable in his fancy clothes as Peter felt. "I'm always up for rubbing noses with the bigwigs. Know what I mean?"

Peter grinned, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He knew exactly what Sam meant. As much as Peter loved his dad, he still was very uncomfortable around most of Dad's wealthy contractors and work associates, which comprised most of the guest list for that evening.

"Where's Steve?" Peter asked, looking around for the tall Captain. "He's not hanging out with you?"

"Nah, not right now," Sam said, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. "Natasha's been trying to flirt with him all night, but seeing as how Cap's still not quite used to the twenty-first century… he still doesn't quite get it. And I knew once I started getting embarrassed that it was time to hightail it outta there, ya know?"

"Oh!" Peter said, clapping his hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh. Somehow, Peter couldn't at all picture Steve Rogers trying to flirt. "Um…"

"Exactly," said Sam, chuckling. He jerked his head over in the direction of the recently vacated pool table. "So, you know how to play pool?"

"No, not really," replied Peter. "I mean, I've putzed around with it a few times, but I don't really know the rules."

"Well, c'mon then," said Sam. He clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'll teach you."

"Yeah, okay!" Peter said, smiling up at Sam. "Thanks!"

As they walked over to the pool table, Peter caught sight of Dad, standing over by one of the tables with Thor, James, and Maria Hill. James appeared to be telling them some kind of story as Dad looked up, winking at Peter.

"Watch out there, Falcon," Dad called over the din of the music and party conversation. "You teach that kid anything and ten minutes later he's kicking your ass."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see about that," answered Sam with a cocky grin. "I'll have you know I was the champion of my Air Force pool league for three years straight back in the day."

"Back in the day, Sam," said Dad. "You said it, not me."

"Dad doesn't know how to play pool either," Peter said as Sam handed him a cue stick and a block of the blue chalk. "But that doesn't stop him from trash-talking, apparently."

"Well, now you'll be able to teach him," Sam replied as he arranged the nine colored balls inside the triangular thingy. "After I show you how it's done."

Unfortunately for Sam, Dad was right. Sam only had to demonstrate to Peter the rules for pool over one game before Peter's extensive knowledge and comprehension of physics and geometry enabled him to call nearly single shot from then on. The one shot he did miss came only when an old Army soldier—who appeared to have had way too much to drink—stumbled into the table as he was being helped out of the room, knocking Peter's aim off track.

"See?" Dad said proudly to Sam after the end of the third game. He flung his arm across Peter's shoulders, smiling widely. "Told ya."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said graciously. "I guess us mere mortals just can't match up to all the geniuses around here."

"At least not to this one," Dad said, ruffling Peter's hair. Peter felt his cheeks flushing red, as they usually did when anyone gave him a compliment. "This one's gonna blow us all away one day. You just watch."

"I have no doubt," replied Sam. "But I think now I'm gonna go drown my sorrows in a beer. If you'll excuse me…"

"Sure thing, Falcon," Dad said. He turned to Peter once Sam was gone. "But, it is after midnight, young man. Time to head off to bed, I think."

Peter's heart gave a quick stutter and he swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to the polished floor. It was absolutely mortifying that something as simple as going to bed at night should be so scary, but yet it was. Peter desperately wanted to ask Dad to come with him, to tuck him in, but he knew he couldn't. There were still party guests here, lingering about, drinking and telling jokes and talking with Steve and the other Avengers. It would be rude for Dad to just abandon them to go and cuddle his kid to sleep.

Darn ill-timed business trip to India. If only Pepper were here. Then Dad could leave the party without looking like a poor host. But since she wasn't…

But besides all of that, Peter was twelve years old already, for heaven's sake. He should be able to fall asleep without being held by now. He wasn't a freaking baby anymore.

"Okay," Peter whispered. "I'll… um…"

"Give me thirty minutes, Pete," Dad said softly, patting the back of Peter's neck. "I should be able to kick the rest of the loiterers out by then. Okay?"

Relief washed over Peter, so strongly that his eyes filled with tears. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, bud," said Dad. "Go on and get ready. I'll see you soon."

Waving goodnight to the rest of the team, Peter made his way down the hallway to his bedroom, loosening his tie as soon as the door closed behind him, tossing it in the general direction of the chair in the corner. He'd taken off his suit jacket back when he and Sam started playing pool, which meant it was still out in the living room somewhere.

Oh well. He could get it tomorrow. As far as Peter knew, the only plans that he and Dad had for tomorrow was to plunk themselves down on the couch with massive bowls of popcorn and watch movies all day. It had been so long since Dad had taken a day off, and Peter was really, really looking forward to it.

After a quick shower, Peter crawled into his bed, grabbing George and his glasses so he could read while he waited for Dad to show up. But a few minutes later, after Peter realized he'd read the same page at least three times, he set the book and his glasses aside and laid down.

It was late. Maybe he was more tired than he thought.

"JARVIS, can you please turn down the lights and turn on the rain sounds?" asked Peter, clutching George to his chest. It was the same thing Peter asked every night when it was time to sleep, and JARVIS always responded right away, with his usual polite, British verve.

Except for this time. This time, the only thing that greeted Peter's request was an eerie silence.

"JARVIS?" Peter asked again, pushing himself up on his elbow. "Can you please turn down the lights and turn on the rain sounds?"

Again, there was nothing. Through his closed bedroom door, Peter could still hear the muffled voices of the lingering party-goers, and a glance at his clock showed the time to be 12:45am. It hadn't been that long since he'd left the party.

What was going on?

"JARVIS?" Peter asked, his voice trembling a bit. "Is everything okay?"

When no answer came, Peter scrambled out of bed, jamming his glasses onto his face and throwing one of his hoodies on over his pajamas as he raced out of his bedroom. If something was wrong with JARVIS, Peter needed to tell Dad right away so they could get him fixed. JARVIS had a ton of very important functions, not the least of which was running security for both the Tower and the Compound.

As Peter slowly approached the living room, he paused as a horrible screeching noise came over the speakers of the apartment, like feedback from a badly tuned microphone. Peter immediately dropped down, holding his hands over his ears against the terrible sound, fighting the strong urge to scream when it stopped just as abruptly as it had started.

After counting to twenty Peter got to his feet, resuming his path to the living room when he heard heavy metal footsteps coming from the direction of Dad's lab, clanking against the hard wooden floor. Ducking behind the bar, Peter carefully peeked around the corner, the breath catching in his throat as he saw what appeared to be one of the Iron Legion automatic suits approaching his father and the rest of the Avengers. The suit appeared to be badly damaged, with its joints all bent out of shape and oil leaking from various parts, leaving a slimy trail across the floor.

"How could you be worthy?" the suit asked, its voice gravelly and ominous, nothing like JARVIS's friendly British lilt. It raised its arm, indicating the group of Avengers all sitting around one of the tables. "No. You need to be replaced. You're all killers."

"JARVIS," Peter heard his father say. "Reboot the Legion protocol, I think we've got a buggy suit."

"Dad," Peter croaked past his dry throat, his body frozen in place as the suit turned, its glowing eyes sweeping across the bar where Peter was hiding. Peter knew Dad had designed the Iron Legion suits to seek out hidden intruders, so it was very likely the suit knew Peter was there.

"Who sent you?" asked Thor. "Where did you come from?"

"Why don't you ask him?" replied the suit, pointing its bent arm towards Peter's father as Dad's voice came over the speakers.

"I see a suit of armor around the world."

"Ultron?" asked Bruce.

Oh no! Peter thought. Something went very badly wrong if this is Ultron!

"In the flesh," replied the suit. "Well, if you call this 'flesh'. I'd call it temporary at best. Tell you what. That'll be my first priority after I take care of all of you."

Ultron turned again, taking another stumbling step towards the table. "Had to kill that other guy. Sad. He was a good guy, he just got in the way."

"You killed someone?" Steve asked.

"Peter!" Dad yelled frantically. "JARVIS, where is Peter?!"

"Dad!" Peter cried, finally finding his voice. "He killed JARVIS!"

"Peter!" Dad screamed again. "Where are you?"

"Daddy!" yelled Peter, spotting one of the Iron Legion suits as it zoomed through one of the tall glass windows. "Duck!"

Dad immediately dropped to the floor, the Legion suit missing him by only a couple of inches as it flew across the room, aiming directly for Steve. Steve swung his foot, kicking up the table and sending it square into the suit. As its pieces scattered across the floor, the remaining five Iron Legion suits all flew into the room, aiming for the Avengers. Steve immediately pounced on one of them, trying to rip its head off as a second one veered off towards Natasha.

"Daddy, watch out!" cried Peter, watching through his fingers as Dad leaped up onto the top of the bar with an ice pick in one hand and proceeded to jump onto the back of a third Legionnaire.

"Falcon!" Dad shouted, stabbing the Legionnaire in the neck with the ice pick. He was trying to find the suit's hidden deactivation switch. "Get my kid outta here!"

"No!" screamed Peter, curling into a ball as Sam came towards him, hunched over to avoid the flying debris.

"C'mon, Peter," Sam said as his arms wrapped around Peter, dragging him to his feet. "Let's get you someplace else."

But before they could even move away from the bar, Steve's shield came flying across the room, landing right in the chest of the final Legionnaire and shattering it into pieces.

"Well, that was dramatic," Ultron said as he surveyed the damage around him. Peter could swear he almost sounded amused. "I'm sorry, I know you meant well. You just didn't have the right mindset going into it. Very rarely do choices made in abject fear turn out the way they should."

Huh? thought Peter. What the hell does that mean?

But no one had a chance to explain as Mjolnir came flying across the room towards Ultron, slamming him up against the wall. Peter's shoulders sagged in relief as Ultron's glowing blue eyes dimmed out and the suit went limp, collapsing into a heap on the floor. His relief was short-lived, however, when he saw the viewscreen above the bar light up, filling with bluish strings of code that disappeared just as fast as they'd arrived.

Ultron was using the internet to escape.

"Dad—" Peter started.

"Tony?" Steve barked, panting for breath with his shield in hand. "You did this? Without discussing it with the rest of us?"

"We didn't exactly have time for a committee meeting," Dad retorted. "Banner and I were on the clock."

"And so you decided to meddle with something you knew to be that powerful?" asked Steve. He looked shocked, and more angry than Peter had ever seen him.

"Like I said, we were on the—" said Dad.

"This isn't the time!" Thor snapped. "One of the Legionnaires flew off with the scepter. Now we have to retrieve it. Again."

"And Ultron's gone somewhere else," stated Peter. He pointed a shaking finger towards the viewscreen. "I saw his code leaving the Tower. He's… moved somewhere."

Silence greeted Peter's statement, until Dad shook his head, looking so sad and defeated that Peter wanted to cry. "Pete's right. Ultron's a program. It would make sense that he'd use the internet as an escape hatch."

"So… what do we do now?" asked Sam, his hand on Peter's shoulder.

"We gotta figure out a way to go after him," answered Steve.

"That's gonna be tough," said Bruce, looking up from a tablet. "Looks like Ultron's already wiped out all of our stuff." He tossed the tablet onto the bar. "All our work… it's all gone. He's deleted everything."

"All right," Dad said, his voice trembling. "First thing's first. Sam, I need you and Rhodey to get Peter up to the Compound ASAP. The Compound's got a locked-in, isolated intranet in case of emergency, so you guys should be okay once you're there. I'll get a hold of Pepper and have her join you as soon as she's able to get away."

Peter's heart started to thud, even as Sam's hand tightened on his shoulder. It was just like the Project Insight mess all over again. "No!" he cried. "Dad, please! Don't send me away again! I don't wanna go!"

Dad's head snapped up at Peter's words, his face the color of old slush in late winter. "Not now, Peter," he warned. "No arguments."

"But—!"

"C'mon, Peter," Sam said firmly, nodding towards James. "Let's get going."

"But I can help!" Peter pleaded. "Please, I wanna help! I worked on it too, maybe I messed up somehow."

"Peter," Dad said, crossing over to the bar. He gathered him into his arms, curling his fingers into Peter's hair. "It's okay, buddy. You didn't do anything wrong."

His words were meant to be comforting, but Peter knew better. Dad's entire body was trembling and his hands were cold as ice. Peter had never seen him this scared before.

"You can't know that!" Peter murmured into Dad's shoulder, tears stinging his eyes. "All of our code was mixed together!"

"Yes, I can," Dad whispered. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever seen, Pete. This wasn't your fault. Now. You know deleting a renegade program isn't the same thing as raiding a HYDRA base, so you don't need to worry about me. I'm gonna be fine."

"Promise?" Peter whimpered. He knew it was useless to argue, even if he knew without a doubt that Dad was lying through his teeth. There was no way he'd be this scared if Ultron was only a simple renegade program.

"I promise, bud. Go now. Go on with Sam and Rhodey, they'll take care of you."

"'Kay," Peter said, sniffing. "Just… be careful! Please?"

Dad's arms tightened around Peter, so tightly he couldn't breathe. "I always am, Peter."

As Sam hurried Peter out of the room, followed on their heels by Rhodey, Tony bit down hard on his bottom lip, fighting against the urge to drown himself with a bottle of Scotch or three, an urge he hadn't felt this strongly in years. He hadn't had more than a few social alcoholic drinks since that fateful night when he collected a tiny, seven-year-old, Iron-Man-mask-wearing Peter at the DSS office in Queens.

But now he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole somewhere with the remaining contents of the bar behind him, and drink himself into oblivion.

Of all the goddamn, idiotic, stupid things I've ever done, this hands down has got to be the worst.

Tony had no idea what had possessed him to allow JARVIS to continue running interface permutations without Tony or Bruce there to monitor the progress. Well, that wasn't quite true. Tony knew exactly why he'd allowed it. JARVIS had had plenty of experience running similar simulations, and he never made mistakes.

But Tony had never tasked him with something on this grand of a scale. Never when the end goal was sentience itself. It was Tony's desperation over possibly losing the scepter before Ultron was completed that had led him to such a questionable decision.

He just never thought it possible that Ultron's first action upon becoming sentient would be to attack and disable JARVIS, who was basically Peter's first line of defense behind Tony himself.

And by disabling JARVIS, Ultron—the program Tony had created to try and protect Peter—was now potentially the greatest danger that Peter had ever faced.

Because Ultron's goal—twisted and warped as it was—was to replace the Avengers. Replace Tony, replace their entire Avenger family.

And eventually, replace the entire race of humanity. In trying to protect Peter, Tony had created something whose ultimate goal was to destroy him.

"Tony," Steve said, startling Tony despite the gentleness in his voice. "Natasha, Clint, and Bruce are pulling some paper files from the SI archives. We need to work fast, before Ultron has too much of a chance to multiply."

"He's already multiplying," mumbled Tony. "That's why he used the net as an escape route. It's like Pete said; he can go anywhere, and be everywhere."

Steve pursed his lips. "Well, then I guess we better get started."

Chapter Text

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing against the five-alarm headache building behind his eyes, as if Mjolnir itself was pounding against his forehead from the inside. Ultron's words, said just before Thor had smashed his twisted metal body to pieces with his hammer, reverberated through Tony's head, playing on a continuous, arduous loop.

"Very rarely do choices made in abject fear turn out the way they should."

Ultron was supposed to have been a peacekeeping program, designed to protect the Earth, protect her people. Protect Peter.

And by doing so, allow Tony to hang up his Iron Man suits forever, so he could focus on the more important things. His family and his company, and all the good they could accomplish in the world together.

But instead, somehow Ultron had turned out to be the very personification of Tony's worst fear. Instead of protecting the Earth, protecting her people, protecting Peter and the rest of Tony's family, Ultron's mindset was that he had to wipe them all out completely and start over.

Ultron wanted a clean slate. He wanted extinction.

Blinking open his eyes, Tony surveyed the room, taking inventory of the massive amount of damage Ultron managed to cause during the short fight before he disappeared. It was truly remarkable—and, Tony supposed, a testament to Steve's training regimens—that none of them had been seriously hurt. Steve and Thor were perfectly fine, of course. Bruce, Barton, and Natasha seemed no worse for the wear, and besides Tony's pounding head and the chronic, dull ache in his left arm, he seemed to be okay too. No broken ribs or black eyes this time.

They'd gotten lucky. It could've been a helluva lot worse. Tony was beyond relieved that Peter hadn't gotten hurt.

"JARVIS," Tony said without thinking, biting his lip as he remembered that JARVIS was no longer there. The sharp, throbbing pain in Tony's head grew even more intense as the realization washed over him. JARVIS was gone, destroyed by Ultron as soon as he'd gained sentience, as he'd targeted JARVIS as the Avengers' first line of defense. JARVIS, who'd been with Tony through thick and thin, who'd seen him at his best and at his absolute, rock-bottom worst. Who loved Peter nearly as much as Tony himself, was gone.

And it was all his fault.

"Tony," Steve said quietly as approached Tony with caution, as if he was approaching a wounded or cornered animal. "We could really use your help with these files. There's a whole lot of them, and you and Bruce are really the only people who understand most of it, and—"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony muttered. "Just… give me a minute."

Steve scowled, and Tony bit his tongue, fighting against the strong urge to lash out at the tall, muscular Captain and punch him in his perfect teeth. None of this was Steve's fault; Tony knew that. But why'd he have to be so damn good all the time? If their roles were reversed, Tony knew there'd be no way he'd be able to keep his cool in their present situation.

Which, Tony thought bitterly. Is the exact reason why he's the Captain and I'm not.

"Just… let me check on Pete," whispered Tony. "Make sure he's okay."

"All right," Steve answered with a sigh. He clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Peter's in good hands with Rhodes and Sam, Tony. You know that."

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Tony nodded as he used the Stark satellite network to connect with Peter's phone, noting that he was still about forty minutes out from the upstate Compound. He tapped in a quick message, telling Peter to let him know the moment he arrived safely in the Compound, and to make sure not to turn anything on that would activate the internet.

"So, what do we know about the two Enhanced individuals," Steve asked as Tony stepped over to the table, piled high with boxes of old files. "Hill?"

"Their names are Pietro and Wanda Maximoff," answered Maria, reading from a tablet. "Twins, born in Sokovia, parents were killed several years ago during an attempted coup. Apparently they volunteered themselves for Strucker's experiments, and were the only people to survive them."

"And what are their abilities?" asked Steve.

"He's got increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis. Her thing is neuroelectronic interfacing, telekinesis, mental manipulation."

Steve blinked.

"He's fast and she's weird," added Hill.

"No, no, I got that much," said Steve. "But you said, 'mental manipulation'? As in—"

"As in, she could plant images in someone's head, I suppose," said Bruce. "Make them see things that aren't there. Like hallucinations." He let out a hard shudder. "Yeek. That's kinda creepy when you think about it."

Tony felt his blood run cold at Bruce's statement, and his hand immediately went to the back of his neck, as if he was bracing himself against the whoosh of freezing air that had initiated the horrible, gut-wrenching vision Tony saw in the Sokovia HYDRA bunker. Where he saw all of his friends dead, where his beloved son died in his arms, begging not to go. Tears pricked Tony's eyes as he remembered the agonizing moment when Peter's body went limp against him, when his eyes closed for the last time.

When Tony wished he could die too, right along with him.

Tony felt his hands curling into fists as his jaw clenched in anger. If what Maria Hill said was true, then it was as if this Wanda girl had looked into Tony's mind, read his absolute worst fears, and deliberately chose to exploit them, for whatever sick reason she had to do so.

How DARE she!

"And do we know the current location of these twins?" asked Natasha.

Hill shrugged. "As far as we know they're still in Sokovia."

"Okay," said Steve. "So we know Ultron's trying to find a form, a body, that's stronger than what he was able to find here. Would he go to Sokovia to find that? Tony, Bruce said you found some robotic systems down by the scepter that were pretty advanced. Could Ultron take over one of those and build a body?"

"Yeah," Tony croaked past his dry throat as he flipped through one of the massive file boxes, searching for anything that might possibly be useful. "He could take over all of them, actually. His consciousness isn't limited to only one physical form."

"Oh, great," muttered Natasha. "That's comforting."

"That doesn't help, Natasha," said Steve, shooting Natasha a glare. "So, if we also know that Ultron's ultimate goal is the extinction of mankind, then it would make sense that he'd also want to get control of things like—"

"Nuclear codes!" exclaimed Hill, looking up from her foot, where she was trying to dig out a stubborn piece of broken glass. "Um…"

"Rhodey's got that taken care of," Tony said. "He's already warned the President and Joint Chiefs, and the codes have been changed to a continuous rotating algorithm that not even Ultron should be able to keep up with."

"Should be?" asked Bruce, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Are we sure 'should be' is gonna be good enough?"

"I said, that's enough!" Steve snapped, glaring at Bruce. "Okay. So, if Ultron's headed back to Sokovia, it would be a good guess that he'd want to seek out potential allies. Would these twins be potential allies?"

"It would seem likely," answered Thor. "They did not hesitate to attack our people during the raid, so that would make them our enemies. And we have an old saying on Asgard. The enemy of my enemy—"

"Is my friend," interrupted Natasha. "We say that here on Earth, too. Maybe our linguistics aren't as petty as you think."

"Well, then this is one situation where that particular phrase would seem to apply," said Thor, ignoring Natasha's verbal blow. "These Enhanced seem to have grievances with the Avengers for whatever reason, so it would make logical sense for Ultron to seek them out."

"I agree," said Steve. "So for right now, let's assume that Ultron has already done that."

"I don't think we need to assume anymore, Steve," Hill piped up, scanning the tablet in her hand. "New reports are coming in of metal men attacking robotics labs, jet propulsion labs, weapons facilities. Stripping them of any and all resources that could be useful."

"He's working fast," grumbled Natasha.

"Any fatalities?" asked Steve.

"Only when engaged," said Hill, her eyes narrowing as she read from the tablet. "Mainly reports of lab workers being left in a fugue state, mumbling about old memories and 'something too fast to see'."

"Okay, that definitely sounds like Ultron's got those twins with him," said Bruce.

"Took out Strucker, too," added Hill. "He was in the custody of NATO."

Tony's brow furrowed at that last piece of news. Strucker was the one—most likely along with that Doctor List bastard—who'd actually conducted the experiments on the twins, giving them their powers. Why the hell would Ultron then turn around and kill him?”

"And… now all of our files on Strucker have disappeared," Natasha said, dropping her tablet onto the table in frustration. "This doesn't make any sense. Strucker could've been useful to Ultron; the guy was a HYDRA operative working within SHIELD for years and had associates everywhere, involved in pretty much everything. Why would Ultron kill him?”

"Ultron must wish to hide something about this Strucker," said Thor.

"Something Ultron wanted us to miss," agreed Steve.

"Thor's right," Tony stated, pointing to the file Bruce was holding. "I know that guy."

Steve peered over Tony's shoulder, his eyebrows knitting together as he scanned the file. "You do? He looks like a thug."

"That's 'cause he is," grumbled Tony. "Deals in black market arms, operates off the African coast. He'd be right up HYDRA's alley." He looked up at Natasha's intense glare. "I never sold him anything, Widow, so you can just wipe that damn sneer off your face right now."

"No one's accusing you of that, Tony," Steve said firmly. "And the last thing we need right now is to keep taking swings at each other. We're all in this together."

"Are ya sure 'bout that, Cap?" asked Barton. "Because from my vantage point, it sure seems like we'd not be in this whole damn mess if certain individuals hadn't done something pretty stupid."

Tony's fist immediately slammed down onto the table, causing one of the tablets to skitter off the edge, landing on the floor with a loud clatter. "Are you really calling my son, stupid?" he yelled. "Are you, Barton? My son, who has an IQ of almost 200? And Bruce, who's arguably one of the greatest goddamn scientists to ever live? Because if that's the case, then you're a helluva lot dumber than you—"

"That is enough!" shouted Steve. He pressed his palm into Tony's chest, right over the mass of scars hiding underneath Tony's shirt, the very spot where Peter laid his head at night to go to sleep. "Back off, Tony. No one's calling anyone here anything."

"Yeah?" Tony snapped, his breaths coming in huge, heaving gasps. How long had it been since he'd slept? "Tell that to the Green Arrow, here."

"Who the hell is the Green Arrow?" Barton asked.

"This petty arguing isn't getting us anywhere," said Steve. "What we need to do right now is make a plan and follow it. As soon as possible." He turned to Tony, his blue eyes icy with suppressed anger. "Tony. What's so special about this arms dealer?"

Inhaling a deep breath, Tony let it out slowly, trying to calm himself. "Last time I saw him was at a convention, back in… '05 or something. Kept bragging about this new thing he'd found. Called it a game-changer."

"What's this?" Steve asked, pointing to a picture of the man, Ulysses Klaue. "This, here on his neck? Is it a tattoo of some kind?"

"No, that is not a tattoo," said Thor. "That is a brand. There are those in a few of the Realms who still use them as identifying marks."

"What's it mean?" asked Steve.

"Looks like it means 'thief' in an obscure, African dialect," Bruce answered, looking sheepishly up from his tablet. "In a lot less friendly way."

"What dialect?" Natasha asked.

"Waka—, Wakana—, um, Wakanda," stuttered Bruce.

"Wakanda?" Steve exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," answered Bruce. "Why?"

"Oh shit," muttered Tony. "If this guy managed to get out of Wakanda with some of their trade goods, then—"

"I thought your dad said he got the last of it!" Steve whispered angrily.

"It wouldn't be the first time Howard told someone what they wanted to hear instead of the truth," Tony retorted.

"Why?" Bruce asked again. "What comes out of Wakanda?"

Tony let out a heavy sigh, pointing to Cap's shield sitting on the floor against the wall. "The strongest metal on Earth."

"Where's this guy now?" asked Steve.

"I'd assume he's still got the same spot he's always had," said Tony. "It's too big an operation to move around without somebody noticing."

"Well, shit," muttered Barton after a few seconds of silence. He pushed himself up to his feet, grabbing the pair of drumsticks he'd been carrying around all night for whatever weird reason. Tony had given up trying to understand the man. "Guess I'll go get the jet ready."

"We're here, Peter," James said softly as Sam rolled the car into the Compound's underground parking garage.

"Yeah," Peter whispered. "Thanks."

Sliding out of the car, Peter shuffled over to the elevator, only vaguely aware of Sam's hand resting on his shoulder as they walked. For the entire ninety minute drive upstate his mind had been going over the code he'd helped write for Ultron, trying to decipher where he could have possibly gone wrong.

"None of this was your fault," Sam said, as if he'd been reading Peter's mind. "Don't even go there. It's not true, and it doesn't do anyone any good."

"Sure," Peter said sarcastically, forcing the word past his raw throat. The whole ride up he'd been trying not to cry, and his throat felt like it'd been attacked with a cheese grater because of it.

"Sam's right, Peter," said James as they arrived inside the Compound's main building. "Now, show me how to hook up this… whatever the hell Tony said this place had that's supposed to protect us."

"It's a locked-in, isolated intranet network," Peter said, heading for the main workstation in his father's lab. "It draws power from the Stark satellite network instead of the regular internet. Dad designed it that way just in case some weird computer virus attacked the Tower and disabled JARVIS."

"And why doesn't the Tower have something like this?" asked Sam. "'Cause it would sure be a handy thing to have right about now."

"The satellite network isn't big enough to support both the Tower and the Compound," explained Peter with a sigh. "And the government wouldn't give Dad permission to launch anymore satellites when he asked, so…"

"Yeah, let's not get into that particular discussion right now," said James, grimacing. "Not really the time."

Tapping the final start-up commands into the monitor, Peter activated the satellites, relieved when all of them lit up blue on the monitor, indicating they were in full working order. "We should be good now."

"And we're sure this… Ultron dude can't break into this network?" asked Sam.

"Dad deliberately kept it off of the electronic records system at the Tower," said Peter. "And the Compound went silent as soon as JARVIS was taken out, so there shouldn't be any way for Ultron to gain access. To him, we're invisible."

"Unless he physically comes looking for us," mumbled James, stifling a yawn. "All right. I'm gonna have a quick look around before we settle in for the night."

"C'mon, Peter," said Sam. "You should probably head to bed."

"No!" Peter said frantically, even though he really was dead on his feet tired. "I don't want to!"

"Peter, it's almost three in the morning—"

"Please, no!" cried Peter. "I wanna try and see what went wrong! And I won't be able to sleep anyway, I just know it!"

Sam pursed his lips, his brow furrowing in frustration as he stepped closer. "Look. I'm sure whatever it is that makes all you people so damn smart also makes it so you don't need as much sleep as the rest of us. But I'm telling you, if I'm gonna be bodyguarding you—which is what your father asked of me, by the way—then I'm gonna need some sleep. Or I won't be of much use to anyone."

"Perimeter is secure for now," James announced as he walked into the room. "I'd say it's past the time for some sleep, don't you agree?"

"Yep," said Sam.

"No," said Peter at the same time.

"Too bad, Peter," said James. "You're overruled."

"But—!"

"Don't make me order you to bed, Peter," James said in his low, Colonel's voice. "I don't want to, but I will."

Tears of fatigue and shame sprung to Peter's eyes, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Fine. But—"

"Don't worry, Peter," Sam said quietly. He placed a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder, turning him towards the residential section. "I'll come and sit with you."

"Thank you," Peter whispered as a lone tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. He quickly brushed it away before Sam could notice. I'm too old to be crying all the time, dammit!

Crawling into his Star Trek-themed bed, Peter collapsed onto the pillows, trying to ignore the fact that George was still sitting on his bed back at the Tower and not here at the Compound with him. The Compound had everything else he could need: clothes, shoes, extra contact lenses and inhalers, even copies of his school textbooks. But they had left the Tower in such a hurry, and Peter had been so upset and worried about everything, that he hadn't even thought to stop by his room and grab his polar bear. There were some other stuffed animals scattered around this bedroom, but there was only one George.

"Okay, Peter?" asked Sam, settling himself on the squashy recliner a few feet away from Peter's bed.

"Yeah," Peter choked out as more tears streamed down his cheeks, wetting his pillow. "Just… not used to the quiet. JARVIS usually plays rain sounds in the background for me while I sleep, and now—"

"Well, I can try singing to you if you want," said Sam, trying to keep his voice light. "But I highly doubt it would help you sleep. Might break a few windows though."

Involuntarily, Peter's lips curled into a slight smile. "No thanks, Sam," he said. Swiping at his eyes, he pulled one of his spare pillows into his arms, holding it the way he usually cuddled with George. "I'll be okay."

"Good choice," answered Sam. "Now, hush. I'm tired."

Despite his racing mind and mounting anxieties, Peter was able to fall almost immediately. But it was only a short time later that he was startled awake to what appeared to be the sound of people arguing in loud voices, seemingly right outside his bedroom door.

"I've told you, the answer is no!" one of the voices said. "There is no way I'm ever going to allow it, and that is final!"

"That is not your decision to make!" a second voice said, deeper than the first, more sinister. "This could be the breakthrough we've been looking for!"

"I don't care!" cried the first voice. "Don't you understand? He's my son! I won't allow it!"

"He wouldn't feel a thing," said the second man, his voice dropping even more. Frightened, Peter curled his body into a tight ball, with goosebumps pebbling down his arms as the man continued. "I can ensure that the subject won't feel a thing."

"No one is going to touch Peter!" shouted the first man. "Absolutely no one! I'll burn everything to ashes! All of it, if that's what it takes! This was never supposed to happen!"

"Daddy, please," Peter croaked, in the high, squeaky voice of a very small child. "Please, stop yelling. It's too loud!"

"Exactly what wasn't supposed to happen?" barked the second man. "This could be the breakthrough we've been seeking for years! The pinnacle of years and years of research! How can you not see that?"

"Please, Daddy!" cried Peter, his hands pressing his ears against his head so tightly that his fingernails were digging into his scalp. "Please stop! You're scaring me, it's too loud!"

"Get out of my house!" the first man yelled. "And don't come back here again, or I'll call the police!"

There was the sound of a loud scuffle, followed quickly by the slamming of a door, so hard that it rattled the walls of Peter's bedroom, causing him to whimper and curl even tighter. A few seconds later Peter heard his door open and the sounds of footsteps as someone stepped into his room. The person sat down on his bed, gently stroking his hair before reaching for his shaking body, pulling him close.

"It's okay, Peter," his father whispered. "Everything's okay now. Go back to sleep."

"So loud!" Peter whimpered. "Why so loud?"

"I'm so sorry, Peter," Dad said, patting his back. Slowly, he felt his rigid body begin to relax, uncurling itself from its tight ball. "But it's okay now. You can go back to sleep."

Peter didn't really feel like going back to sleep, but he nodded anyway. "Okay, Daddy. I'll try."

"That's a good boy," his father said, kissing his forehead. He laid Peter back down on his pillow, pulling the blankets up over his shoulder and patting his head. "Sleep well, son. You're safe."

"Uh huh," said Peter, watching as his father walked back towards his bedroom door. He paused once he reached it, his hand on the doorknob, turning his head to look back at Peter just as a light from the street suddenly illuminated the man's face. Peter yelped in fear, his hands gripping the sheets of his bed so tightly that his knuckles hurt.

Because it wasn't his father, Tony Stark, who was looking back at him.

It was someone else. Someone Peter didn't quite recognize.

"Aahh!" Peter cried, shrinking down under his covers. "Who're you?"

The strange man's eyes blinked in surprise. "What do you mean, 'who am I'?" he asked. "I'm your father, Peter."

"No!" Peter squeaked, shaking his head so hard his hair flopped down across his forehead. "No, you're not! My dad is Tony Stark! He's back at Avengers Tower, trying to figure out what went wrong with Ultron! You're not him!"

But the man only shook his head, turning to walk towards Peter's bed. Peter shrank back as he approached, flattening himself against the mattress. "No!" he cried. "Don't touch me! You'll only let them hurt me again!"

"Peter!" the strange man said, pain etched across his face. "That's not true! You're my son; I'd die to protect you!"

"If you're my daddy, then why did you let them hurt me!" screamed Peter, his chest heaving, his lungs feeling like they were about to burst open. "They came in the night, and they poked me with needles, and they hurt me! Why'd you let them hurt me?"

"Peter!" the man said, his voice frantic. His hands wrapped around Peter's forearms, trying to hold them still. "Peter, what are you saying? Who hurt you?"

"The loud people," whimpered Peter. "They came in the night, and they hurt me!"

"Peter," another voice said, one that Peter thought he recognized. "Peter, wake up! You're all right, it's just a bad dream."

"No! Leave me alone!" Peter cried. "You'll only let them hurt me again!"

"I promise I won't," said the voice. "Wake up, Peter. You're safe here."

"Don't let them hurt me! Please!"

"No one's gonna hurt you, Peter," said the kind, soothing voice of Sam Wilson. "You're okay. It's just a bad dream."

Peter's eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly against the harsh light of the morning sun streaming through the large windows across the room. He bolted upright on the bed, just barely missing knocking Sam in the chin with his head as he looked around, trying to get his bearings.

He was back at the Compound.

"It's okay, Peter," said Sam, releasing Peter's arms and raising his hands. "You're okay. It was just a bad dream."

Huffing out a sharp breath, Peter flopped back down onto his bed, brushing the damp hair out of his eyes. It sure hadn't seemed like only a bad dream. Peter was no stranger to nightmares, but this… this felt different somehow.

"Yeah, okay," Peter mumbled, shuddering slightly at the horrible taste in his mouth. He felt icky, and was covered in sweat from his nightmare. "I… um… I think I need a shower."

"Sure thing," said Sam. "But come down to the kitchen afterwards. Rhodes is already down there cooking breakfast, and you know he can cook a helluva lot better than your dad."

Peter's head snapped up at Sam's words. "My… dad," he stammered.

"Yeah," Sam said, his brow furrowing slightly. "Iron Man may be a lot of things, but I'm pretty sure his cooking skills are limited to whatever he can throw into that blender of his."

"Yeah," Peter said, adding in a fake chuckle for good measure as he scanned the room again. He was in his bedroom, in the Compound. Sam Wilson was next to him. Colonel Rhodes—no, James—was down in the kitchen, making breakfast. And his dad… his dad was back at the Tower, with the rest of the Avengers.

My name is Peter Parker Stark. My dad's name is Tony Stark. He's Iron Man, one of the Avengers. We all live in the Avengers Tower.

It had all been just a bad nightmare. Just a really bad… nightmare.

"Did my dad call at all while I was asleep?" Peter asked as he rubbed his eyes. He'd gotten the text message Dad had sent while they were en route to the Compound, but it had only mentioned things to do once they arrived here. There wasn't anything in it about whatever he and the rest of the Avengers were planning.

"Not sure," answered Sam. "But if he did, I bet Rhodes would know. So, come on down once you're cleaned up, yeah?"

"Sure," replied Peter. He reached for his glasses, sliding them onto his face. "I won't be long."

The steaming hot shower did help, loosening up some of the tightness in Peter's shoulders and helping to clear out his lungs a bit. By the time he'd gotten dressed and wandered down the huge hallway to the residential kitchen, filled with the wonderful smells of fried bacon and eggs, James and Sam were already eating. If Peter hadn't known better, he almost could've pretended that his dad was here and just off working in his lab, not on yet another mission to try and save the world.

"There he is," said James as Peter sat down on the counter stool next to Sam. He pushed a full plate towards Peter, handing him a fork. There was already a glass of orange juice sitting on the counter for him. "Eat up while it's hot, Peter."

Peter didn't feel hungry in the least, but took the fork anyway with what he hoped was a grateful look. At least Sam was right; James was a better cook than his dad.

"Tony sent me a message early this morning," James said once Peter had started eating. "He said Pepper should be here in a couple hours."

"Uh huh," Peter mumbled. "Did he say anything about what the team was up to?"

"Yes, he did."

"And?" Peter asked, taking a sip of the orange juice.

"He and the rest of the team are heading out to visit some arms dealer off the South African coast," said James.

"Why the hell for?" asked Sam. "What would a slimy arms dealer have to do with stopping a rogue program?"

James's eyes flicked over towards Peter, then back at Sam. "Um…"

"I'll just find out on my own if you don't tell me," Peter said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "So you might as well just tell me. It would save time."

"Not with that kind of attitude, it won't," James muttered. "Fine. Tony said their working theory was that this arms dealer had a stock of that same stuff that Cap's shield is made of—"

"Vibranium?" Peter exclaimed. "But I didn't think anyone had any more of that. Steve told me that Mr. Stark said it was the last of it when he made the shield."

"Well, apparently Howard was wrong," answered James, rolling his eyes. "Wouldn't have been the first time."

"So they're worried that Ultron will try and make a body with the vibranium?" asked Peter. He set his fork down, pushing the plate away as if it had personally offended him. "That would be really bad! Vibranium's supposed to be the hardest metal on Earth."

"Which is why they're going to stop him, Peter," Sam said as he chugged the rest of his orange juice. "They're the Avengers. They can do it."

Peter shook his head, sending his messy hair flying. "No, you don't understand. If Ultron gets a hold of enough vibranium to build a body, he'll be pretty much unstoppable! You've all seen what Steve's shield can do; just imagine that as Ultron!"

There were a few seconds of silence before Sam let out a low whistle. "So… what else can we do?"

"Nothing," James said, glaring at Sam. "Tony wants us to stay here and keep the Compound on lockdown. That's our mission, Peter. Ultron is their mission."

"But—!"

"No 'buts', kid," said James in his Colonel's voice. "Those are our orders."

Tears stung Peter's eyes, and he sniffed impatiently, trying to keep them hidden. He needed to quit crying all the damn time. "At least let me look at Ultron's coding while I'm here!" he begged. "See if I can find where we went wrong! Please? I can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"Can you do that without the internet?" asked Sam.

"Uh huh!" Peter said, nodding like one of Steve's baseball bobblehead figures. "I can do it with the satellite connection, Dad showed me how. I don't need the internet. One workstation won't be enough to compromise the Compound security, I promise!"

"All right, Peter," James said with a sigh. "But if you find something, I want you to talk to Sam or me first, before you do anything. Is that understood?"

"Yes, yes, it's understood!" Peter said as he shot off his stool, nearly knocking it over. "It's understood, thank you!"

Hurrying over to his workstation tucked off in the corner of Dad's lab, Peter turned on his monitor, connecting it with the satellite network. As soon as the little green light appeared on the bottom he got to work, pulling up the trillions of lines of code that he, Dad, and Bruce had written for Ultron's interface. Peter knew it would be impossible to go through each line of code one by one; that would take years. So instead he started searching for patterns hidden in the code, beginning with his own. Every programmer had their own style that they used for writing code, even if it was for the same purpose, much like one person's handwriting looked different from another person's even if the words were the same. And since Peter had worked on the Ultron project for the least amount of time out of the three of them, because of school and gymnastics, it made the most sense to start there.

Peter had been working for almost an hour when he noticed the monitor suddenly blip, just for a split second before returning to normal. Peter immediately stepped back, his hands freezing over the keyboard. Most of the time a tiny blip like that was harmless, but since the Compound was exclusively on satellite control, Peter knew he should investigate it. Losing even one of the permanent satellites right now could cause a whole host of problems.

Inhaling a deep breath, Peter typed in a command, asking to see a schematic of the satellite network. As the picture appeared on his screen, Peter noticed one of the dots blinking yellow, which indicated that one of the satellites was moving. Peter gulped, his heart dropping to his knees as he realized what that meant.

There was only one satellite in the whole network that was designed to deliberately break from formation when called.

It was the satellite that carried the Hulk-buster armor, which Bruce had decided to name Veronica.

And if Veronica was moving, that could only mean that Dad had summoned it. Which meant… Oh, God, what does it mean?

Pulling up the search engine, Peter typed in keywords 'the hulk', looking for any news stories or footage that might explain why Dad needed the massive Iron Man suit, his eyes widening in shock when he found live news coverage from Johannesburg, South Africa that showed the Hulk raging uncontrollably down a busy street crowded with people, knocking down buildings and sending cars soaring through the air. Policemen kept trying to approach the out-of-control monster, but the Hulk was moving so fast and so erratically that they couldn't get close enough.

Not that the rifles they were carrying would've done any good. Bullets didn't hurt the Hulk anyway. They just bounced right off of him.

"Dad!" Peter gasped, barely able to watch as the Hulk swung his massive arm, backhanding Dad right in the face mask of his suit and sending him flying into a building, out of range of whatever news camera had been following him. Peter ran a sweaty hand through his hair, his other hand flying across the keyboard, writing a quick connection between his monitor and the heads-up display located in Dad's Iron Man armor. The connection was completed just in time to watch Dad's metal fist colliding directly with the Hulk's, sending out a shockwave that took out every glass window as far as Peter could see.

"What could've happened to Bruce?" Peter whispered, shrinking back from the monitor as he noticed the Hulk's green eyes tinged with red, as if they'd been sprayed with a harsh chemical or something.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how he looked at it—the connection with Dad's HUD didn't allow for sound, so Peter couldn't hear what either of them were saying. But the absolute hatred emanating from the Hulk's reddened eyes, directed solely at his dad, was so strong and so violent that it made Peter shudder. Just as he knew it had to be breaking Dad's heart to have to fight the man who he considered to be one of his best friends.

What the hell could've caused this to happen? Dad had always said the Hulk-buster armor was built purely as a last resort, especially since Bruce seemed to have a pretty good handle on his Hulk transformations.

It was like something inside Bruce, or inside the Hulk, had just snapped.

Watching through his fingers, Peter held his breath as Dad picked up the Hulk with one hand, carrying him away from the busy marketplace area and dropping him down onto an unfinished skyscraper, which proceeded to collapse in on itself straight down to the ground. Soldiers, presumably from the South African National Guard, immediately formed a circle around the stunned green giant, pointing their machine guns at him as Dad pulled back his fist, hitting him square in the jaw and knocking him out.

"Oh my God," exclaimed Pepper, startling Peter as she came up next to him, her mouth dropping open as she stared at the carnage displayed on the monitor in front of her. "What happened?"

"I don't know," choked Peter past the lump in his throat. "It's like Bruce just… cracked!"

"Is he gonna be okay?" Pepper asked. "Where is this?"

"Johannesburg," Peter replied. "And I hope so. Dad and the team went there to talk to someone. I don't know what happened, but something must've gotten to Bruce while they were there."

"Yeah," breathed Pepper. "Okay… um… I need to get the Stark Relief Foundation down there ASAP, or this'll be another media nightmare." She pulled back, blinking at Peter as if she'd just noticed he was there. "Are you doing okay? Sam told me you had a pretty bad nightmare early this morning."

Peter's throat tightened even further and he sniffed, trying to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, I guess. Nightmares aren't anything new, though."

"Yeah, I know," Pepper said kindly, patting his back. "But Sam said this one seemed worse somehow. He said you were pretty disorientated when you woke up."

"Nah," Peter said, his face flushing red as he looked away. "I'm okay. Just…" he jerked his head towards the monitor, noticing that Dad was now lifting an unconscious Bruce Banner and carrying him towards the parked jet. Through the HUD he could barely make out Steve, Natasha, and Mr. Barton. Both Natasha and Steve seemed to be out of sorts as well. Natasha was stumbling—like she'd had too much to drink—even though Mr. Barton was supporting her, and Steve's body was so stiff it seemed as though there was a board glued across his shoulder blades. Steve's posture was nearly always perfect, but this was different somehow.

Reaching the Quinjet, Dad laid Bruce down on one of the chairs and stepped out of his armor, severing the connection between his HUD and Peter's monitor. Peter let out a small squeak as the monitor went black, and Pepper put her hand on his shoulder.

"They're safe now, Peter," she said gently. "They're all okay."

"Uh huh," Peter mumbled. "But where will they go now? They can't come here without drawing Ultron here, and they can't go to the Tower since JARVIS is gone and can't help them, and—"

Peter's rambling was cut off by Pepper's phone buzzing in the pocket of her suit jacket. "It's a text from Tony," she said as she pulled it out, squinting as she read the message.

"What's it say?"

Instead of answering, Pepper held up her phone so Peter could see the text, his heart dropping down to his knees as he read.

Heading for some safe house Barton knows about, probably from back in his spy days. We all took a big hit, but we'll bounce back. Stay safe, keep Pete close. Love you both. Contact you again soon.

"So, what do we do now?" Peter asked.

"We just wait, I guess," answered Pepper. "Tony will keep us in the loop, Peter. Don't worry."

That's always easier said than done, Peter thought bitterly. "Yeah, okay. But if it's okay with you, I'm gonna keep searching through Ultron's code. I already told—"

"Yeah, Sam and Rhodey already told me," said Pepper, narrowing her eyes. "As long as you're not doing it because you're feeling guilty, Peter. This isn't your fault."

"I know," Peter answered, a little too quickly. "I know," he said again. "I just… wanna try and help."

"All right. I need to go make some calls, so I'll be in the conference room if you need me."

"Thanks," Peter whispered, turning back to his monitor as soon as Pepper left the room. Pulling up the screen full of code he'd been working on earlier, Peter let out a heavy sigh as he began searching across and between the code lines, looking for anything that might possibly be useful in deactivating Ultron.

Please, he thought. There's gotta be something here. Let me find it!

"You need me to take a shift?" Tony asked Barton, stepping into the cockpit. He was still shaking from the back-breaking fight against the out-of-control Hulk and couldn't seem to sit still. All around him the dazed and confused faces of Natasha, Thor, Bruce, and Steve—everyone who'd been mind-zapped by that Maximoff girl back at the shipyard—stared straight ahead, their bodies stiff as marble, as if they were still trapped inside the nightmarish visions the little witch had put into their heads.

It was a feeling Tony unfortunately understood all too well. He'd felt shaky and unsteady for days after his hallucination, and the horrible image of Peter lying lifeless in his arms still lingered in the back of his mind, taunting him. It was a sight he'd never be able to unsee.

"Nah, I'm good," answered Barton. "If you wanna catch some sleep now would be a good time. We're still a few hours out."

"A few hours out from where, exactly?" asked Tony.

"The safe house," said Barton, his eyes staring straight ahead. "At least, I hope so."

Whatever, Tony thought as he meandered back to his chair, letting his head drop back against the headrest. He didn't dare allow himself to fall asleep; the risk of a nightmare was way too high, so he busied himself by studying the various angles that made up the roof of the jet, working through calculations in his head as to how he could build something with better aerodynamic performance.

Tony was still trembling slightly by the time Barton touched the Quinjet down inside a dense clump of trees that opened into a meadow, in what appeared to be the direct middle of absolute nowhere.

"Thought you said we were heading for a safe house?" Tony asked.

"I did," answered Barton, brushing past Tony to get to Natasha. "And we did."

Scowling, Tony reached a hand towards Bruce, trying to help him untangle himself from the pile of blankets he was wrapped in so he could get to his feet. As they stepped off the jet, blinking against the rather harsh sunlight, Tony's eyes landed on an honest-to-goodness, straight-out-of-a-Hallmark-movie farmhouse, complete with wraparound porch and everything, standing about fifty yards away. There was even a barn.

"What is this place?" asked Thor, looking around in confusion.

"Safe house," muttered Tony, his wide eyes still scanning their surroundings.

"Let's hope," said Barton as he stepped over the threshold of the front door. "Honey! I'm home!"

Holy shit! Tony thought as Barton introduced everyone to his wife, Laura, and their two children, a boy around the same age as Peter, and a smaller girl who instantly gravitated towards Natasha. This is Barton's family!

"Sorry for barging in on you like this," Steve said.

"Yeah, well, Fury helped me set this up when I joined SHIELD," Barton explained. "Kept it off their files, I'd like to keep it that way."

Tony scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling very uneasy. Steve shot him a concerned look, but before he could say anything, Thor abruptly turned on his heel and marched right out the door.

"Thor," Steve called, disappearing behind the tall god of thunder. "Thor?"

"So," Barton said. "Um, if we're gonna be staying here, we're all gonna need to pitch in a little."

"Yeah, whatever you need," Tony said quickly, growing even more uneasy when Steve came back inside the house without Thor. This really was not the time to be losing team members. Not with Ultron still out there, getting stronger by the minute.

"Just show me what needs to be done," Steve said, setting his shield down next to the sofa.

Five minutes later, axes in hand, Tony and Steve headed out to the massive wood pile about twenty yards off the side of the house. While it had been long, long time since Tony had done any woodcutting, he was hoping the physical work would help take his mind off of things, at least for a bit.

"Thor didn't say where he was going?" Tony asked Steve as he slammed his axe down, splitting the log in front of him into four different pieces.

"Nope," answered Steve, bringing his own axe down with a grunt. "He just said he needed answers and he wouldn't find them here."

"It's the Maximoff girl's influence," said Tony, splitting another log. "And we don't know what she showed him. Could've been anything."

"Just like we still don't know what she showed you, Tony," Steve said, punctuating his statement with a slam of his axe. "Because instead of telling your teammates what happened, you decided to go and meddle around with something you barely understood—"

Tony froze, the blood turning to ice in his veins. "Banner and I were doing research!" he snapped.

"That would affect the team," Steve said hotly.

"That would end the team!" exclaimed Tony, the axe slipping from his grip. He clenched his hands into fists, drawing in a deep breath. "Isn't that the why we fight? So we can end the fight? So we get to go home?"

Ripping apart a log with his bare hands, Steve turned to Tony, his jaw set angrily. "You still should've told us. If not everyone, then you should've at least told me. There's no reason for us to keep secrets from each other, Tony. No good reason at all."

A wave of shame washed over Tony, so strongly it nearly knocked him over. Steve was right, Tony should've at least said something to him. But Tony had been too afraid, too jittery, too impatient to say anything. Tony had been sure of only two things after retrieving the scepter: to make sure that Peter was in fact all right, and get Ultron up and running as soon as possible so he could keep him that way.

"It was awful," Tony mumbled, so softly that any normal person wouldn't have heard him. He squeezed his eyes closed, his throat tightening as the nightmarish vision reappeared in the forefront of his mind. "Like my worst nightmare coming to life, right in front of me. You guys were all—, and Peter—, Peter was gone, and it was all my fault. I hadn't done enough. I hadn't done enough to protect him. I hadn't done enough to protect any of you."

"I'm sorry, Tony," Steve said, shouldering his axe. "I can't imagine how painful that must've been to see. But if you'd talked to me about it, then maybe—"

"Maybe what, Rogers?" retorted Tony. "Maybe you could've magically made everything better? How? This wasn't something you could've just tossed your shield at and made disappear!"

"I don't know, Tony!" Steve exclaimed. "But I would've tried to help you. Somehow. Because that's what friends do."

Tony rolled his eyes. Sometimes Steve was so unbelievably naive. "No offense, but there's no way you could've understood it. That gut-wrenching pain—, I watched my boy die in my arms, and he was terrified, begging me to help him, and I couldn't—, and there's just no way to explain to someone how that feels."

"I know what it's like to lose people, Tony," Steve said softly. "You don't have to explain it to me."

"Not like this," Tony said, his voice cracking. "You're not a father, Cap. You don't know what it's like—, to love someone that much, to be that desperate to protect him." Tony paused, clearing his throat as he shook his head. "Peter shouldn't have had to see a fraction of the things that he's seen. He deserves so much better. I just—, I just wanted him to have it."

Hurt flashed across Steve's pale face, and Tony immediately felt a sharp twinge of guilt. Tony had never intended to become a father. Even after he'd shut down the weapons-manufacturing division of Stark Industries and announced to the world that he was Iron Man, the thought had never occurred to him. His partying, reforming-playboy lifestyle just didn't really mesh all that well with the possibility of being a parent.

Not to mention the fact that his own father had been a first-class asshole, who always treated Tony like a burden instead of a son.

It wasn't until that tiny little boy was thrust into his life, almost against his will, that Tony ever gave fatherhood more than just a fleeting thought.

But Steve. Steve had probably craved it. Craved a home, craved family, craved the stability it brought. And it was all taken from him when he crashed that plane into the Arctic, and didn't die.

"Look, Steve—" Tony started, only to be interrupted by Barton's wife. What was her name again?

"Pardon me, Mr. Stark," she said sheepishly. "But Clint said you wouldn't mind if I… our tractor doesn't seem to want to start, and I was just wondering—"

"Yeah, sure, I'll give it a kick," Tony muttered, hoping he sounded more polite than he felt. He turned back to Steve, his icy blue eyes still filled with hurt. "This discussion isn't over, Cap."

"I know, Tony," Steve said with a stiff nod. "Go on. We can talk more later."

Stepping inside the barn, Tony walked past the pile of archery targets, bows and arrows, and hay bales stacked ten feet high over to the John Deere tractor, parked right in the middle of the barn. "Hello, dear," he said, opening up the oil cap and peering inside. "Tell me everything. What ails you?"

"Do me a favor," a deep voice said, coming from the far, darkened corner of the barn, startling Tony such that he dropped the oil cap. "Try not to bring it to life."

"Goddammit," Tony breathed as Nick Fury stepped out from behind the shadows. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Fury shook his head, his one good eye narrowing. "Artificial intelligence, huh?"

"Look," Tony said, stepping around the tractor. "Unless you have something actually useful to contribute here, I'm not interested in anything you think you have to say."

"Just, look me in the eye and tell me you're gonna shut him down."

Tony felt his upper lip curling. "You don't get to give me orders. You're not the director of me."

"I'm not the director of anybody," said Fury, plunking himself down on one of the hay bales. "I'm just an old man, who cares very much about you."

"Bullshit, you do!" Tony snapped.

"Try me!" Fury snapped right back. "The Maximoff girl, she's working you, Tony! She's still in your head!"

"Damn right she is!" Tony cried. He slammed his palm down against the tractor, wincing at the resulting sting. "I saw them all dead, Nick! All of them! I fucking killed the Avengers! I saw it! And Pete—, I saw him. Someone had gotten to him, and they'd tortured him, and he—" Tony broke off, squeezing his eyes closed at the agonizing memory. "I held him as he died, Nick. My boy died in my arms, begging me to help him, begging not to go. And it was all my fault."

"It wasn't your fault, Tony," Nick said firmly. "The Scarlet Witch looked into your mind, saw your fears, and showed them to you in full HD. That's what it was."

"I watched my son die, Nick," Tony croaked. "My friends, and my son, all dead because of me. You'd think there'd be nothing worse than that, wouldn't you? But no, that wasn't the worst part."

"No," said Nick. "The worst part was that you didn't."

Tony's bottom lip started to tremble. "No parent should ever have to watch their child die, Nick. It's just… wrong. I just… needed to make sure it could never happen."

Nick let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the hay bales. "So you thought Ultron was the way to keep that from happening?"

"That was the theory."

"Tony," Nick said. "Your son doesn't need some groundbreaking artificial intelligence robot to protect him. He just needs you. You and the family you guys have built."

"No," said Tony, his heart starting to race. "It's not good enough. I'm not good enough. There are still threats out there, and I can't—"

"And this is the same thing Richard Parker tried to do, way back when," Nick interrupted. "And it only got him killed. I don't think Peter needs to lose another father, Tony. Do you?"

The mention of Parker's name made Tony turn his head so fast he wrenched his neck. "What did you say?"

"Parker was trying to protect Peter," Nick said. "Just like you. Only in his case, he didn't have all the resources that you have. Not to mention all the superhero friends."

Tony pressed his fist to his chest, trying to keep his breathing steady. "You said—"

"I know what I said, Tony. That was then, back when I was the director of something. Back when SHIELD was still around. But this is now. Things are different."

"Are you telling me that you knew all this time—?" Tony choked out. "Fury, I swear, if you don't start making some sense soon, I will bring this fucking tractor to life right now and drive it right over your pirate ass!"

"I'm trying!" retorted Nick. "Just shut up and listen, for a change, will ya?"

"I am fucking listening!"

"Parker was a geneticist. He and his colleagues spent years trying to combine human DNA with specific genes from certain animals. It was their version of trying to create another super soldier."

Figures, Tony thought, scowling. Everyone's always trying to create the next Steve Rogers. "Yeah? I got that much from my own research."

Fury shot him a glare. "Well, what I'm guessing you don't know, is that at one point, after another abysmal failure, Parker got so desperate for results that he decided to take matters into his own hands and inject himself with the modified animal DNA."

"Yeah, I'd say that's pretty desperate," grumbled Tony.

"The only problem was that nothing seemed to happen. The experiment seemed to be just yet another failure."

"Until…?"

"Until Peter was conceived," said Nick. "Parker never intended to have any children, but you know, things sometimes happen. So the boy is born and starts to grow, and one of Parker's colleagues gets it into his head to go and test Peter's DNA, behind Parker's back."

"Shit," Tony breathed. "Did he?"

"Yes," Nick answered. "He did. And Peter's DNA was compatible. He was their first successful test subject."

"Don't you fucking call my son a test subject, Fury!" Tony growled. "And what the hell does that mean, anyway?"

"It meant, that Peter's DNA would be… accepting, if you will, of the additional genes during the second half of the experiment," Nick explained. "He was prepped, for lack of a better term. All they needed to do was inject him with the extra modified genes, and they'd have—"

"Stop!" cried Tony, covering his ears. "I get the picture, Nick. I don't need all the gory details."

"Obviously, we now know that most of Parker's colleagues were embedded HYDRA agents—"

"That Doctor List asshole," interrupted Tony. "Isn't that right?"

"Yeah, he was one of them," said Nick. "They wanted to take Peter and run further experiments. But Parker refused. Wouldn't let 'em. Said it was inhumane."

"'Cause it fucking was!" Tony muttered. "All of it! He's just a kid!"

"That's exactly what Parker said. There was no way Peter could consent to such an experiment, and Parker, as the kid's dad, refused to allow them to continue."

"Let me guess. That didn't go over so well with the HYDRA goons." The loud men who came in the night.

"Not exactly," said Nick. "And unfortunately, Parker was on his way to report to the authorities when he and his wife were killed. They'd placed Peter in the care of Parker's brother, Ben, before they left."

"And you've been watching him ever since," Tony whispered. "And when Ben and May were killed at the Expo—"

"I called you," Nick stated. He clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Or rather, had you called. And like I said before, you weren't my first choice. But I think it's turned out rather well for the most part."

"And who was your first choice?" Tony asked bitterly. "Or don't you wanna tell me that either."

Nick tilted his head, his one good eye staring straight into Tony's. "Barton was one option I considered. He had the stability: a wife, a child, another one on the way." He paused, sweeping his hand around the vast inside of the barn. "What do you think, Tony? You think Peter would've been happy living in a place like this?"

"No," Tony said quickly. "I don't. Pete likes the city too much." It was the truth, even if Tony was being immensely biased with his statement. Peter was a New Yorker, through and through. Even when they'd had the Malibu house, Peter had always felt more comfortable in New York.

"That, and the fact that Barton is absent so much from his family was the main reason why he didn't get the call," said Nick. "Besides. I could tell you'd changed once you got over your whole self-destructive phase. I went with my gut when I chose you, and I'd say my gut was right."

"Damn right it was," grumbled Tony. "Just tell me this. Is Peter in any danger? Are there any more of these HYDRA scientists out there, chomping at the bit to get at him?"

"Not as far as I know, Tony," answered Nick. "But even I have to admit that my reach doesn't extend as far as it used to. There are still potential HYDRA agents out there that we haven't yet found."

"But as long as Pete doesn't come into contact with… whatever the hell they were experimenting with, then he'll be okay?" asked Tony.

"Like I said. As far as I know, all of Parker's research materials were destroyed following his death."

"Any chance you know what they were using?"

"Parker used the genes from several different types of animals in his research, Tony," said Nick. "From insects to snakes to birds to monkeys. I can't be sure which one of them he used on himself."

Tony shuddered. What the hell would possess a man…? "Yeah, okay."

They were silent for a few minutes, until Nick again clapped Tony on the shoulder. "C'mon back inside, Tony. I think it's chow time, and I'm hungry."

Slowly, Tony got to his feet, rubbing at the resurgent ache in his left arm. "Who was it that killed Parker and his wife?" he asked. "Was it that Winter Soldier dude?"

"The signs were all there," answered Nick. "So yes, it's likely. But there's also been intermittent evidence over the years that points to there being more than one Winter Soldier."

"Shit," Tony said softly. "Any chance you know where the rest of them are?"

"Nope," Nick said. "And to be honest, right now it's not really a priority, Tony. We need to take out Ultron first."

"Yeah," Tony said, grimacing. "Well, I'm open to ideas."

"Good," said Nick as they exited the barn. "Let's go think of some."

Peter let out a sharp cry, slamming his fists down on the counter in frustration. Reading through code nearly all day long for the past two days was making him feel like his eyes were starting to cross, and yet so far he hadn't been able to accomplish anything that might be useful. The only thing he'd been able to decipher inside the code were a few remnants of JARVIS, broken and scattered as they were, but he couldn't see how that could help anything.

Rubbing at his tired eyes, Peter cursed softly as one of his contact lenses popped out, fluttering to the floor. He immediately felt dizzy and grabbed the counter. Being able to see out of only one eye was always disorientating. Carefully, he made his way to his room, ducking straight into the bathroom to pull out his other contact, rubbing both eyes vigorously once it was out.

"What am I missing?" he asked his blurry reflection. "I've solved problems like this before, why can't I see the answer?"

"Peter?" James suddenly called from the doorway to Peter's room. "You in here? Dinner's ready."

Scowling, Peter dropped his chin down to his chest, even as his stomach growled in protest. "Yeah, I'll be down in a minute."

After splashing some cold water on his face, Peter grabbed his glasses and padded down the hall to the kitchen, finding Sam, James, and Pepper already there.

"Any word from Dad?" he asked, sliding onto his stool at the counter.

The three adults all exchanged loaded looks, and Peter was just about ready to push his plate away and leave when Sam spoke up. "Yes, actually. We got a message from Tony about an hour ago. He and the others are all regrouping back at the Tower."

"The Tower? Why? They're vulnerable there!"

James held up his hand. "We know that, Peter. They're not staying long. Ultron took Natasha, and as soon as they figure out where he took her, they're gonna go after her and get her back."

"Why did Ultron take Natasha?" Peter cried. "Did she get mind-controlled again?"

"No, no," said Sam. "There was a fight in Korea, Ultron tried to steal something from Dr. Cho there, but Natasha was able to stop him. So he took her in retaliation."

"Okay," Peter whimpered. "I hope she's all right!"

"I've seen her in action up close, Peter," Sam assured him. "And she's a pretty tough cookie. She won't go down without a big-ass fight."

"Sam!" Pepper chastised. "We don't need that kind of talk around here."

Sam dropped his gaze to his plate, wincing. "Sorry, Pepper."

"Tony said he'd let us know more as soon as he could," said James. "But Peter, it might not be for awhile. They've got a pretty big fight ahead of them."

"Yeah, I know," Peter whispered, setting his fork down. "I'm… gonna go and work some more on the code, if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," Pepper said, placing her hand on his arm. "As soon as you finish your dinner."

"But—!"

"Nope," Pepper said firmly. "No arguments. You haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and I'm not gonna have you passing out on me again. You're a growing boy, Peter. You need to eat."

"That was only one time!" Peter whined, but picked up his fork anyway. He had yet to win a single argument against Pepper, even if it didn't seem like he was growing nearly as fast as she thought he was.

But four hours later, exhausted and seemingly no closer to a solution than he was when he started, Peter gave up for the night and headed to his room. Sam had offered to spend the night in his room again, but Peter declined. He'd had another one of those extra-weird nightmares the previous night, and didn't really feel like delving into them with Sam at the moment. Not when Ultron was still out there.

After brushing his teeth, Peter crawled into bed, hugging his extra pillow to his chest and wishing for the umteenth time that he had George with him at the Compound.

He'd just closed his eyes when a woman's voice—soft, with a lilting Irish accent—suddenly sounded from the speakers in his room. "Goodnight, Young Peter. Would you like me to turn on the rain sounds for you?"

"Who're you?" Peter yelped, scanning the blurry, darkened ceiling. "Where'd you come from?"

"My name is FRIDAY," answered the voice. "I am a user-interface program developed by Mr. Stark."

"FRIDAY?" squeaked Peter. "You're the new JARVIS?"

"That is correct," answered FRIDAY.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, his exhausted mind racing. "But… if you're here now, doesn't that mean Ultron could find us here?"

"No, Young Peter," FRIDAY said. "Ultron won't be able to find us here."

"How do you know?"

"Because the small pieces of JARVIS's code that you built into Ultron's matrix will allow me to keep him out. JARVIS was programmed to protect this facility, and to protect you at all costs. As such, since I am modeled after JARVIS, I am as well."

"JARVIS's coding," Peter whispered. "That's how you knew to ask me about the rain sounds, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's right."

A thought occurred to him then, so suddenly it was as if he'd been hit upside the head. "FRIDAY," Peter said, his voice trembling. "I think I have an idea on how I can weaken Ultron."

"I'm all ears, Young Peter," FRIDAY said.

Throwing his blankets aside, Peter leaped out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face when one foot got stuck in the balled-up covers. Grabbing his glasses, he jammed them onto his face as he raced down the hall towards the lab, skidding to a stop at his workstation.

"I need to find JARVIS's code," he mumbled, pulling up the section he'd been working on earlier. "FRIDAY, some of JARVIS's code made it into Ultron, right?"

"That is correct. You put it there."

"So…" Peter said as his fingers flew over the keyboard, isolating the fragments of JARVIS embedded into Ultron's matrix. "I've been able to program JARVIS to do some things on my own before. If I can put his pieces back together here, I can send it through to Ultron's matrix."

"There likely isn't enough of JARVIS within Ultron to shut him down completely, Young Peter," said FRIDAY.

"No," agreed Peter, biting his lip. "But his drones don't draw as much power from the matrix as his main body does. So if I can send a command to them to shut down, that would only leave the main Ultron left."

"Which would then allow the Vision to destroy him," said FRIDAY. "I like this plan!"

"Vision?" asked Peter. "Who's Vision?"

"Vision is an android composed of vibranium and the gem known as the Mind Stone, originally created by Ultron in his attempt to build an indestructible body," FRIDAY explained. "However, Vision's creation was interrupted when the Avengers recovered the Cradle stolen from Dr. Cho's laboratory in Korea. Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, and Thor then proceeded to upload the newly reconstructed matrix of JARVIS into the body, completing the transformation."

"Thor?" Peter said, his mind spinning with questions he knew he didn't have time to ask. What the hell is a Mind Stone? "So, this Vision. He's a… good guy?"

"He is currently fighting alongside Mr. Stark and the Avengers, so yes, I would say he's a good guy. His exact words were, 'I am on the side of life'."

Peter inhaled a shaky breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "FRIDAY? Where's my dad going? Where are they fighting?"

"They're headed to Sokovia, Young Peter," FRIDAY said. "Agent Barton traced the whereabouts of Natasha Romanoff to that location. Colonel Rhodes has recently departed the Compound to join them there."

"Okay," squeaked Peter. He clenched his jaw, adjusting his glasses up on his nose. "Then I better get going."

It took nearly two hours before Peter was able to get all of JARVIS's code fragments isolated, and another hour to program the 'stop' code into the matrix. But once he was done and the 'stop' order was sent, Peter sank down onto a chair and leaned back, stretching his arms up over his head. It was almost four in the morning and he was exhausted beyond belief, but he knew there'd be no way he'd be able to sleep. He needed to make sure that everyone would be okay first.

That Ultron could be stopped.

"FRIDAY," Peter croaked past his dry throat. "Can you please link me through to my dad's heads-up display?"

"I believe you have that capability yourself, Young Peter," answered FRIDAY, and Peter could have sworn she sounded amused.

"Well, yeah, I do," Peter admitted. "But I thought it'd be more polite to ask you to do it."

"Very well," FRIDAY answered. Three seconds later, the view from Dad's HUD filled Peter's monitor, this time complete with sound.

"FRIDAY!" Dad said. "The Vision?"

"It's working, boss!" FRIDAY answered. "Vision's burning Ultron out of the net. He won't be able to escape through there."

"Okay, it's kinda weird hearing you talk both here and inside my dad's suit," Peter said. "Isn't that weird to you too?"

"No, not really," answered FRIDAY.

Peter shook his head, shrugging. "Okay. Um… how long till we know if the code I sent works?"

"Should be any minute now, Young Peter."

"Stark!" Thor called from somewhere, Peter couldn't see where. "The street before me is breaking apart!"

"FRIDAY, what's going on?" Dad asked. His head pointed down, and Peter could see what Thor was talking about. The streets were literally starting to crack apart, like they were in the middle of an earthquake.

"Ultron's outfitted the underside of the city with a vibranium core," said FRIDAY. "He intends to levitate it and then drop it back down."

"Oh no!" cried Peter. "That would kill thousands!"

"More like millions, Young Peter."

"Hold on!" shouted Agent Barton through the comm. "The drones are starting to drop! Repeat, the Ultron lackeys are starting to drop!"

"I see it too!" called Steve. "Tony, confirm?"

"Yep, confirmed on this end," Dad said, sounding relieved. Peter's heart leaped as he watched at least a dozen Ultron drones power down, dropping like flies to the ground.

"It worked!" Peter yelped, punching the air with both hands. "FRIDAY, it worked!"

"That it did, Young Peter," FRIDAY said proudly. "You should be proud. You have saved potentially millions of lives today."

"How did this happen?" asked an accented female voice that Peter didn't recognize.

"I'll bet you the Tower that Pete had something to do with it," Dad answered, and the immense pride in his voice made Peter's throat tighten. "'Cause it sure as hell wasn't me."

"This was Young Peter's doing, boss," Peter heard FRIDAY say over the comm. "He was able to upload code into Ultron's matrix that deactivated the drones. Vision has already halted the levitation of the city."

"Damn," said Agent Barton. "You weren't kidding, Stark. Your kid really is a genius."

"You bet your ass he is, Barton," Dad grumbled, flying up and landing on top of a building. "Cap, confirm the city's no longer moving?"

"That's an affirmative," answered Steve. "The earthquakes leveled a few buildings, so there's some injured civilians, but once the drones started dropping the city stabilized."

"FRIDAY, who's that girl that was talking just now?" Peter asked. "I don't recognize her voice."

"That was Wanda Maximoff," FRIDAY said.

"Who's she?"

"She and her twin brother were the only two survivors of Baron Von Strucker's human experiments involving the scepter."

Yeek. That sounds horrible. "Oh," he said. "I'll just ask my dad more about her later, I guess."

"Ultron's no longer strong enough to carry out his plan," FRIDAY said to Peter. "He's currently attempting to escape."

"No!" Peter yelped. "They have to catch him, they can't let him get away!"

"Tony!" Steve called over the comm. "There's still civilians trapped in the downed buildings. We need your help!"

"Copy that, Cap," Dad replied, scanning the surrounding buildings. "But first I need to find Ultron and destroy him."

"Vision's already on it, Stark," answered Natasha. "As soon as the earthquakes stopped he grabbed Ultron and flew off somewhere."

"Natasha's okay!" Peter exclaimed. "Oh thank God!"

"Copy that, Romanoff," Dad said as he flew off, presumably to join Steve in rescuing the trapped civilians. "FRIDAY, make sure and tell Pete that I'll see him soon, and that I'm prouder than hell of him."

"I will, boss," FRIDAY said in stereo, right before the link to Dad's HUD terminated. Peter slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes, a huge smile stretching across his face.

They'd done it. They'd stopped Ultron and his mad attempt to destroy the world.

And now, Peter was tired. All he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep for the next three days. Or until his dad arrived at the Compound.

With an effort that he considered to be monumental, Peter pulled himself up from his chair and stumbled back towards his bedroom, face planting down onto the bed.

"Would you like me to turn on the rain sounds now, Young Peter?" asked FRIDAY.

"Yes, please," Peter whispered, only vaguely aware that he hadn't yet taken off his glasses. But the thought of having to move enough to get them off just seemed like too much trouble. He was just so tired, and it was only a few seconds later that the soothing rain sounds playing overhead lulled him to sleep.

Tony stood in the back of the Quinjet, bouncing on his feet impatiently as Rhodey touched down on the Compound's landing platform. Rhodey had been teasing him ever since they'd dropped Barton off at his farm with the Maximoff twins, saying it was no wonder Peter couldn't ever sit still when he had an example like Tony.

As soon as Rhodey cut the jet's engines and lowered the door, Tony took off, walking swiftly inside where Pepper was waiting for him.

"Hey, honey," Tony said, enveloping Pepper into a hug. "How're you doing?"

"Better now," Pepper whispered. "This was a scary one, Tony."

"I know," Tony admitted. "And that's gonna stop, Pep. I mean it."

"Yeah," Pepper said sarcastically. "We'll see. But now really isn't the time for that discussion."

"Probably not," Tony said sheepishly. He kissed her cheek and pulled back, looking over her shoulder. "Where're Pete and Sam?"

"Sam's in the kitchen preparing a feast for the returning heroes, as he said, and I'm pretty sure Peter's still asleep," Pepper replied. "According to FRIDAY he's been asleep ever since the crisis was averted in Sokovia, but he really should be waking up soon. If nothing else, he has to be starving."

"Poor tired kid," Tony said fondly. "It's hard work saving the day like he did. All right, I'll go check on him. The rest of the team's headed up to their rooms to clean up a bit."

"Sounds good," answered Pepper.

Walking down the hallway to Peter's bedroom, Tony's eyes widened as he heard what sounded like Peter sobbing into his pillow. He rushed inside, finding Peter curled into a tight ball on his bed with his hands tightly over his ears, his glasses all askew on his face.

"Hey, buddy," Tony said, plucking away the bent glasses and gathering Peter into his arms. He buried his nose into the boy's hair, breathing in the soothing green apple scent. "Hey, it's okay. I've got you. It was just a bad dream."

"No!" Peter cried. "Please, don't let them hurt me again! They hurt me, Daddy!"

"Peter!" Tony said firmly, wrapping his hands around Peter's wrists, gently trying to pull his hands away from his ears so he could hear Tony's heartbeat. "Peter, no one's ever gonna hurt you. I won't let them."

Peter's eyes flew open, his eyebrows knitting in confusion as he reached up a clammy hand, cupping Tony's face. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, buddy, I'm here," Tony murmured. "I'm back. Just listen to my heartbeat, bud. I've got you."

Frightened tears streamed down Peter's cheeks, wetting through Tony's shirt. "My name is Peter Parker Stark, and you're my dad," he whispered. "You won't let them hurt me."

"Not ever," Tony assured him. "I promise."

"Not like he did," whimpered Peter. He wasn't quite awake yet. "He let them hurt me. Why'd he let them hurt me, Dad?"

"Who, Pete? Who let them hurt you?"

"The other man who said he was my dad," answered Peter. He inhaled a shaky breath, more awake now. "He said he'd protect me, but he didn't. Not like you do. He let the loud people hurt me."

Oh God, Tony thought. This is what he's been having all these nightmares about lately? What that asshole Doctor List did to him behind Parker's back? Tony cupped Peter's face, brushing his tears away with his thumbs. "It's okay, buddy. You're all right. Nothing's gonna hurt you."

"I know," Peter murmured. "'Cause you're back now."

Tony's throat tightened. As painful as it might be for Tony, it really wasn't fair to Parker's memory to allow Peter to think that his birth father had deliberately tried to hurt him, especially since most of Tony's suspicions about the man experimenting on Peter had turned out to be unfounded. He needed to tell Peter what Fury had told him, and soon.

"Hey, bud," Tony said, once Peter's breaths had evened out and his tears stopped falling. "Sam's in the kitchen right now getting some food ready. Why don't we go eat with the team once you get cleaned up a bit. Sound good?"

Peter sniffed, wiping his nose across Tony's shirt as he nodded. "Uh huh."

"And once we're done eating, I think you and I need to take a walk around the Compound for a bit," Tony added. "There're… some things we need to talk about."

Chapter Text

Pepper hadn't been joking when she'd said Sam was preparing a feast for the returning heroes. As soon as Peter was calmed down enough from his nightmare and cleaned up, he and Tony walked down to the kitchen to find that Sam had laid out enough food to feed a small army.

"Damn," Tony said, nodding in appreciation as his stomach growled. When was the last time he'd eaten anything? "Expecting company, are we, Sam?"

"Well, you know," Sam said with a grin, admiring the spread set out along the huge dining table. "Steve and Thor usually each eat enough for three people, and I'm hoping now that you're back we can convince that kid there to eat more than the bare minimum required for survival, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the point," Tony said, squeezing Peter's shoulder. He jerked his head towards the table. "C'mon, Pete. Let's get you situated."

Peter and Tony were still filling their plates when the rest of the crew started wandering in, led by Steve and Natasha. Peter jumped at the sight of Vision, managing to drop his fork onto the floor, which Vision then bent down to retrieve.

"Here you are, Peter," the android said kindly, handing Peter the fork. "It is nice to meet you."

Peter bit his lip, his eyes quickly flicking to Tony for assurance as he took the fork from Vision's burgundy hand. "Uh huh. Th—, thank you M—, Mr. V—, Vision."

"You have no need to fear me, Peter," said Vision. "I mean you no harm. I hope you can grow to understand that."

"Kid's just a bit jumpy," Tony said to Vision. "Don't take it personal."

"I'm not sure that's even possible," answered Vision, a rather perplexed look on his face. "But nevertheless, I do understand."

"Peter, son of Stark!" Thor exclaimed once he was seated next to Bruce, two heaping plates of lasagna, garlic bread, and steamed vegetables set in front of him. He picked up his glass of beer and raised it. "I offer you a toast! For our victory against the demon Ultron would have come at a far greater cost to life and limb had you not performed so admirably during this crisis."

Peter immediately ducked his head, his face flushing as red as the tomatoes Sam used to make the lasagna. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Thor's right, Peter," Steve said, smiling from across the table. "Ultron's plan was to use that city in Sokovia to destroy the world. By deactivating his drones, you saved potentially millions of lives. We all owe you our thanks."

"I just…" Peter stammered, his eyes firmly trained on the table in front of him. "I only wanted to help."

"Sure. He calls taking out Ultron's entire army, helping," said Rhodey, winking as he raised his water glass. "To Peter!"

As a chorus of, "to Peter" echoed across the table, Tony leaned over to whisper in his ear, smiling so wide his face hurt. "That's my boy."

"Thanks, Dad," Peter whispered back.

As usual, Thor dominated most of the meal conversation, regaling the group with stories about the many battles he'd fought across the Realms with the armies of Asgard. Tony had to stifle a chuckle when he noticed Bruce almost nodding off into his plate during one particularly long story. Bruce had told Tony a couple of times that Thor would often tell Bruce tales of Asgard during his de-Hulking periods that followed their HYDRA raids. Bruce had likened them to boring the Hulk out of him, as they often were nothing more than Thor bragging about his vast capabilities as a warrior.

Nearly an hour later, once everyone had finished eating and Sam was busy roping Happy into helping with the dishes, Thor got up from his chair, tapping Tony and Steve on the shoulders.

"We must speak," Thor said, looking far more serious than he had only moments ago. "In private. Walk with me."

Tony noticed Peter's shoulders stiffen beside him, and he patted his back. He was always a bit extra clingy with Tony after a mission. "Okay if Pete listens in?"

"Yes, that is fine," Thor said, smiling at Peter. "In fact, I wish it."

"Cool," said Tony. He stood up from his chair, his hand finding its usual place on Peter's shoulder as the four of them proceeded down the hallway, passing the labs and the media room and heading outside to the vast front yard. It was an unusually warm day for November in upstate New York.

"You know, Thor," Steve started. "I'm thinking it shouldn't quite count that Vision could lift that hammer of yours."

"You know, that's true," Tony added. "He's artificial intelligence, so not quite the same as us."

"Vision picked up Thor's hammer?" asked Peter with wide eyes. "Whoa! I thought that was impossible!"

"The Vision not only picked up Mjølnir, young Starkson," Thor answered. "He did in fact wield it. As only I could do before."

"Meaning Vision smashed the hell outta one of the drones before you shut 'em down, Pete," Tony interjected. "But still, Cap's right. It shouldn't count."

"I mean, if you put the hammer in an elevator, it would still go up," Steve said. "Is an elevator considered worthy?"

"And another good point made by the Captain," said Tony. "Watch out folks, he's on a roll!"

"Nevertheless," Thor said. "If he can wield the hammer, he can keep the Mind Stone. It is safe with the Vision. And in these days, safe is in short supply."

"Eh, eh, eh," Tony said, grimacing as he shot a quick glance down at Peter. "Maybe let's not phrase it quite like that, yeah?"

Thor winced, stammering as he tried to smile at Peter. "Oh, well… what I meant was—"

"What exactly is the Mind Stone?" Peter asked. "FRIDAY told me that it made up part of Vision, but where did it come from?"

"It was housed inside the gem located on Loki's scepter, young Starkson," answered Thor. "And since it is the fourth of the Infinity Stones to make an appearance in the last few years, I refuse to believe that it is merely a coincidence."

"Fourth?" asked Steve. "What are the others?"

"The Power Stone was discovered when Ronan the Accuser, one of the Kree race, stole an Orb from a group of marauders out in space known as the Ravagers. After a prolonged battle, the Power Stone is now being safely housed with the Nova Corps on the planet of Xandar."

"Okay, let me just stop you there," Tony said, raising his hand. "You still sure all this is okay for the kid to hear?"

Thor raised an eyebrow. "Legends of the power of the Infinity Stones are routine bedtime stories for children on Asgard," he said. "Do you not tell your children bedtime stories here on Earth?"

"Well… yeah," answered Tony. "But ours usually involve fluffy bears or fluffy rabbits or other fluffy… somethings."

"It's all right, Dad," Peter said, even as he gripped Tony's arm. "I'm okay."

"Why would you tell your children stories about fluffy rabbits?" Thor asked, confused. "Actually, what exactly is a rabbit?"

"Nevermind that now," Steve said. "You said this Power Stone is being kept somewhere?"

"Yes, on the planet of Xandar," Thor said. "I was told this information when I traveled to the Water of Sight to seek my vision."

"Okay, so where are the rest of these… Infinity Stones?" asked Steve.

"The Reality Stone is the second, which is being stored with the being known as the Collector, on Knowhere," said Thor. "It was the main power used by the Dark Elf Malekith during his recent attack on this planet."

"That's the one that was in the Aether, right?" Peter asked. "The one that caused all the problems with the Convergence?"

"That is correct, young Peter. The third is the Space Stone, housed inside the Tesseract, which is currently stored in my father's vault on Asgard."

"And the fourth is smack dab in the middle of Vision's forehead," muttered Tony. "Hmm. How many of these things are there?"

"There are six in total," Thor answered. "And that is why I must depart, return to Asgard. Someone out there is playing an intricate game and is making pawns of us, much like young Starkson here enjoys making a pawn of me whenever we play chess together."

"But what does all that mean?" Peter asked, his voice growing in pitch with each word. Tony was regretting more and more allowing him to listen to this conversation, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

"It means—"

"It means that Thor's gonna figure out what's going on, and let us know as soon as he does," Tony said firmly, glaring at Thor. "Isn't that right, Thor?"

"Uh… yes, Stark," Thor said, clearing his throat. "That is correct."

"So why does that mean that you have to leave?" Peter asked in a small voice. "Can't you do that stuff from here?"

"I'm afraid not, young Starkson. And in fact, Banner has asked to accompany me, and I have granted his request. He will be returning with me to Asgard."

"Bruce?" sputtered Tony. "Why? He hasn't said anything to me about it?"

"He probably just hasn't had the chance, Tony," Steve said. "But I can't say I'm all that surprised. Wanda did hit him pretty hard down in Africa. I can understand if he'd want to get away for a bit."

"She hit a lot of us pretty hard, Rogers!" snapped Tony, pressing his fist to his chest. "But you don't see me running away because of it!"

"Tony!" Steve retorted. "That's not what Bruce is—"

"Dad," Peter interrupted softly, tugging on Tony's arm. "I don't think Bruce is running away. I think… he just doesn't want people to be scared of him anymore. You can understand that, can't you?"

Tony shook his head, shame washing over him like a tidal wave. Leave it to the boy genius to put things into perspective. That fight he'd had against the mind-controlled Hulk down in Johannesburg had taken a lot out of Bruce, so much that he had refused to join in the final battle against Ultron unless there had been absolutely no other choice. And since Peter had been able to deactivate the drones before too much damage had been done, the Hulk hadn't been needed.

"Yeah, yeah, Pete, I guess I can understand it," muttered Tony. "Okay, Thor. Just, take good care of Bruce, yeah? He… kinda means a lot to us here."

"You can be rest assured of that, Stark," Thor said, slapping Tony on the back so hard that his knees buckled. "Banner will be treated like the hero he is while we are on Asgard."

Steve let out a heavy sigh, holding out his hand for Thor to shake. "Well, I hate to lose the both of you, even temporarily. But I do understand. If there is another threat on the horizon, knowing as much as possible about it will definitely be helpful."

"I agree, Captain," answered Thor. "And thank you. Banner and I will be departing for Asgard momentarily."

As Thor departed back down the hall, presumably to look for Bruce, Tony turned to Steve, raising his eyebrow. "Steve—"

"This doesn't have to mean anything beyond what Thor says it means, Tony," Steve said quickly. "He's just going to look for answers for us. Try and think of it as a scouting mission."

"Yeah," Tony said softly. "Sure." He felt Peter's light tug on his arm again, and he wrapped it around the boy's shoulders, hugging him close. This doesn't have to mean that my family is breaking apart. It doesn't. Thor and Bruce are just going on a field trip. Or a scouting mission, like Cap says.

Heavy footsteps on the ground behind him caused Tony to turn, his lips pursing at the guilty look on Bruce's face. "Tony," Bruce said as he approached. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier, but I… well, I hope you can understand."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony mumbled, sniffing. "Don't worry, big guy. Your lab will be waiting for you when you come back."

Bruce gave him a slight smile, enveloping both Tony and Peter into a hug. "Thanks. I'm gonna miss you guys."

"You take care, Bruce," Steve said, shaking Bruce's hand. "I'm sure you'll have some interesting stories to tell when you get back."

"That we will," said Thor. Shouldering his hammer, he and Bruce walked over to a flat patch of the manicured lawn. Thor wrapped his arm around Bruce's waist, rather awkwardly it seemed, and raised his hammer. Peter jumped at the loud crack of thunder accompanying the beam of rainbowed light that surrounded Thor and Bruce, forming the bridge between Earth and Asgard.

"Until we meet again, I bid you all farewell," Thor said with a nod. And then, they were gone.

Tony, Peter, and Steve stood silently for several seconds after the rainbow beam had disappeared, Peter's hands still wrapped around Tony's arm. Tony finally looked down, frowning at the large mark now burned into the grass.

"You know, that man has no regard for lawn maintenance," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, do you even think he'd know how to run a lawnmower?"

"Probably not, Dad," said Peter. "But I bet you could show him how to build one."

Chucking, Tony pulled Peter into a hug, rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles. "You're probably right, buddy."

"The boy's got a point, Tony," Steve said with a wide grin. "And I bet it'd be a whole lot easier to use than those old manual push things that people had when I was a kid."

"Yeah, probably," Tony said. He punched Steve lightly on the arm. "Look, Cap… are we… good?"

Steve tilted his head, his cheeky grin fading into a softer smile. "Yeah, Tony. We're good."

Tony inhaled a shaky breath, tightening his grip on Peter for moral support. He'd never been all that great at apologies, but he needed to get this out. "Are ya sure? 'Cause what I said there at Barton's farm, it was outta line, and—"

"You were upset, Tony. It's okay, I understand."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I'm going to go see if Sam's not too wiped out from all that cooking to go for a run."

"Yeah, sure," Tony said. "We'll see ya later." Watching the tall, muscular Captain walk back inside the building, Tony raised an eyebrow. "You ever wonder why in the hell people actually enjoy running?" he asked Peter. "I mean… why?"

Peter shrugged, squinting against the sunlight as he looked up at Tony. "I dunno. Running can't be all that bad if so many people like to do it. I mean, I definitely like gymnastics better, but there are a ton of people who like to run. Just look at how popular marathons are. The New York marathon is one of the largest in the world!"

"Mmm, maybe," muttered Tony. "Still, I'd much rather build something than pound my body into the pavement just to chase some elusive 'runner's high'."

"Don't you get a sort of a high when you're flying around in your suit?" Peter asked, a smirk stretching out on his boyish face. "I mean, you're going pretty fast up there when you're at full speed."

"Yeah, maybe," Tony said with a sigh. "Not so much anymore it seems though." He leaned down, kissing the top of Peter's head, catching a whiff of his shampoo at the same time. "C'mon, buddy. Let's… go find somewhere more comfortable where we can talk."

Peter jerked his head back, his brown eyes widening in fear as he shook his head. "No! Dad, please, I don't wanna talk about… that. Do we have to?"

It was on the tip of Tony's tongue to tell him, "no", that they could just go back inside and bum around for the rest of the day, maybe even watch a couple of movies. He absolutely hated that scared puppy look Peter always got whenever Tony asked him about one of his bad dreams. But if that nightmare Peter was in the midst of when Tony got home earlier today was any indication, they needed to talk some of these things through or it would just continue to get worse. Peter needed to start healing, and there was no way he could do that if he thought his birth father had tried to hurt him.

"Yeah, Pete," Tony said softly. "We do."

"But, why?" Peter whined. "You're back now. I'll be okay again."

Tony shook his head, his jaw clenching as he wrapped his arms around his son, pulling him into a tight hug. "I love you, buddy. I love you so damn much. You know that, right? And if it really was that simple, if just me being home for awhile was enough to help you heal completely, then you know I'd go right along with it. But it's not. There are things that you need to understand first, before you can start that healing process. Okay?" God, now I'm starting to sound like Sam Wilson!

Peter sniffed, nodding against Tony's chest. "I guess. If you say so."

Kissing the top of Peter's head, Tony draped an arm across the boy's shoulders, leading him around the massive main building to the backyard, over to the fire pit where they liked to build bonfires.

"Here, bud," Tony said as he sat down on one of the outdoor lounge chairs, indicating for Peter to sit down next to him. Peter immediately draped his legs across Tony's lap, dropping his head down to rest against Tony's chest.

"I wanna listen to your heartbeat while we talk," Peter whispered. "Is that okay?"

"Course it is, buddy," answered Tony. He threaded his fingers through Peter's thick curls, rubbing his scalp. "You need another haircut, I think. The curls are starting to run wild again."

"Mmm. That's what Pepper said too."

"Well, Pepper's usually right about that stuff." Tony dropped his head back, closing his eyes briefly. How in the hell do I even start a conversation like this?

"Pete," he said a few seconds later. "You told me a few times, way back when you first came to live with me, that you didn't remember your parents very much."

"Yeah," came the response from the depths of Tony's shirt. "They died when I was real little."

"Yeah, you said they died when you were three years old?"

"Uh huh."

"Can you tell me what you do remember?" asked Tony.

"I think my mom had brown hair, like mine," Peter mumbled. "But I don't remember it being curly. I remember her smiling at me, but she didn't smile all that often otherwise."

"Hmm," Tony said. "And… your dad?"

"My dad was tall, and had grey hair, like a grandpa. I remember Uncle Ben telling me once it was because his job was so stressful that it gave him grey hair."

A small grin stretched across Tony's lips. "Did your Uncle Ben tell you anything else about your dad?"

"No," Peter said quickly, almost spitting the word. "Uncle Ben and Aunt May didn't talk about my mom or my dad very much. They had a few pictures of them in their house, but Uncle Ben put them away when I went to live with them."

"Really?" asked Tony. "Do you know why they did that?"

Peter grabbed a handful of Tony's shirt, burrowing in even further. "Ben never told me, but I heard him and May talking about it one night when I couldn't sleep. He said that my dad did something really bad with his work, that he was a traitor, and that's why he and my mom were killed."

Hmm, that's… curious. "Did Ben ever say who told him his brother was a traitor?" Tony asked.

"No," said Peter, shaking his head, wiping his nose across Tony's shirt. "Never."

Tony let out a sigh, tightening his fingers in Peter's hair. "Buddy, your Uncle Ben didn't get the whole story. There was… a bit more to it than that."

"I figured there was, but why does it matter?" Peter asked, his voice laced with bitterness. "They're dead. They've been dead almost ten years. And he—". Peter's voice broke off as he stifled a sob, tightening his grip on Tony's shirt. "He hurt me, Daddy. He let the loud people hurt me, and no one—not even my mom—tried to stop him!"

"Oh God, Peter," Tony murmured, his own throat so thick he could barely get the words out. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." Cupping Peter's cheeks, Tony lifted his head, looking into his shiny, baby brown eyes. "But buddy, your dad didn't let those loud men hurt you. He didn't. He didn't know that they did anything to you until afterwards, when it was already too late."

"How do you know?" Peter choked out, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "You weren't there."

"No, buddy, I wasn't," Tony answered. And if I had been, I'd've blasted all their asses into the next dimension. "This all happened years before I even was Iron Man, you know that. But… someone told me. Someone who knew your dad, and knew who the loud men were."

"Mmm. Who's that?"

"Nick Fury. He was the director of SHIELD back when all this happened, so he knew everything that went down."

Peter tilted his head, his eyebrows knitting together. "When did you see him? I thought he was supposed to be playing dead?"

"Well, technically he was," replied Tony. "But I guess not anymore. He's been talking about reforming SHIELD… but that's a discussion for another time, Pete."

"Mmm. I still don't see how this makes any difference, Dad," Peter grumbled as he laid his head down again. "They're still dead."

"Yeah, I know that," Tony said. He paused for a moment, rubbing Peter's scalp, enjoying the way he snuggled even closer. Tony had missed these snuggles. "Do you know what your… birth dad did for a living, Pete?"

"Yeah. Uncle Ben told me he was some sort of scientist."

"He was a geneticist. Who was working for SHIELD. He and his team had been working on their version of the super soldier experiment for a long time when your dad did something… pretty desperate, trying to get the results they were looking for."

"Oh? And what was that?"

"Well… he injected himself with some modified animal DNA. But when nothing happened, Parker just chalked it up to another failure."

"And?" Peter said after a short pause. "I'm gonna guess there's more to it than that."

"Yeah, bud, there is," Tony whispered. He cleared his throat, trying to swallow down the lump there the size of a marble. "Your dad thought it was just another failure because nothing happened to him. But what he didn't count on… was you."

"Me?"

Gulping, Tony nodded. "Apparently whatever your dad shot into himself didn't change him, but when you came along… it wasn't long before one of Parker's colleagues on the project got it into his head to test your DNA. And—"

"And… what?" Peter demanded, lifting his head again. "And what, Dad? Did they find out that I'm some kind of mutant or something?"

"Absolutely not!" exclaimed Tony. "And I don't ever wanna hear you say something like that again. Not ever. Do you understand me?"

"Then what?" cried Peter. "What the hell happened?"

"Language, young man," Tony chastised, softening his words with a kiss to Peter's forehead. "Fury told me that this colleague of your dad's, who eventually turned out to be an embedded HYDRA agent, decided to go behind Parker's back and test your DNA. To see if it was… compatible with their research."

Peter's slight body stiffened against Tony's, and he dropped his head back down, pressing his ear tightly against Tony's chest. His next words were so soft that Tony had to strain to hear them.

"The loud men who came in the night."

"Yeah, buddy," Tony said, just as softly. "That was them."

"They hurt me, Daddy," Peter whimpered, his entire body shuddering. "They held me down, and poked me with needles… and I begged them to stop, because it hurt, Daddy, but they didn't, and… I hate needles!"

Tony squeezed his eyes closed, his hands clenching into tight fists. That repulsor blast was far too kind a death for that Doctor List piece of shit. "I know you do, buddy. And I know you begged them to stop. And Fury told me that as soon as your dad found out about what those assholes did to you, he tried to stop them from doing it again."

Peter's lower lip trembled as he shook his head, curls flopping down over his forehead. "But… then why did he leave me? Why did he and my mom dump me off with Ben and May, and just leave?"

"Peter—"

"Nevermind," Peter grumbled. "I know why. 'Cause he was a coward. He'd screwed up, so he was just trying to run away."

"No, Peter," Tony said firmly, nearly choking on the words. "That's not true. Your dad was trying to protect you when he was killed. He was trying to report to his superiors about what had happened to you. He was trying to shut down his research because he'd made a bad mistake that put you in danger." Tony tightened his arms around Peter, so much so that the boy whimpered.

"Dad, you're squishing me!"

"Sorry, bud," Tony said quickly. He loosened his grip, but only slightly. "Your dad was trying to do the right thing by you, Pete. He was trying to right his wrong. He was just… unlucky." Tony sniffed, swiping at his eyes. "Your dad loved you. Just like I do."

"Mmm. If you say so."

"Look," Tony said, huffing out a sharp breath. "I know this is all a lot to take in right now, and I feel pretty rotten piling all this crap on top of you right after that whole scary story with the Infinity Stones and Bruce and Thor leaving and everything. But you needed to know it, Pete. Your father, your birth father, loved you and tried to protect you. And he was killed because of it. He died trying to protect you." Tony shifted on the chair so he could look down into Peter's eyes, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "And if it came down to it, I'd do the same thing. Without hesitation."

Peter shivered, biting down hard on his lower lip. "I don't—, I don't want you to."

"Me either, buddy," Tony said firmly. "But don't you worry. I have no intentions to die anytime soon. I'm afraid you're gonna be stuck with me until I'm a crotchety old man."

Tony could feel Peter's wry grin against his chest. "But… dad—"

"Nope, don't even say it, kid," Tony interrupted as his own grin stretched across his lips. "Don't you even think it, or there'll never be another bucket of peppermint ice cream anywhere to be found in the entire state of New York. Do you understand?"

Peter giggled, and the beautiful sound nearly made Tony burst into tears. "Well… okay. I won't say it, at least. As far as I know, you haven't developed any mind-reading tech yet."

"No, not yet," Tony said. "But… there is a little something that I've been thinking up, whenever I've had a spare moment."

"Something that could read minds?"

"No, not exactly. More like something that can access a person's memories, especially traumatic memories, and then project them."

"Why would someone want to look at their scary memories?" Peter asked with a shiver. "I just want mine to go away!"

"Well, the theory is, if you're able to see the memory again, you'd maybe be able to work through it better," Tony explained. "And then, eventually, try and put it behind you. I don't know; I should probably talk to Sam some more about this first."

"Mmm," Peter mumbled. "What're you gonna call it?"

Tony chuckled. "Binary Augmented Retro-Framing. Otherwise known as—"

"BARF?" asked Peter with another giggle. "You need to work on that acronym, Dad. 'Cause that just sounds gross."

Tony smiled, his body relaxing slightly. "Yeah, probably. You wanna help me with it?"

Peter tilted his head up, swiping at his nose. "Can I?"

"I wouldn't've asked otherwise, smarty pants. But you have to promise me something first."

"What?"

"That if we can get it to work, you'll use it," Tony said gently. "Try and process through these bad memories you have of your birth father. I want you to be healed from that, Pete. It's more than way past the time for you to start healing."

The boy was silent for several heartbeats, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Finally, he nodded. "Uh huh. I promise."

"Thank you, buddy," Tony said, kissing Peter's forehead.

"You're welcome," Peter said with a sigh. "Now, can we please go watch a movie?"

"Sure, bud. You go on and pick something out, I'll be there in a minute."

"Yay!" exclaimed Peter. After a brief hug, Peter pushed himself up off the chair and jogged back over to the main building, disappearing inside. Tony remained outside for a few minutes, his mind swirling with the two rather intense back-to-back discussions he'd just had.

Not to mention the still-lingering memory Tony had of Peter, tortured and bloody and dying in his arms. He had a strong feeling that that wasn't going to go away for a very long time, BARF technology or not. He was also more than a little grateful that he didn't have to look at the Maximoff girl for awhile because of it. When Barton had first broached the idea of having the Maximoff twins go and live with him and his family after Ultron was put down, Tony had nearly laughed at the irony.

Better them than Pete, he thought. And I don't care how selfish that sounds.

His phone buzzed in his pocket then, and he pulled it out, smiling as he read Peter's text.

"I got Jurassic Park queued up and James and Pepper are making popcorn. Where are you?"

Tony laughed, a true, hard, belly laugh at Peter's movie selection. Because after taking down an entire army of AI robots hell-bent on causing the extinction of all the humans on Earth, why wouldn't you want to watch a movie about dinosaurs, of all things.

Pushing himself up from his chair, Tony tapped in a quick reply, wondering yet again how in the hell he had gotten so lucky.

"On my way, buddy."

"Hey, Peter," Ned said tiredly, shuffling into their homeroom classroom the following Monday morning. He slammed his books down onto the desk, so hard that one of them bounced right off the stack and onto the floor.

"Morning, Ned," Peter answered, his chin resting on his own stack of books in front of him, wishing that he was still back at the Compound. He'd missed Ned, and had talked with him on the phone a few times after he and Dad's big talk, but Peter still wasn't quite ready to be back in school yet. They had stayed up at the Compound for the rest of the week, relaxing and decompressing—as Dad put it—with the rest of their family, but now it was time to reenter reality.

And for Peter, reality meant the seventh grade, and everything else that went along with it.

"Well, well, well," said the snarky voice of Flash Thompson as he entered the classroom, flopping down into his usual seat directly behind Peter. Peter really needed to remember to tell Dad that he didn't need to be dropped off at school so early anymore. "If it isn't little Penis Parker, back to grace us with his presence yet again. Where were you this time, little Parker?"

"Oh, shut the hell up, Flash!" Ned said in a loud whisper. "Peter was only off with the Avengers, saving the world. You know, the one you live in? You really should be thanking him."

Out of the corner of Peter's eye he saw Flash tilt his head, as if he was thinking. "Nah," he said as he kicked the leg of Peter's chair. "That'd be too easy. Besides, I highly doubt someone as puny as Parker here would be able to help the Avengers do much of anything." He kicked the leg of Peter's chair again, this time a bit harder. "What do you even do for them anyway, huh Parker? Do they make you wash their uniforms or something? I bet Captain America makes you polish his shield too, doesn't he?"

Thankfully, Peter was saved from having to think of a reply by the arrival of their homeroom teacher, who got right down to her usual business of reading the morning announcements. He was even able to mostly ignore Flash for the rest of the school day, aided by the fact that Flash had apparently failed one of their tests a couple of weeks ago, and therefore was pulled out of their chemistry class so he could attempt a retake.

"I still think it's so awesome how you helped take down that robot army," Ned said as he and Peter made their way towards the parking lot following the final bell. "But I still don't understand why you don't wanna tell anybody what you did. I think it'd even be enough to make Flash shut up. At least it would for a little while, don't you think?"

"My dad doesn't want it broadcasted that much," Peter said. He hooked his thumbs into the straps of his backpack, trying to balance its weight better. "He said the Avengers kinda got into trouble because of Ultron, and he doesn't want people talking about it too much."

Ned looked taken aback. "In trouble? Who'd they get in trouble with? I mean, you guys saved the world! Again!"

Peter shrugged. "The government, I guess. There's people there who don't like my dad, or any of the other heroes either." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "I overheard my dad and Steve and Colonel Rhodes talking about it up at the Compound. James was telling them that he'd heard from one of his Air Force superiors that there'd been some whispers about trying to get the Avengers under some new code or jurisdiction or something."

"Whoa," Ned said, his eyes widening. "You mean like the Special Forces in the military?"

"Yeah, I guess," Peter replied. "But Dad and Steve don't want it. Steve said if that happened, they might be forced to go places he doesn't think the Avengers should have to go. After what happened down in D.C. and the whole HYDRA thing, Steve doesn't really trust the government all that much."

"Yeah, I guess I can't blame him," said Ned. "That was a really big mess down there, wasn't it?"

"From what my dad told me, yeah," answered Peter. "He hasn't let me read any of the files though."

"And what does your dad think of all this?" Ned asked. "From what you've told me, he's pretty good about talking some sense into the government folks."

"Yeah, he is," Peter said, stepping out of the back doors of the school and immediately tucking his hands up into the sleeves of his hoodie. He'd forgotten to grab his gloves that morning before he'd left the Tower. "He's still been getting calls from people in D.C. about the cleanup at the Triskelion. And I know it would've been a whole lot worse if that Sokovian city had gone up."

Ned raised his eyebrows, letting out a low whistle just as Steve Rogers drove into the parking lot on his motorcycle.

"Hey, Mr. Rogers!" called Ned, waving. "I mean… Mr. America."

"Hello, Ned," Steve said with a smile as he pushed down the kickstand. "I've told you that you can call me Steve, haven't I?"

"Y—, yeah, you have," Ned stammered. "Sorry, Mr. Rogers… I mean, Steve… sir."

Peter bit his lip, trying not to laugh. He remembered all too well when he was just as tongue-tied as Ned around the other heroes, including Steve.

Now though, they were his family. Steve was like a cross between a big brother and a fun uncle, where James was like the serious, stoic uncle that had a secret funny side that he only showed to certain people. And then Sam was the goofy uncle who never let anyone get away with anything, but was always the first person to suggest something if it meant he could play a joke on someone.

And Natasha, she was like the sly older sister who never wanted to let anyone know what she was up to, but wouldn't hesitate for a second to kick someone's ass if necessary. Peter was actually still more than a little intimidated by her, even though she'd never been anything but nice to him. Especially when she'd asked him to teach her how to do his gymnastics flips when they were training for their HYDRA raids.

And Peter still missed Bruce and Thor. They'd only been gone for a few days, but both the Tower and the Compound somehow felt emptier without them. Thor was just big; he was a big person with a big mouth and personality to match, so his absence was profound. And working in Dad's lab just wasn't the same without being able to listen to he and Bruce bantering back and forth.

"See ya tomorrow, little Parker," Flash Thompson suddenly said from behind Peter, slamming into the back of Peter's shoulder so hard he nearly knocked him into Steve.

"Hey, now," Steve said in his Captain's voice, placing a stabilizing hand on Peter's arm. "We don't need to be doing that kind of thing here, do we?"

Flash froze at the stern sound of Captain America's voice, and Peter watched as he looked up, his face draining of color at the angry look on Steve's face. "Uh… s—, sorry," he said quickly, his eyes flicking over to Peter. "Didn't see you there, Parker."

"No, now wait a minute," Steve said. He moved to the side, stepping directly in front of Flash as Flash tried to walk around him, throwing a not-so-subtle wink in Peter's direction. "That's not exactly true, is it? You knew Peter was standing there, didn't you? And yet you ran into him on purpose?"

"Well…" Flash stammered. "You see, Mr. Captain, Peter's kinda—"

"Peter's kinda, what?" asked Steve. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see Ned's jaw dropping lower and lower and he bit his lip, trying to keep from smiling. "He's kinda, nice? He's kinda, smart? No, actually, he's really smart, like one of the-smartest-people-I've-ever-met, smart." Steve leaned down, his face mere inches away from Flash's rather long nose. "So, if that's what you meant, I'd say you were right. He's definitely both of those things. But somehow, I'm thinking that's not what you meant." Steve narrowed his eyes. "Is it, son?"

"M—, my name is Fl—, Flash, sir," Flash mumbled.

"Mmmhmm," Steve said. "And I would suspect with a name like Flash, that you're pretty fast at running. Is that true?"

"Um… n—, no, sir," said Flash, shaking his head. "I'm not really all that fast at anything. And I don't particularly care for running. Sir."

"Yeah, the only thing he's fast at is shooting off his mouth," Ned whispered from behind Peter. Steve's lips twitched slightly as his eyes briefly flicked over to Ned.

"Well, then, Flash," said Steve. "I would suggest that instead of trying to knock someone over on the sidewalk outside of school just because he's a bit smaller than you, that you try and treat Peter with some respect. Because I know without a doubt that Peter would do just that if the roles were reversed. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," Flash said quickly, nodding. "I do agree, sir."

Steve stood up, nodding. "All right. Then I would very much appreciate it if you could apologize to Peter."

"Holy shit!" Ned whispered from behind Peter. "I can't believe what I'm seeing!"

"Um… r—, right now, sir?" whimpered Flash. "Because I usually like to plan things like that out first, and—"

"Yes, son," Steve said firmly. "I think right now would be a very good time for an apology."

The wind had picked up slightly in the few minutes they'd been standing there, and Peter was starting to shiver. But he was in no way going to open his mouth and disturb the history in the making happening right in front of him. As far as Peter knew, Steve wasn't even supposed to be there today in the first place. Dad hadn't mentioned anything about being unavailable this afternoon when he'd dropped Peter off that morning, although it wasn't the first time that Dad's plans had changed.

"Um… okay, " Flash muttered, audibly gulping as he turned to Peter. "Hey, Penis—, I mean, Peter. I… um… I'm sorry that I crashed into you like that. It… um… won't happen again."

As soon as he finished speaking, Flash winced and braced himself, as if he was expecting to suddenly burst into flame while he waited for Peter's reply.

"Thanks, Flash," Peter said softly. "Apology accepted."

"Now, that wasn't so hard, Flash," said Steve. "Was it?"

"No, sir," answered Flash, still obviously relieved that no spontaneous combustion had occurred.

"Then I trust that we won't need to have a discussion like this again?" asked Steve. He wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulders, and Peter snuggled right up to him, grateful for the warmth. Despite it being a bright and sunny afternoon, it was pretty cold outside.

"No, sir," Flash said, shaking his head. "We will not, Mr. Captain. Nope."

"All right, Flash," Steve said. "Then I hope you have a nice rest of the day."

"Thank you, sir." With a final stiff nod sent in Peter's general direction, Flash took off the other way, eager to get some distance between him and Captain America.

"Great," Steve said with a firm nod as he turned to Peter. "Glad that's settled. Now, are you ready to get home, Peter?"

"Yes, please," Peter stammered through his chattering teeth. He really needed to start remembering his gloves in the morning.

"Here, Peter," Steve said, unzipping his leather riding jacket and draping it over Peter's shoulders. "You're shivering. It's a bit too cold out today for just that sweatshirt you're wearing."

"Yeah, I know," answered Peter as he slipped off his backpack, struggling to zip up the comically large jacket before it slid to the ground. Climbing up onto the motorcycle, he grabbed the extra helmet from the small storage space on the back, shoving his backpack down in its place. "I didn't know you'd be picking me up today."

"Me either," said Steve with a wink as he settled himself behind Peter on the motorcycle. "Ned? Make sure and watch that mouth of yours, yeah?"

"Yes, sir!" Ned replied with an extra cheeky grin. He was practically bursting at the seams, having just watched Flash Thompson get a dressing down from none other than Captain America himself. "I will, sir! But I just have to say, that was so, so incredibly awesome to witness! I can't thank you enough for allowing me to be a part of it, Mr. Captain, sir!"

Steve let out a laugh, securing Peter up against his chest and starting the bike. "You're welcome, Ned. See ya soon."

"See you tomorrow, Ned!" Peter called, waving as they drove away.

"Yeah, see ya, Peter!"

Steve was quiet on the drive back to the Tower, which wasn't unusual. He'd told Peter before that he didn't like to talk all that much when Peter was riding with him. But the fact that Dad had sent him to pick Peter up at the school instead of Happy or even Sam could only mean that Dad's paranoia was flaring up again.

And that likely meant that he'd had yet another phone call from the bigwigs down in D.C. They'd been bugging him a ton ever since the whole Project Insight mess, and the Ultron crisis had only intensified things.

President Ellis was almost halfway through his second term, which meant that the would-be candidates to replace him in the elections two years from now were beginning to roll out their campaigns. Peter knew that Dad had already received phone calls from several of the higher-ranking senators and governors, all asking for his support, which basically was code for financial backing and political clout. But Dad, who'd admitted to Peter that he'd supported some not-so-great politicians in the past, before he became Iron Man, had told them all that he wasn't interested unless they could guarantee to him—in writing, no less—that there would be no attempts to try and put the Avengers under any sort of government control.

And so far, not one of them had been able to do that.

"Good afternoon, Young Peter," FRIDAY said as the elevator doors opened into their Tower apartment. Right away Peter picked up the sound of his father, speaking angrily to someone in his lab. "How was school today?"

"Not bad, FRIDAY," Peter answered quietly, sliding off his backpack so he could take off his hoodie. He knew that he probably shouldn't try to overhear Dad's conversation, but he'd always been way too curious for his own good. There wasn't a single family member of his yet that hadn't said that very thing to Peter at least once.

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying," Dad said, enunciating each word carefully, and Peter could just picture the dramatic eye roll that accompanied his statement. Dad hated having to talk to politicians. "Do you need me to draw you a picture, Governor? Because if you do, then I'd be more than happy to have one sent to your office. What I am saying, is that I would require a written document, drawn up by my lawyers, guaranteeing that no one in your proposed administration would even think about coming after us. We are absolutely not interested in being pawns for the government to exploit. And yes, you can quote me on that, because I just said it."

Walking into his room, Peter tossed his backpack onto his bed next to George and threw his shoes over towards the closet, where they both thudded in succession against the closed closet door. He was hungry; he and Dad usually had a snack together after school when he wasn't on a trip. Peter paused in the doorway, running a hand through his hair as he tried to decide if his curiosity was stronger than his hunger.

He'd just decided to head towards the kitchen when Dad suddenly appeared in the hallway, walking towards his room. FRIDAY must've told him that Peter had arrived home.

"Hey, Pete," Dad said, ruffling his hair. "How was school today?"

Peter shrugged. "It was okay. You know, same old, same old."

Dad tried to smile, but it only came out as sort of a grimace. "Yeah, I do. I'm sorry I couldn't pick you up today, buddy. Got roped into yet another… extremely pleasant and enlightening conversation with the Governor of Pennsylvania."

"It's okay," Peter said quickly. "Steve showed up at school at a really, really good time, actually, so it worked out fine."

"Good," Dad replied as they arrived in the kitchen. Dad sat down at the counter, a pensive look on his face as Peter pulled sandwich ingredients out of the fridge.

"Dad?" Peter asked once his sandwich was made. "What's going on? Can you please tell me?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about, Pete," Dad answered. He pinched the bridge of his nose, which usually meant he was fighting a headache.

"Yes, it is," Peter said firmly, or as firmly as he was able to say around a mouthful of his sandwich. "You're obviously upset about it, and I wanna help."

"Pete," Dad said with a heavy sigh. "Even if I were to allow it, there's nothing you could do. There's nothing any of us can do right now except keep doing what we're doing. Nothing should change before the next election. At least, I don't think it will. Ellis at least still remembers that we saved his sorry ass from a madman."

Peter swallowed hard, putting his sandwich down onto the plate. "The elections are still two years away, Dad," he said. "A lot can happen in two years. Maybe once they're done cleaning up the Triskelion mess and people start to forget about Ultron, things'll get back to normal again."

Dad scoffed. "Normal. What even is 'normal' when you're an Avenger?" Pushing himself up from his stool, he shuffled over to the medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of aspirin. He popped three of the small tablets into his mouth, swallowing them down with a cup of coffee that was probably stone-cold by now. "Don't worry about it, Pete," he said, trying to smile. "I can take care of the politicians. You don't need to be concerned about it."

That's what you always say, Peter thought gloomily. "Okay. If you're sure."

"Course I am," Dad said, winking. "I'm Iron Man, dammit. Now, how much homework do you have?"

"Just the usual," answered Peter, taking another huge bite of his sandwich.

"Good. So when you're done stuffing your face, why don't you bring your books into the lab and work in there while I tinker, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay!" Peter said excitedly. He always enjoyed watching Dad work, and now that Bruce was gone Dad had been asking for Peter's help with things even more. Maybe they'd even be able to start working on the BARF thingy soon.

"Just be sure to clean the crumbs off the counter, bud," Dad called over his shoulder as he exited the kitchen. "Don't wanna make Pepper mad."

Three minutes later, after he'd swept the crumbs into the sink and deposited his plate into the dishwasher, Peter grabbed his schoolbooks from his room and wandered into Dad's lab, taking his usual seat at the counter off to the side. From the looks of it, Dad was working on another new uniform for Steve, this one with some thicker padding in the abdominal area, right over where Steve had been shot down in D.C.

"Is that the new version of the bullet-resistant fabric you were telling me about?" Peter asked, pointing to the blue and white uniform draped over a mannequin in the middle of the room.

"Yep," answered Dad, tugging on the ends of the chest plate. "Cap helped me design it. Hopefully I'll have it ready before his next mission."

Next mission?! They just got back! "When's that gonna be?" yelped Peter, his heart starting to thud. "Steve didn't say anything about having to leave!"

"We don't know yet, Pete," Dad said, holding up a placating hand. "So far there haven't been any solid leads that've turned up on this Bucky dude, but that could all change in a split second or less. Steve just wants to make absolutely sure when something does pop up, that he gets to this guy first. So we're just trying to be prepared."

"Yeah, okay," Peter whispered. "That makes sense. Um… if something did pop up, would you go with Steve to find Bucky?"

Dad's shoulders sagged as he let out a heavy sigh. "That depends on a lot of things, Pete. Right now… I don't know, to be honest. Now, get started on your homework so you can help me with this, yeah?"

"Uh huh," Peter croaked, sniffing. He flipped opened his chemistry textbook and pulled out his lab notebook, getting to work on balancing the chemical equations that he'd need for tomorrow's lab. But as he snuck a glance back over at his father, Peter could tell he was stressed, and not just about Steve's uniform or finding Bucky. Dad's shoulders were tight and his movements were twitchy and jerky as he worked, like they always were when he was overstressed and anxious. Despite what he'd told Peter, this whole issue with the government and the politicians was causing Dad to really, really freak out.

And when Dad freaked out, Peter tended to freak out too.

Chapter Text

Peter meandered down the hall of the high school, dodging through the horde of students all making their way to their lockers or to the various classrooms. He still wasn't quite used to being on the high school side of the school building, where the hallways were a lot wider and a lot noisier and everything was just… bigger, including all of the students. While Peter had finally hit something of a growth spurt shortly after he turned thirteen, complete with the extremely embarrassing and totally random voice-pitch changes that Sam still refused to let him forget, he still was almost the shortest person in his class.

Guess he shouldn't think about trying out for the football team quite yet.

Arriving at his locker, Peter emptied out his backpack, stuffing it inside along with his jacket and pulling out the books he'd need for his first three classes. Since his locker was way down at the end of the hallway, there wasn't enough time between classes to swap out his books.

"Hey, Peter!" Ned called as Peter walked into their algebra classroom, taking his seat one row over. Unlike most of the teachers they'd had in junior high, the high school teachers had so far been arranging the students alphabetically, which unfortunately meant that Flash Thompson was still sitting directly behind Peter Parker Stark. And while Flash had backed off on his bullying somewhat after his dressing down by Steve all those months ago, he still wasn't someone that Peter particularly enjoyed talking to.

"Hey, Ned," Peter called back, flopping down into his chair. "How's it going?"

"Great!" Ned replied, digging into his pocket for his phone. He smiled a huge, cheeky grin as he held up the newest StarkPhone model, the one Stark Industries released about a month before Christmas. "My dad got me this for a late Christmas present. Just gave it to me this weekend. I was up till almost one in the morning getting it set up!"

"Oh wow, that's awesome!" exclaimed Peter. Geeking out about his dad's tech was one of Peter's favorite things to do, and he had to admit that getting the new phones before everyone else was a very nice perk. Dad had gifted him with this model on his fourteenth birthday, over three months before they were released to the public. "I love mine! The camera on it is top of the line, did you see that there's even a bunch of different panoramic settings? And the battery life is almost twice as long as the older model!"

"Oh yeah," Ned said, carefully placing the phone back into his pocket. "My dad still thinks they're too expensive, but I think he got tired of me constantly begging for one, so he finally gave in." Ned leaned in, lowering his voice. "But between you and me, I think he loves it almost as much as I do. The whole weekend after he gave it to me he kept asking to see it so he could fiddle with it. Personally, I give him two weeks before he has one of his own. And then of course my mom'll want one… so yeah. Your dad will've converted my whole family."

"I'll be sure and let him know," Peter said with a chuckle. He patted his own phone, carefully tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. Even with the phone's large amount of storage space, Peter had nearly maxed it out several times taking hundreds of pictures and videos. He'd even set it up to do a time-lapse video when he and Ned had rebuilt the Lego Millenium Falcon over Christmas break. Peter's entire family had all gotten a good laugh over that one.

"Things still quiet there at the Tower?" asked Ned.

"Yeah," Peter answered. "Not too much going on. James is taking his turn up at the Compound this week, and Mr. Barton and the twins were up there this weekend, doing some training with Steve and Natasha. It was pretty fun to watch. Pietro runs so fast that he completely burned through a brand-new pair of running shoes in only two days."

"Whoa," Ned said with wide eyes. "How do you even watch him if he runs that fast?"

"Well… you don't really," said Peter, chuckling. "You kinda have to watch where he's… been. It's kinda weird. And if there's any loose paper around or anything, it'll all wind up scattered all over the place. Mr. Barton told me that they had to start tying the hay bales up extra tight at their farm, otherwise they'd just end up as a scattered mess whenever Pietro's around."

"But your dad's okay with having them up at the Compound now?" Ned asked. "Even if it's just on the weekends?"

Peter shrugged. "Steve was the one who asked, it wasn't Dad's idea. He still gets a bit jumpy around Wanda, so… But he doesn't like to say no to Steve either. Steve thinks the twins should be trained like Avengers because of their abilities, and Dad couldn't really argue with it without looking like a selfish asshole, as he put it, so…"

"Morning, Parker," said Flash as he slid into his chair behind Peter. No matter how many times Peter tried to remind him that his name was Peter Parker Stark, Flash still insisted on calling Peter by his old surname.

"Morning, Flash," Peter mumbled, resting his chin down on his stack of books.

"You gonna be at the decathlon practice this afternoon?" Flash asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Just wondering. You got your essay written yet?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Nah, not yet. Who'd you write yours on? I hope it wasn't your dad, 'cause I'm pretty sure that'd be against the rules."

"Bruce Banner," Peter answered, rolling his eyes. He understood the rules of the Academic Decathlon just fine, thank you very much. "And before you ask, no. It doesn't cover anything about the Hulk. Bruce is one of the best scientists who's ever lived, so that's what I wrote about." Even if all the lengthy essay managed to do was make Peter miss him even more. The Avengers had only received a few short messages from Bruce and Thor in the two years since they'd been gone, and Peter still missed them both terribly.

Any further conversation was cut short by the arrival of their algebra teacher and the sound of the bell ringing to start the class. There was a test today, which Peter was prepared for, of course. He'd spent most of the previous evening going over the test material with FRIDAY, while Dad was packing for yet another trip down to Washington D.C.

Things had been relatively quiet at both the Tower and the Compound for the last several months. Steve, Sam, and Natasha had gone on a couple of missions, mainly reconnaissance and cleanup stuff like they used to do for SHIELD. Steve and Natasha had also done some traveling overseas, following up on leads in the search for Bucky Barnes that turned out to be dead ends for the most part. And aside from one weird break-in at the Compound by some dude who could shrink down to the size of a bug, using tech that Dad thought was obsolete but still managed to wreck the hell out of Sam's Falcon pack, there hadn't really been too much else that had happened recently. And Dad had been so freaked out that someone had actually managed to break into the Compound, it was probably a good thing that there hadn't been much else that had happened recently. He'd even stationed Vision there permanently after it happened, just for extra security. Since Vision didn't really need to eat or sleep, he made the perfect security guard.

So of course, that meant Dad would get another call about proposed legislation that would require the Avengers to fall under the jurisdiction of the government almost as soon as the new administration had finished decorating their offices.

Despite many of their best efforts to woo him, Dad had refused to offer any of the presidential candidates his support during the last elections, saying if they couldn't offer the Avengers exemption from anything resembling registration, then he wanted no part of their association. Peter remembered all too well the very long and very late nights that Dad and Steve spent discussing the situation, with Steve warning Dad about the dangers of excessive government control and Dad trying to placate Steve by saying that the United States, even with all of its flaws, was nowhere near the state of Nazi Germany that Steve saw during World War II.

But Peter knew it still worried Dad, especially since the new President, who was just inaugurated only a couple of weeks ago, decided to name former General Thaddeus Ross as his Secretary of State. Peter didn't know very many details about this Ross person, but what he did know was more than a bit scary, especially since he was one of the people directly involved in the accident that caused Bruce to turn into the Hulk all those years ago.

The fact that his dad absolutely hated Ross only added to Peter's concern. Ever since the election back in November, Dad had been getting more and more stressed about the whole government thing, even as he tried to put on a brave face for Steve and the rest of the Avengers. But learning about Ross was the real kicker. Peter even saw Dad pull out his bottle of Scotch a couple of times that night, something Peter had only seen him do on very rare occasions.

The only good thing to have come out of all this stuff with the government was the fact that even though they finished the BARF tech prototype a few months ago, Dad had been too stressed out about other things to remind Peter to use it. And Peter was in absolutely no hurry to use it.

"Did you remember to get your dad to sign your permission slip before he left this morning?" Ned asked as they arrived in their chemistry classroom. "The field trip is tomorrow."

"Oh, crap!" Peter exclaimed, slapping his forehead with his palm. "No! He was grumbling so much about the fact that we're visiting Columbia instead of MIT that we both kinda forgot about it!"

"But, Peter… MIT is in Massachusetts," Ned said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "That'd be kinda far for a school field trip. Columbia is just a few miles away."

"Yeah, I know," said Peter. "But he doesn't care about that stuff. He'd still rather we visited MIT over anyplace else."

"But dude, the slips are due today," whined Ned. "And you hafta come, Peter! It's the Columbia school of Engineering! Regardless of what your dad says, Columbia has some of the best science labs in the country!"

"Yeah, I know! Just don't ever say that in front of my father, all right?" Peter hissed as he fished his phone from his pocket. Rummaging through his chemistry notebook, Peter located the crumpled permission slip stuffed inside the front cover and smoothed it out on the table, taking a picture of it with his phone.

"Forgot to have you sign this before you left," he texted to Dad. "Please?"

Peter bounced on his feet impatiently as he waited for Dad to read the text. He'd always told Peter to never hesitate to contact him if Peter needed anything while he was gone, even if he was in top-secret meetings with government officials. Peter knew Dad was just being a responsible parent, but he also knew Dad secretly enjoyed the hell out of making the government people wait for him while he finished his personal business.

"Just so long as you guys go up to MIT next year, buddy," came the reply about thirty seconds later, complete with a scanned copy of the signed permission slip. "I'll pay for the class to stay overnight if that helps. And Steve and I can even chaperone."

Smiling, Peter showed the picture to Ned. "Got it. Looks like we're good."

"Awesome," replied Ned. "I can't wait!"

Despite his father's misgivings, Peter had to admit the campus at Columbia University was beautiful. As he, Ned, and the rest of their class trudged along the sidewalks through the freshly fallen snow, huddled against the biting, late January wind, Peter couldn't help but be enthralled by the stately cream and brown buildings topped with seafoam roofs, partially hidden by the snow. He remembered driving past the campus a few times with Uncle Ben and Aunt May when he was little, but he'd never gotten more than a cursory glance. Ben and May hadn't ever ventured out into Manhattan all that much.

"Whoa," Ned gasped as the class arrived inside one of the undergraduate chemistry labs, marveling at all the equipment and materials. "This is so cool! And this is just for the undergrads!"

"Yeah," agreed Peter, his eyes wide as he tried to take it all in. He raised his phone, quickly snapping pictures of the various complicated setups for running chemical reactions. Dad had promised him that once he started high school he would upgrade the labs at the Tower and Compound to include some more chemistry equipment, and Peter was planning to hold him to that promise. He'd already written out a short wishlist, and he had a big feeling that wishlist was going to get a lot longer after this trip.

As their teacher herded the class over to one of the counters, one of the chemistry professors started going over the reaction currently being run by one of her students. Pocketing his phone, Peter pulled a small notebook from his backpack and began writing down everything he heard the professor mention that was being used in the reaction, which had something to do with creating heavy water.

"You know they use heavy water in nuclear reactors?" Peter whispered to Ned. "And here there's a college sophomore just making it!"

"Yeah," Ned whispered back. "But it's been around since World War II. I guess it's not considered all that groundbreaking anymore."

"It's still pretty cool through," Peter said.

"Yeah, I guess," replied Ned. "Personally, I'd rather work on the actual reactors. Now those are cool!"

Yeek, Peter thought. He really had no interest in doing anything with nuclear anythings, at least for now. Chemistry reactions were a lot more interesting to him than trying to blow something up just enough to harness the energy from the explosion, but not have it blow up enough to kill you.

Peter was still bent over his notebook, hastily writing notes when he suddenly felt something light brush across the back of his neck. Shivering, Peter brought his hand back, scratching the skin below his hairline. He hadn't gotten a haircut in over two months, so his hair was a bit longer than he usually wore it. That was probably what he felt.

But a few minutes later he felt it again and jumped, nearly dropping his notebook in his haste to swat the squicky feeling away, earning a concerned glance from Ned.

"Dude, what's wrong with you?" Ned asked. "You're being all twitchy."

"Sorry," Peter mumbled. He could feel his face turning red. "My hair's gotten too long. It keeps tickling the back of my neck."

"Mmm," Ned said, a rather wicked grin stretching across his face. "I could always cut it for ya. I'm sure there's a spare Bunsen burner around here somewhere."

"No, thanks, crazy man," Peter said quickly, trying to smile. "Don't think Pepper would like that too much. She only lets one person cut my hair; she's kinda picky about that stuff."

"Dude, when's your dad gonna propose to her, anyway?" asked Ned. "I mean, they've been together now for how long?"

"I dunno," Peter answered. "Soon, I hope. He's had the ring forever already. I think he's just scared for some reason."

"Yeah, I can understand that. Pepper's a real sweet lady, but she's pretty badass, if you know what I mean."

"Shh!" one of their classmates hissed from next to Ned.

Biting his lip, Peter scratched at the back of his neck one more time before resuming his note-taking, once again becoming engrossed in the professor's presentation. The group was just about ready to move on to another lab when Peter felt the strange tickly sensation again, only this time followed directly on its heels by a sharp stab of pain, as if he'd been poked with a burning hot needle.

"Ow!" Peter yelped as his hand immediately flew back to cover his neck, his face flushing red as the entire class paused whatever they were doing to look over at him.

"You okay there, Peter?" asked the teacher.

"Uhh, yeah, sorry," Peter mumbled, pressing his fingers gingerly over the painful spot and trying to ignore Ned's questioning look. "Just… um… wrenched my neck."

The teacher nodded, giving Peter a small smile as she began herding the students over towards the door. "All right class, we're heading to the lab one door down and then we'll be breaking for lunch."

Inhaling a deep breath, Peter pressed the sore spot on his neck one more time as the students started shuffling towards the door. He quickly scanned the ceiling, then the floor, searching for anything that could explain the sharp pain that he'd felt.

"C'mon, Peter!" Ned said, tugging on his arm. "We're heading to one of the physics labs now!"

"Yeah, I'm coming!" Peter said, walking sideways as he continued to scan the floor. He'd just about reached the door when his eyes caught sight of something small and dark, skittering across the polished linoleum floor as if it were being chased. Peter let out a hard shudder, his stomach dropping to his knees as he realized what it was.

It was a spider.

And Peter absolutely hated spiders.

"Dude, are you feeling okay?" Ned asked as he slid onto the bench seat of the schoolbus next to Peter. "You're looking a little paler than usual."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Peter mumbled. "Just tired." He tilted his head back, resting it on the back of the seat and closing his eyes. Truth be told, he wasn't feeling good at all. His neck was still stinging and throbbing from the bite, and he was shivering, as if the temperature had dropped thirty degrees over the course of the field trip. He also felt dizzy, and his stomach hadn't stopped churning since he'd seen that spider scampering across the lab floor. Whether or not it was because of the spider bite or because he'd hardly been able to eat anything at lunch, Peter didn't know for sure. All he knew right then was that he wanted nothing more than to go home, crawl into his bed, and bury himself under the covers for the next week.

"Good afternoon, Young Peter," FRIDAY said as Peter stepped off the elevator and into the Tower apartment. "How was your field trip?"

"Ah, it was okay, FRIDAY," Peter answered, dropping his backpack onto the couch so he could take off his jacket. He usually pulled his shoes off as he walked/ hopped towards his room, but he was still feeling so dizzy that he sat down on the couch to take them off, leaning back and closing his eyes once he was done.

"Are you feeling all right, Young Peter?" FRIDAY asked a couple minutes later. "Would you like me to contact Miss Potts or Mr. Wilson?"

"No!" Peter yelped, sitting up so abruptly that his vision went spotty for a few seconds. "No, FRIDAY, I'm okay. Just… tired. I think I'll just go to bed early."

"Surely you must be hungry after your school day?" asked FRIDAY. "And you know your father wouldn't like you skipping any meals."

Peter shook his head, pushing himself up off the couch and stumbling towards his room. "I'll just take a quick nap, then I'll eat something. Okay?" He glanced at the clock, noting that Pepper wasn't due home for another two hours at least. Happy had picked Peter up from school, but he'd taken off for the Compound to retrieve James as soon as he'd dropped Peter off at the Tower. Apparently Dad needed James down in D.C., so he was scheduled to head down there tomorrow. And Steve and Natasha had left yesterday evening to follow up on yet another Bucky lead, so it was only he and Sam in the Tower at the moment.

"Very well, Young Peter," FRIDAY said. "Would you like me to turn on the rain sounds?"

"Yes, please," Peter answered, face planting onto the bed and curling his arms around George. He buried his nose into the polar bear's neck, inhaling and breathing out a deep breath. George's fur wasn't as soft as it used to be, but he was still smooshy and cuddly, and Peter was asleep only a few seconds later.

"Peter!" called the voice of Sam Wilson, followed by a knock on the door that was so loud it caused Peter to bolt upright on the bed, nearly hitting his head on the headboard. "Peter, are you okay?"

"Yeah?" Peter called back, wincing at how loud his own voice sounded to his ears. He swallowed hard, running his tongue along his dry lips. Through the windows in his room he could see that night had fallen. How long had he been asleep?

"Yeah?" he called again, a bit quieter this time. "I'm awake."

"I got some dinner ready," Sam said as he opened the door, whose hinges seemed to squeak with every millimeter of movement. "Pepper called me, said she was gonna be late tonight, something about a last-minute conference call from India. You hungry?"

Despite the fact that Peter hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast that morning, he still wasn't all that hungry. But he also didn't feel like drawing any further unwanted attention, and he knew if he refused a meal, Sam would immediately tell his dad.

"Yeah," Peter said, blinking. His eyes always got dry whenever he slept in his contacts. "Just… give me a minute."

"Okay," Sam said warily, his eyes narrowing as he looked Peter up and down. "You sure you're okay? You're shivering like you're trying to wiggle outta your skin!"

"Uh… yeah, I'm sure," Peter stammered. "It was cold out today, and the chem labs were cold too. I guess I still haven't gotten warmed up."

"Mmm, if you're sure. Come and eat while it's hot, then. Warm you up some."

"Sure," Peter said, relieved when Sam walked away. Sam wasn't usually a very loud guy, and Peter had never heard him raise his voice indoors, but somehow tonight every word out of his mouth sounded like he was shouting through a megaphone.

Pushing himself up from the bed, Peter shuffled over to his bathroom and flipped on the light switch, immediately slamming his eyelids closed at the nearly blinding flash of light that followed. Peter slapped one hand over his eyes, his other hand scrabbling at the wall, trying to flip the switch back off. He dropped to the floor, his breaths coming out in quick gasps as he slowly blinked his eyes open again, shocked to discover that he could see just fine in the near complete darkness of the bathroom.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Peter muttered under his breath. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he stood back up, turning on the faucet so he could splash some water on his face, even as he tried to ignore the fact that the water splashing down into the sink reminded him of the waves crashing against the rocks back in Malibu. He peeled the contacts from his eyes, dropping them into the trash can, wincing as he literally heard the tiny pieces of moldable plastic hitting the bottom of the bin as he slid on his glasses.

"You sure you're okay there, kid? You look kinda peaked," Sam said once Peter finally stumbled into the kitchen. Sam had apparently cooked up one of his favorite gumbo recipes, and while Peter usually loved Sam's gumbo, tonight the smell was so strong it was nearly overwhelming.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Peter answered. He hated lying to Sam; he hated lying to anyone for that matter. But he knew if he told anyone the truth that they would turn right around and call his father, and Dad had too many other things to worry about right now than a stupid spider bite. "Just… it was a really long day today, and I'm tired."

"Yeah, all right," answered Sam, shooting Peter a rather suspicious look over his glass of iced tea. "If you're sure. You got any homework tonight? Not that I'd probably be able to help you with any of it, but I'm still s'posed to ask."

"No," Peter whispered, squeezing his eyes closed, wishing that Sam would stop shouting at him. "We were at Columbia for most of the day, so… no homework."

"Mmmhmm. All right then," Sam said. "Just, finish up your dinner, yeah? So Pepper doesn't think that I tried to starve you?"

Forcing a smile, Peter nodded as he dug into the gumbo, cringing at the scraping noise the spoon made across the plate. To his relief, he did start to feel a bit better as he continued to eat, as long as he was able to ignore the fact that he could hear Sam chewing his food as loudly as if he were eating a bag of ice cubes.

"There," Sam said once Peter had cleaned his plate. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Peter answered, smacking his lips. "Loads, thank you."

Sam grinned. "Yeah, that's one of my Nana's recipes. She always swore her gumbo could cure anything that ailed anybody, and damn, if she wasn't right about that."

"Mr. Stark is on the line for Young Peter," cut in FRIDAY, sending Peter's heart into his throat. "Shall I send the call in to his room?"

"Uhh," Peter stammered, looking over at the dishes piled up in the sink.

"Go on, Peter," Sam said graciously. "Go on and talk to your dad. It'll help you feel better."

"Thank you," Peter whispered. "I can come back and help clean up afterwards if you want—"

"Nah, don't worry about it," Sam said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Go on now. You know Iron Man doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Hey buddy!" Dad exclaimed, his voice booming from Peter's television monitor as soon as Peter stepped into the room. "How was the field trip?"

"It was good," Peter answered, fighting the urge to cover his ears. Why was every single thing so damn loud all of a sudden? He grabbed his hoodie from the chair in the corner and pulled it on, wrapping his arms around his front. He was starting to shiver again. "Columbia is a nice place. Their chemistry lab was stocked."

"Mmm," Dad said with a wink. "You make a shopping list yet?"

Peter grinned. His father knew him all too well. "Yeah, you know it. They had some pretty nice stuff in there, Dad."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure the chem labs at MIT are just as nice," Dad grumbled. "But you'll get to see those soon enough if I have anything to say about it. Which I do, by the way."

"Yeah, I'm sure. How's D.C.?"

Dad's face fell and he let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. From the background on the monitor, Peter could see that Dad was at least in the D.C. apartment for the night, which hopefully meant that his meetings were over for the day, but still. He looked absolutely exhausted, and Peter knew he wasn't sleeping all that well. He never did when he was this stressed out.

"Ah, you know, Pete," he said. "Same old shit, different day. These people… I don't know. But don't worry. Rhodey and I have been in sticky situations like this before, back when the government tried to commandeer my tech. We'll get it figured out."

"I know," Peter said, biting his lip to keep his teeth from chattering. Were the environmental controls not working properly or something? Why was he so cold?

"You okay, Pete?" asked Dad, his eyebrows knitting together. "You look… off. Not your normal perky self. Sam didn't let you just eat ice cream for dinner, did he?"

"Just… cold," Peter said, running his palms up and down his arms. "It's really cold here today, Dad."

"Well, that's January in New York for ya," replied Dad. "Have FRIDAY turn the temp up a bit if you need to, okay? Don't want you shivering all night, and it's supposed to be even colder tomorrow."

"I will," Peter whimpered, blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes. He hated feeling lousy, even more so when Dad wasn't home. "When are you coming back?"

"Saturday morning at the latest, bud," Dad said. "Because nothing short of the threat of global destruction can make these government goons want to work on a weekend. But don't you hesitate to call me if you need anything. And I mean, anything. You got it? No matter what's going on down here, you're still my first priority."

"Yeah, I got it," Peter whispered. "Love you, Dad."

"I love you too, bud. I'll see you soon."

"Good morning, Young Peter," FRIDAY said over the sound of the falling rain that Peter had to ask her to turn down at least three times during the night. "How are you feeling today?"

Peter groaned, rolling over into his stomach, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck. He winced as his fingertips found the bite mark, which had swelled up to the size of a marble overnight and was very painful to the touch.

"Um…" Peter stammered as he tried to sit up, grabbing the headboard when his head started to spin. "Um…"

"Are you ill, Young Peter?" asked FRIDAY. "Would you like me to call Miss Potts or Mr. Wilson?"

"No!" Peter yelped, covering his ears with his palms. "No FRIDAY, please! I'm okay! I think I just… need a shower."

"If you're sure," said FRIDAY, sounding skeptical. "Then I must remind you, Miss Potts and Mr. Hogan will be departing for the school in exactly twenty-seven minutes. Miss Potts will be departing for India on business once they drop you off at school, and Captain Rogers and Ms. Romanoff are returning early this afternoon."

"Yeah, okay," muttered Peter. He lurched forward, stumbling into the bathroom and turning on the shower as hot as it would go, the tile floor as cold as a block of ice beneath his bare feet.

The hot shower did help, but as soon as Peter stepped out and started drying off he was shivering again, so hard that he could barely fasten the zippers and buttons on his clothes. Slipping on his shoes, he pulled on the laces to start tying them, just like he always did, and was astonished when one of the laces ripped right off, almost like it had been cut in half.

What the hell? he thought, holding the broken shoelace in his hand for a moment before tossing it into the trash bin. Shoelace must've gotten worn out.

Stepping over to the mirror, Peter began rummaging around in his drawer for his contact lenses, and was just about to tell FRIDAY to remind him to order some more when he blinked, checking out his reflection in the mirror. In the past, Peter had always had to lean in very closely to see a clear reflection. He hadn't even noticed it until now, but for some reason this morning he could see just fine. In fact, he couldn't remember ever being able to see this clearly, even before he started wearing glasses.

Okay, so that's not so bad, he thought as he shoved the contacts box back into the drawer. I can deal with that.

After practically inhaling three pieces of toast for breakfast, hoping they would help keep him warmer than his usual cereal and orange juice, Peter wandered down to the garage, finding Pepper and Happy already waiting in the car.

"Did FRIDAY tell you that I got called out to India?" Pepper asked, looking up from the tablet in her lap as Peter slid into the backseat next to her. "I'm sorry it's such short notice, but—"

"Yeah," Peter said, trying to smile. Pepper's voice, usually very calm and soothing, this morning sounded like the shrill squeak of a mongoose to Peter's ears. "It's okay, Pepper. FRIDAY said Steve and Natasha will be home later, so I'll be okay."

Pepper smiled, reaching her hand behind Peter's neck to rub the back of his head. Peter flinched as her fingers barely brushed over the spider bite, hoping she didn't notice the huge lump there, hidden underneath the collar of his shirt. "You're such a good kid, Peter. None of us deserve you."

"Thanks," whispered Peter as Happy started the car. Peter leaned back in his seat, still enjoying the fact that he could see clearly for the first time in years when Happy pulled out of the Tower garage and onto the sun-drenched street. Almost immediately Peter jerked his head back, his eyes slamming closed against the brightness of what seemed like a thousand stars all aimed directly at his face.

"Um… you got any extra sunglasses up there, Happy?" Peter asked through clenched teeth. "It's kinda bright out today."

"About damn time too," Happy said, tossing a pair of black sunglasses onto Peter's lap. "I was getting so tired of the winter overcast."

"Yeah," answered Peter, sliding the glasses onto his face and blinking his eyes back open. The dark glasses did help with the intense brightness, but everything still seemed… off. Peter's peripheral vision was going completely haywire, like he was trying to process the entire surface area of thirty IMAX movie screens all at the same time. He couldn't quite place where he was supposed to be looking at any given second, and it was already starting to give him a headache.

"Are you all right, Peter," Pepper asked as Peter ducked his head down, trying to block out some of the overwhelming images. "You seem… stressed."

"Yeah," answered Peter, trying to keep his breathing steady even as his teeth started to chatter. "Just a bit tired, is all. Didn't sleep that well."

Pepper gave him a sympathetic look. "Well, I'd like to tell you that I know how to fix that, but I don't. Just try not to stay up too late, okay?"

"I know," Peter said as they drove into the school's parking lot. "I won't. Have fun in India."

"I will," Pepper said, pulling him into a brief hug. "Have a good day at school."

"Thanks."

"And don't lose my sunglasses!" Happy called as Peter exited the car to a blast of freezing air. Peter tried to smile in return, but it probably came out as more of a grimace as he hurried into the school, his arms wrapped tightly around his front to try and stay warm.

Peter kept his head ducked down as he walked down the crowded hallway, trying to avoid making any eye contact with anyone. The sheer number of students, all talking and laughing amongst themselves, was nearly overwhelming Peter's senses, and Peter knew he wouldn't be able to keep the sunglasses on once he got to class.

Arriving at his locker, Peter dialed the combination and positioned his backpack so he could empty it out. But as he yanked on the zipper tab to unzip the main pocket, the entire zipper ripped down the seam, leaving a gaping hole at the top and sides. Peter let out a small yelp, the backpack dropping from his shaking hands and onto the floor with such a loud thud that it caused him to jump and slam his head right against the open door of his locker.

Ow! That freaking hurt!

His eyes brimming with tears, Peter picked up the ruined backpack, pulling the books out and shoving it inside his locker along with his jacket. Since students weren't allowed to wear jackets in the classrooms Peter couldn't keep his jacket on, but he had dressed in a couple of extra layers this morning in order to try and help himself stay warm. As carefully as he was able, Peter pulled out the books he needed for the morning and pushed the locker door closed with his palm, alarmed when he drew back his hand and saw the dent left behind.

What the hell…?

"Hey, Peter!" Ned exclaimed as Peter shuffled into the classroom.

"Hey, Ned," replied Peter, trying to keep his voice down. His head was still throbbing from where he'd banged it, and Ned's booming voice wasn't helping at all.

"You feeling any better?" asked Ned, his round face falling as he looked Peter over. "You look like crap, dude. What's going on?"

"Dunno," Peter answered, resting his chin on his book pile. "But I'm starting to think maybe I should've stayed home today. Still not feeling so great."

"Mmm, well, then stay away from me," Ned said, leaning far back in his chair. "Don't wanna catch anything from you."

"What, you sick, Parker?" Flash said as he entered the classroom, plopping himself down at his desk behind Peter. "If you're sick, then what the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm not sick, Flash," Peter shot back. "Just really tired."

"Well, you better rest up before practice this afternoon. Liz says we're working on the lightning round questions today, and we all know how you like to impress her."

"I'll be fine," grumbled Peter. "Now leave me alone."

"Leave me alone," repeated Flash in a sing-songy voice. "Boy wonder wants to be left—"

Flash's voice was cut off by the bell ringing to signal the start of class, which came on so suddenly and was so loud and shrill that Peter nearly dove under his desk in his attempt to cover his ears.

"Dude!" Ned hissed as their teacher walked in. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Just got a bit of a headache," Peter whispered. "It's nothing."

Ned shot him a wary look. "Well, that's not what you looked like just now. You were acting like you thought the bell was gonna eat you or something."

Peter shook his head, dropping his gaze down as the teacher began talking about calculating slopes and intercepts. Peter tried to listen—he really did, as he found algebra quite interesting—but all he could seem to focus on during the entire class was the squeak of the teacher's marker against the whiteboard, the scraping noise of his pencil against the paper of his notebook, and the ticking of the clock on the wall, right above the door.

Since he was aware of the clock, Peter was able to brace himself in time for the bell that signaled the end of the class, and thankfully was able to get through his next two classes and the lunch period relatively unscathed, even as it took almost every ounce of his strength to ignore the dozens of conversations going on around him and focus only on whatever Ned was rattling on about.

But as he and Ned stepped into their physics classroom, everything started going downhill. The effort of trying to block out the constant, overwhelming sensory stimulation was exhausting Peter, to the point that even walking down the hallway was proving to be difficult. The physics classroom was also in an older section of the school building, and so was much colder than the rest of Peter's classes. Already shivering from the walk down the hallway, Peter's teeth started chattering so violently about five minutes into the teacher's lecture that he was afraid they were going to break and fall right out of his head. Gripping his pen with both hands, Peter squeezed his eyes closed, trying to calm himself down when suddenly the pen snapped right in half, sending droplets of dark blue ink splattering all over his schoolbooks and the top of the desk.

"Mr. Stark?" the teacher said, looking at Peter with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Uhh…" Peter stammered, too stunned at the blotches of ink staining his books to even think straight. All of it; the torn backpack, the dented locker, the shrill noises, the loud voices, the IMAX vision, it was all just too much. Peter felt himself swaying in his seat, and he gripped the edge of the desk, trying to keep himself from falling over.

"I'm… um… not feeling so good," Peter mumbled, pushing himself up to his feet and stumbling awkwardly towards the door. "I need… I need to get to the bathroom."

If the restroom hadn't been only two doors down from the classroom, Peter would've never made it. As it was, he barely was able push the door open and step inside before he collapsed onto the floor in a heap, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile effort to try and warm up. If he was smart he would've tried to make it to his locker first to grab his jacket, but now there was no way. He couldn't even seem to make his legs move to sit back up, much less make it down two hallways to his locker. With a shaking hand and the last ounce of strength he could muster, Peter reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone.

"FRIDAY," he grunted between shivers so violent that he felt like he was convulsing. "What's happening to me?"

"I've already contacted Captain Rogers, Young Peter," FRIDAY replied in a soft voice. "Stand by, he's on his way."

Peter wasn't sure how long he was lying there, curled into a tight ball on the freezing bathroom floor, his heart thudding so hard it was as if it was trying to burst out of his chest. It wasn't until Peter felt a pair of strong arms circle around him, pulling him against a broad chest that his rigid, frozen body began to relax.

"It's okay, Peter," said the soothing voice of Steve Rogers, so softly that Peter was surprised he could even hear it. "You're gonna be all right."

"C—, cold," stuttered Peter. "S—, so, cold, and l—, loud, and I ri—, ripped my shoelace, and bent my l—, locker door, and I br—, broke a pen in half and the ink went everywhere, and—"

"Shh…" Steve said in that same soft voice, patting Peter's back. Steve hooked his arm under Peter's knees, lifting him up as easily as if he were still three years old. "I'm here to take you home, Peter. Tony's already on his way back from D.C.; he should be here in about an hour. You're gonna be okay."

"No, no, no," Peter whimpered, even as his head dropped against Steve's chest. "Don't tell my dad. Please…"

"Too late, Peter," said Steve as they exited the bathroom. Peter had never been more grateful for Principal Morita; the hallway that led to the parking lot was completely clear of students and teachers. "FRIDAY alerted him at the same time as me, as soon as you ran out of your classroom."

Happy was waiting in the parking lot, the car heater going full-blast as Steve and Peter slid into the backseat. Steve kept his arm around Peter's shoulders the whole way home, and Peter snuggled as closely as his seatbelt would allow, grateful for the extra warmth.

As soon as they arrived in the Tower apartment, Steve set Peter down on the couch, returning a couple minutes later with three warm blankets that he wrapped around Peter like a burrito.

"There," Steve said, careful to keep his voice low. "That better?"

"Yeah," answered Peter, warmth seeping into his bones for the first time since he was bit. "Loads."

"Do you wanna talk about what happened?" asked Steve a few moments later. "And why you tried to hide it?"

Tears of shame stung Peter's eyes, and he shook his head. "No. Not really."

"Well, that answer may work with me, but I highly doubt that it'll fly too far with Tony. So, you might wanna rethink that before he gets home."

"Steve," Peter croaked as the tears started to spill over. "He's gonna be so mad at me!"

"Oh God, Peter," Steve murmured, wrapping Peter in his arms. "Why would you think that?"

"'Cause dealing with this… with me, is the last thing he needs to be worried about right now," Peter cried, cringing at the shrill sound of his own voice. "Not with all the government stuff going on, trying to keep you guys safe!"

"And you know you're far more important to him than any of that," Steve said firmly. "You're more important to all of us, Peter. There should be no question in your mind about it."

"There isn't," answered Peter, sniffing. He rubbed his cheeks across the blanket, clearing the tears away. "It's just… really, really not a good time for me to be sick."

"Mr. Stark has landed at the Tower," announced FRIDAY.

"Thank you, FRIDAY," Steve said, just as Dad came bursting into the living room from the direction of the lab. Steve stood up from the couch, letting Dad take his place next to Peter.

"Pete," he said, his voice thick and low as he pulled Peter close, careful to avoid touching the back of his neck. "It's okay, buddy. Tell me everything."

"Daddy," whimpered Peter. "I'm so sorry. I never—"

"Peter, stop," Dad said firmly. He cupped Peter's cheeks, forcing him to look at him. "I am in no way mad at you, so just get that outta your curly head right this second. Just… tell us what happened."

Peter inhaled a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he explained the circumstances that led up to the spider bite. Both Dad and Steve listened closely, exchanging loaded looks every few minutes.

"Okay," Dad said once Peter was finished. He squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing at his temples. "Tell me again what they were mixing up in this chem lab?"

"Uhh, heavy water," answered Peter. "But why does that matter? It's not that dangerous to humans."

"No, but it might've been enough to mess with the genes of a spider, just enough to…" Dad muttered, his voice trailing off. He shot Steve a hard look, even as he tightened his arms around Peter. "Tell me again what's been happening, Pete."

"Um… everything's loud. Like every single sound has been put through a thousand amplifiers. People talking in normal voices sound like they're shouting. The school bell ringing sounded like it was right inside my head. Even the sound of my pencil against the paper was too much. And I broke—, I ripped my shoelace, and my backpack, and I dented my locker when I pushed it closed. And the sun was too bright and my eyes are weird, like I'm seeing everything through panoramic camera lenses all stacked on top of each other." Peter shuddered, dropping his head down against Dad's chest. "It was all just too much. Just too much… input."

Dad was quiet for a long time, with only the sound of his heartbeat filling Peter's ears. Finally, Peter raised his head, alarmed at the intense guilt clouding his father's face, the very same guilt he wore right after Ultron first gained sentience and attacked the Avengers.

"Daddy?" Peter whimpered. "What's gonna happen to me?"

"I don't know, Peter," Dad finally said. He threaded his fingers into Peter's hair, kissing the top of his head. "But whatever it is, whatever ends up happening, no matter how this all plays out, we'll deal with it together."

"How's he doing?" Steve asked as Tony tiptoed out of Peter's bedroom, closing the door as quietly as he could so as to not reawaken him. Tony had already botched the exit twice tonight, not realizing just how enhanced Peter's hearing had already become in such a short time.

Pressing a finger to his lips, Tony jerked his head towards the lab, leading Steve there so they could speak in somewhat normal voices.

"He's asleep, at least for now," Tony said with a heavy sigh as he dropped down onto the lab's couch, kneading his temples with his knuckles. "Had to cover him with three blankets and adjust the temp in his room up to eighty to get him to stop shivering though."

"Is that from the bite?" asked Steve as he sat down on the opposite end, crossing his long legs. "The shivering?"

"Yeah," Tony answered, his shoulders sagging. "Spiders can't thermoregulate, so his body keeps trying to bring his temp down to the surrounding environment, and since it's colder than fucking Siberia here right now—" Tony paused, pressing his fist to his chest, trying to keep his breathing steady. I should've seen this coming, damn it! "And since his cells are still trying to adjust to the influx of new DNA, his body chemistry's all out of whack. Everything he's experiencing: the enhanced sight, hearing, strength, lack of body temp control, that's all from the bite."

"This isn't your fault, Tony," Steve said firmly, a stern look on his face. "You can't possibly think that."

"If it's not mine, then whose fault is it, Rogers?" Tony snapped. That horrible crushing feeling in his chest was back and he gasped, trying to take a deep breath but only managing to choke. "I'm his father, and he's my son. I should've been here, I should've… done something! Fury warned me that Pete's DNA was altered already, I should've—"

"And blaming yourself won't help Peter at all," Steve interrupted. "There's no way anyone could've known that this would happen. No one could've possibly known that that spider would be there at the same time as Peter, and that it would bite Peter instead of one of the other students. This was just a freak accident, Tony. Nothing more."

Tony scoffed, his head dropping back against the couch. On the counter a few feet away sat the results of the quick DNA scan he'd completed on Peter earlier that evening, once they'd gotten him calmed down a bit. The scan that showed his DNA was now becoming integrated with the DNA of the spider that bit him. It had taken almost thirty minutes for Tony to convince Peter to allow him to run the test due to Peter's intense needle aversion, and even once Peter had consented, he still required Steve's strong hand to help hold his shaking arm steady. Peter's newfound strength was already too much for Tony to handle without the aid of his Iron Man suit, and he had a feeling it was only going to increase as Peter's body continued to adapt.

"Is there any danger from the bite itself?" asked Steve. "That lump on his neck looked pretty sore this afternoon when I saw it."

"By the time I got him to sleep the lump had already started to go down a bit," Tony said quietly. "The puncture mark from the blood test was almost gone too. I think as he adapts, he's gonna heal a lot faster."

"So, we just gotta make sure he stays warm enough?" Steve asked. "Is that the main concern right now?"

"That, and getting him used to all the input," Tony answered. "The sights and the sounds, that'll get better over time, but his senses are still gonna be enhanced, and that's gonna be a lot to process for a kid his age. He's gonna need help. I've already told Rhodey that I won't be back to D.C. for awhile, so he's gonna try and convince the freak squad down there to table their discussion until I feel like it's safe to leave Pete again."

"You know I'll help however I can, Tony," Steve said, clapping a hand on Tony's shoulder. "You just tell me what you need."

Tony nodded, scrubbing at his exhausted eyes. "Yeah. Thanks, Cap."

As it turned out, it didn't really take all that long. After a few more broken shoelaces and a couple of torn hoodie zippers, Peter learned how to adjust to his newfound strength, aided by a few arm-wrestling sessions with Steve. The only major challenges came on a couple of dicey nights where Peter's nightmares flared up, requiring Tony to summon his arm gauntlets in order to help subdue him. He was no longer any match for Peter strength-wise without the help of his armor.

Peter's metabolism, already through the roof simply because of the fact that he was a teenage boy increased even more, and he now could match Steve in his ability to chow down at mealtimes. The hearing and sight enhancements were tempered a bit by some special earplugs and a pair of glasses that Tony made for him, both of which helped Peter control the amount of input he experienced at any given time.

By the time Peter said that he was ready to attempt to return to school, Tony was cautiously optimistic that Peter would be able to handle himself okay.

And he did okay. The glasses and earplugs, both used whenever Peter was feeling overwhelmed during the day, were able to help him keep his sensory input under control, and as long as he was layered in enough clothing to help him stay warm, none of the other students were any the wiser that Peter was different now.

Which was fine. Both Tony and Peter had agreed that they would keep his condition a secret, known only to their Avengers family. Peter because he was a kid just trying to fit in with the rest of his peers, and Tony because while Rhodey had been able to convince the government goons to table the whole jurisdiction discussion during Tony's absence, the threat of Avenger registration was still out there. And there was absolutely no way in hell that Tony was going to allow the government to have any control over his son.

"Incoming call from Captain Rogers, boss," FRIDAY said. "High priority."

"Yeah, FRIDAY, put him through," answered Tony, setting down the replacement pair of glasses he was making for Peter. Tony should've known that only having one pair of glasses was never going to work with his kid. Peter may have gotten a bit older, but he still had a tendency to misplace anything that wasn't physically attached to him. Tony had lost count of how many times he'd had to run the glasses up to the school, or go and fetch them from the school so Peter could have them at home.

"Tony!" Steve said, gasping for breath. His pale face and hair were covered in soot, but there was no blood or other outward signs of injury. From what Tony could see, it looked like Cap had just been through a battle of some kind. "There's been… an incident."

"You guys all okay?" Tony quickly asked. "You, Sam, Natasha?"

"Yeah, we're all good," Steve assured him. "But—"

"Just tell me what happened, Cap. We can fix it."

Steve shook his head, still panting for breath, his blue eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. "Tony, it was my fault. Rumlow, the STRIKE team member that turned out to be a part of HYDRA? He was here in Lagos, trying to steal a bioweapon from an Infectious Disease institute. We managed to stop him, but then—". Steve broke off, dropping his chin to his chest. "Rumlow started taunting me… about Bucky. Saying Bucky knew who I was when we were fighting at the Triskelion. And then… he detonated a vest bomb, Tony. Right there in the Square, surrounded by civilians. I managed to block some of the blast with my shield, but…"

Oh, shit. "How many people did he get, Cap?"

"Dozens, Tony," Steve said, letting out a heavy sigh. "And some of them were from Wakanda. They had people here doing some humanitarian work, and—"

"Goddammit," Tony mumbled under his breath. He'd heard in recent months that Wakanda was becoming a bit less reclusive, and he had a bad feeling that losing some of their people like this was not going to go over well with their king. "Um…, so I can get the Stark Relief Foundation out there ASAP, but what comes after that?"

"We probably won't know until the Wakandan king shows up," Steve answered. "He's scheduled to get here tomorrow."

Tony huffed out a deep breath. This was not going to help with Tony's arguments against Avenger registration at all. "All right. Just keep me posted. I'll give Rhodey the news too, make sure he knows that we're on top of it."

"This is all my fault, Tony," Steve said sadly. "I should've clocked that bomb way before he had a chance to detonate it. Rumlow said the word 'Bucky', and it was just like I was a sixteen-year-old kid again in Brooklyn."

"Let's not go assigning any blame right now," chastised Tony. "Let's wait and see how things go with the Wakandan king. Maybe we'll get lucky and catch him in a forgiving mood."

The corners of Steve's lips twitched into a slight smile. "We can always hope. I'll let you know more as soon as we do."

"Copy that, Cap."

As soon as the monitor clicked off Tony slumped into his chair, burying his face into his hands. Just when he thought things were starting to look up…

"Dad, are you okay?" Peter suddenly asked from the doorway, causing Tony to jump. He must've just gotten home from school.

"Dammit, Pete," breathed Tony. The kid was even more light on his feet since the spider bite. "How much of that did you hear?"

Peter gulped, averting his eyes. "Um… pretty much all of it."

"Pete, we've talked about this!" exclaimed Tony. "Just because you can hear everything that goes on around here now doesn't mean that you should!"

"I know that, Dad," Peter said, a bit too snarkily for Tony's taste. "But it was Steve! And I'm just as worried about him as you are!"

"Cap can take care of himself," Tony grumbled. "You don't need to worry about him."

"He sounded pretty upset, Dad. What's gonna happen to him?"

"Absolutely nothing, if I have anything to say about it!" snapped Tony, cringing when Peter flinched. "Now, you have homework, yeah?"

"Uh huh," Peter answered in a small voice.

Tony's throat tightened; he hated that hurt puppy look that Peter got whenever he thought someone was mad at him. "So why don't you go and get something to eat and then get started on it so you can help me with your new glasses," he said in a softer voice. "Okay?"

Peter nodded, attempting a smile. "Okay."

"Incoming call from Colonel Rhodes, boss," FRIDAY said. "High priority."

"Rhodey?" Tony asked in surprise. He'd been waiting most of the day for Steve to call with news about the Wakandan king. "Yeah, put him through."

"Tony," Rhodes said as soon as he appeared on the monitor. His jaw was tight, he looked more nervous than Tony had seen him in a long time. "We have a situation."

"Okay," said Tony, even as his heart started to race. "Talk to me."

"The Wakandan king and prince arrived in Lagos about fourteen hours ago," Rhodes began. "They toured the blast area with Natasha and arranged for the bodies of their relief workers to be transported back to Wakanda."

"Yeah, okay," Tony said, his brow furrowing. "That all seems pretty normal to me."

"Yeah, but here's where it veers way off normal, Tony," said Rhodes. "Just as King T'Chaka was leaving the blast area, there was another explosion. Prince T'Challa was a few feet away from his father, walking with Natasha. Natasha said he tried to dive for him, to get him out of the way, but the king—"

"No," Tony interrupted, shaking his head. "No, don't say it, Rhodey."

"The king was killed, Tony," Rhodes said. "The Wakandan king was killed."

"Goddammit!" yelled Tony as he slammed his fist down on the counter, grateful beyond belief that Peter was still at school for the next hour. "How could this happen?"

"I don't know, Tony. But that's not all," Rhodes said grimly. "They—"

"They don't think the team had anything to do with it, do they?" Tony demanded, alarmed when Rhodes didn't answer right away. "Rhodey? Do they?"

"From what they found on surveillance footage, it looks like it was Bucky Barnes who set the second bomb," Rhodes answered, his face so drawn and ashen Tony was surprised he was still upright.

"Barnes?" said Tony, confused. "But that doesn't make any sense! He's been on the run for almost three years, eluding our best efforts to find him. Why would he just show up outta nowhere all of a sudden to assassinate a king?"

"I have no idea, Tony. And I agree that it doesn't make much sense, but we have a lot more questions than answers right now," said Rhodes. "But… that's the main reason why I'm talking to you and not Steve. He, Sam, and Natasha are currently on their way back to New York, and they will be required to remain in New York until the investigation is concluded."

"Yeah, and who's running the investigation?"

Rhodes threw up his hands. "Right now it's kinda a free-for-all, especially since the assassination of King T'Chaka occurred on foreign soil, allegedly by someone who's still technically an American citizen, and who's since been arrested by the secret police from Belarus. They managed to flush Barnes out in Romania about four hours ago."

"Shit," Tony muttered. "Belarus? Why them?"

"The working theory right now is that Belarus was part of the Winter Soldier program back during the days of the Soviet Union." Rhodes leaned in, lowering his voice. "Personally, I suspect it's because they wanted him back. Belarus and Russia don't get along all that well, Tony, and a Winter Soldier could come in pretty handy for them right about now."

"Yeah, I know," grumbled Tony. "No one really gets along well with Russia anymore."

"Yeah, well, they don't get along that well with the United States, either," Rhodes said warily. "There's no extradition treaty between the U.S. and Belarus, so our hands are pretty much tied right now."

"Maybe not," Tony said, tapping his chin. "Maybe I could try and convince the State Department to ask that Barnes transferred into SHIELD custody. Think they'd go for that?"

"SHIELD doesn't technically exist, Tony. I'm not sure how that could work."

"Well, it's either that or have the Winter Soldier unleashed on the world again, Rhodes," snapped Tony. "And I don't think any of us want that! When's the team supposed to get back?"

"They should be there in about five hours," answered Rhodes.

"All right. Then as soon as they get here, I'll head down to D.C. and we can get the ball rolling. It can't hurt to try, Rhodey. But we really gotta clear the team of any wrongdoing ASAP, or this whole thing will just add fuel to Ross's fire, and that's something we absolutely don't need right now."

"Ross's fire is already burning pretty high, Tony. You're lucky you didn't hear him a few minutes ago. I thought he was gonna blow the roof off the place."

"I fucking hate that man," Tony muttered under his breath. "I'll let you know once I'm able to leave."

"Copy that," Rhodes said. "See ya soon."

"Yep," Tony said as the monitor went black. "FRIDAY?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Put me through to the Quinjet. Steve and I need to talk."

Unlocking the door to the D.C. apartment, Tony stepped inside, flipping the light on at the same time as he unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. He flopped down onto the couch, working the knot loose on his tie as he pulled out his phone, checking for any messages from Peter. Tony hadn't yet had the time to fully integrate FRIDAY into this apartment, located on the top floor of the Stark building in D.C., just a couple blocks away from the Capitol. Lately though, since it seemed like he was here more often than he was at home, he was starting to think he was going to have to make it a priority very soon.

Finally working his tie loose, Tony tossed it onto the other end of the couch, groaning when it slid right off the end and onto the floor.

"FRIDAY, call Peter," Tony croaked, clearing his dry throat. He'd been talking nonstop for practically the whole day today—sometimes until he was blue in the face—trying to talk Secretary fucking Ross into negotiating for Bucky Barnes' extradition. Steve had been beside himself that he'd "allowed" Bucky to be arrested, and was chomping at the bit to go into Belarus himself and try to break Bucky out. It had taken every ounce of persuasion that Tony had left in him to talk Steve out of it. Tony needed Steve at the Tower, watching Peter. Not out there in some hostile country trying to break his friend—who might still be trying to kill him, because who knows if the real Bucky was even still in that scrambled head of his—out of some secret military prison.

"Young Peter is not at the Tower, boss," answered FRIDAY a few seconds later. "And I can't seem to pinpoint his location."

"What?" Tony yelped, bolting upright on the couch. He winced as the dull headache he'd been nursing for most of the day suddenly returned with a vengeance, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, gripping his phone so tightly with the other hand he was surprised the screen didn't shatter. "Where the hell is he?"

"I'm not sure, boss," answered FRIDAY, her voice frantic. "In fact, the entire residential section of the Tower is currently vacant. I can't seem to pinpoint the locations of any of the team members, and I'm unable to raise them on their phones."

"What do you mean you can't find them?" yelled Tony. "It's already after seven pm, so Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Pete should all be there by now! Steve was supposed to pick Pete up from Ned's house a half an hour ago!"

"I have no record of Captain Rogers returning to the Tower with Young Peter, boss. He departed the Tower with Ms. Romanoff at 6:15pm, but—"

"Call the Leeds' house, FRIDAY," Tony snapped. But before FRIDAY could even dial the Leeds' number, there was loud, urgent knock at the door.

"Tony!" Rhodey frantically shouted through the closed door, sounding more panicked than Tony had ever heard him. "Open up!"

As soon as Tony had unlocked the door Rhodes burst in, sweat pouring down his face despite the freezing outside temperature, his tie hanging loosely around his neck and his uniform jacket unbuttoned. "What—?"

"Tony!" Rhodes sputtered, gasping for breath. He bent over, bracing his palms against his knees. "It's happened, Tony. I ran right over here as soon as I found out. It's all been a smokescreen, Tony. All of it. All these months of negotiations, all the bargaining, all the goddamn begging, it's all been for nothing!"

Tony's knees immediately started to shake, and he gripped the edge of the door, trying to keep himself upright. "Rhodey," he said in a low voice. "What the hell are you talking about? Where's my son?"

Rhodes shook his head, pushing the apartment door closed and flopping down onto the couch, his head in his hands. "It was all a lie, Tony. Secretary Ross, he never had any intention of letting the Avengers go. The whole time he was talking to us out of one side of his mouth, he was making secret deals out the other side. Ross just pulled an end-around all of us, and even I didn't see it coming."

"Rhodey, I swear, if you don't start making some fucking sense soon, I'm gonna—"

"Ross took them, Tony!" Rhodes cried. "He's taken them all! Somehow he managed to get the president to sign some official order that basically turns any Enhanced Individual over to his control. As soon as the ink was dry on the order he got to work. Ross's troops got Clint and the twins from their farm, they got Sam from the Compound, they got some guy named Scott from California, and he took Steve and Natasha and—"

"No!" Tony choked out, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He pressed his fist to his chest, his breaths coming only in heaving gasps as his blood turned as cold as ice. Oh God, please no! "Oh Christ, Rhodey, tell me he didn't—"

"He did, Tony," Rhodes said grimly. "He got Peter too."

Chapter Text

Tony was too stunned to move, too stunned to talk, too stunned to even blink as he stared at the grim and terrified face of his oldest friend. His lungs felt as though they'd been filled with ash, with even the very act of drawing in air taking more effort than Tony could muster. His hands were clenched into fists so tight that they were shaking, his fingernails painfully digging into his palms.

"Tony," Rhodes said carefully, still trying to catch his own breath from his two-block, flat-out sprint. "I know this is a bit of a shock, but—"

"A bit?" Tony spat out, forcing the words past his frozen throat, his chest so tight it felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. "My son—, our whole family's just been taken by a fucking madman to who-knows-where, and it's only a bit—"

"Which is why we need to go. Now!" Rhodes said firmly. He wrapped his hand around Tony's arm, dragging him towards the door. "We need to get the hell outta here right now, before Ross's men show up and grab us too. There's no time to stand around panicking."

"Rhodey—"

"Now, Tony!" Rhodes snapped, shoving Tony out the door of the apartment and towards the stairs to the roof, where a Stark Industries chopper was parked. "I've already contacted Vision. He's standing by up at the Compound until we decide what to do, then he'll meet up with us."

As the chopper took off over the darkened city of Washington D.C., Tony was finally able to snap out of his stupor long enough to engage the retro-reflective panels, enabling the chopper to become invisible to radar. He still needed to thank that Harley kid down in Tennessee for giving him the idea for that particular stealth mode. It definitely had come in handy on more than one occasion.

"What's the heading?" asked Rhodes a few minutes later.

Tony drew in a deep, immensely painful breath, the heated air of the chopper nearly burning his still-frozen lungs. "The Compound. Gotta pick up Vision."

"Vision can fly just fine on his own, Tony," Rhodes protested. "And don't you think the Compound's being watched? We don't have personal stealth modes, at least not the last time I checked!"

"No, not yet," Tony muttered. "And no, I don't think it's still being watched. If Ross thinks he got everyone there's really no reason to stick around, and Vision would've activated the jammers as soon as something went wrong. If there was someone up there watching, all their equipment got fried the moment Vision realized that Sam was picked up. Besides, you got your armor on under that uniform jacket?"

Rhodes shot him a harsh look, one that Peter would've called a "duh?" look. "No. And neither do you, if you haven't noticed."

"Right. Even more reason to head to the Compound," answered Tony. "We both gotta re-arm." He sucked in another harsh breath, biting his bottom lip as he tried not to think of how terrified Peter must be right now. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve…

"Ross probably doesn't know about Peter's abilities yet, Tony," Rhodes said a few minutes later. "And he's just a kid, so—"

"You really think Ross gives a shit?" Tony growled, his stomach clenching at the thought of the slimy, vile Ross even thinking about laying a hand on Peter. "C'mon, Rhodey, you and I both know that man has been obsessed with creating a super soldier army for years now. He even sacrificed one of his best men to it, turned him into the fucking Abomination with barely a second thought. If he doesn't know about Pete already, it's a good bet he's gonna find out real soon."

Rhodes let out a sigh. "At least Peter's with Steve and the others, Tony. You know they'll keep him safe."

"Yeah," Tony whispered. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. "You got any idea where that asshole has taken them?"

"Yeah," Rhodes answered. "I do." Reaching a hand inside the pocket of his uniform jacket, Rhodes pulled out a packet of folded up papers. "I managed to grab this before I raced out the door. It's a copy of the presidential order, with a detailed list of everything that was established by it."

Glancing over at the pile of papers in Rhodey's hand, Tony quickly turned on the chopper's autopilot and grabbed them, scanning down the alarmingly long list of regulations established by the presidential order.

For the purposes of this order, an "enhanced individual" is defined as any person, human or otherwise, with superhuman capabilities. This includes individuals whose powers are an innate function of their biology as well as individuals who utilize highly advanced technology to grant themselves superhuman capabilities.

All enhanced individuals must provide biometric data such as fingerprints and DNA samples.

Those with secret identities must reveal their legal names and true identities.

Those with innate powers must submit to a power analysis, which will categorize their threat level and determine potential health risks.

Those with innate powers must wear tracking bracelets at all times, and are not allowed to travel outside of their city limits without express permission from the State Department.

Enhanced individuals are prohibited from taking any action without express permission from the State Department. This includes police, military, or espionage activities.

Any enhanced individual who uses their powers to break the law—including those who take part in extralegal vigilante activities, or are otherwise deemed by the State Department to be a threat to the safety of the general public—may be detained indefinitely without trial.

The use of technology to bestow individuals with innate superhuman capabilities is strictly regulated, as is the use and distribution of such technology. Any currently existing technology must immediately be turned over to the State Department for inspection and cataloging.

The creation of any self-aware artificial intelligence is expressly prohibited unless completed under the express supervision and control of the State Department.

The Avengers will no longer be a private organization and will only operate under the express supervision of the State Department.

"Holy shit," Tony breathed, shoving the papers back at Rhodey as if they had burned him. "What the hell is this, Rhodey? Last I checked we lived in the United States of America, not the United States of Ross. This isn't democracy. This is… identification… and internment!"

"I'm telling you, Tony, Ross is delusional," Rhodes said, shaking the papers. "He thinks all of this is necessary for the 'greater good'. Unfortunately, after what happened in Lagos with the Wakandan king, he even managed to get the president to go along with him."

"Yeah, I don't think I wanna know what kind of dirt he's got on the president then," Tony grumbled. "I'm surprised Ross didn't run for president himself with all the ass-kissing he's done over the years." Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Oh God, please let Pete be okay!

"Nah," Rhodes scoffed. "Being President would be far too much work for someone like Ross. This way he gets all the power he wants and none of the extra responsibility."

"Okay, so… where's he taken them, Rhodey?" Tony asked, pressing his fist to his chest. "Where's he taken my boy?" He'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. He'll be okay as long as he's with Steve.

Won't he?

Shaking his head, Rhodes rummaged through the mess of papers strewn across his lap, pulling one out from the pile. "This is a requisition form, Tony. I found it along with the presidential order documents. It's a request for food, clothing, weapons, and other similar supplies, and it's enough to last at least a year without having to restock."

"Okay," Tony said impatiently. "For where?"

Rhodes pursed his lips. "It's for the Raft, Tony. And I'd bet money that's where Ross has taken them."

Cold, Peter thought as his mind slowly swam back towards consciousness, one painful millimeter at a time. Cold, hard, damp, stale, ow, that hurts, don't do that again. This is just… not good at all!

As he slowly began to regain the feeling in his limbs, partially frozen from the cold and numb from the awkward position of his body, Peter came to the conclusion that he was in fact lying flat on his stomach on a very cold, very hard, grated metal floor. The right side of his head—throbbing in perfect rhythm with the very loud thudding of his heart—itched something crazy, and Peter groaned as he attempted to move his hand up to scratch at the itch.

"Uh, I wouldn't do that yet, kid," an unfamiliar voice suddenly said from down by Peter's feet. Peter immediately froze, his hand comically hovering in midair. "You really should take it slow, you're still pretty out of it."

"Aahh!" Peter cried, opening his eyes in the dim light of the grey metal room just enough to see the outline of an unfamiliar man with brown hair and chin stubble sitting on the floor in the opposite corner, dressed in some kind of blue jumpsuit. Peter grimaced as the throbbing in his head got even worse, and he squeezed his eyes back closed. "Who're you?"

"It's okay, kid," the man's voice said. "I'm not gonna hurt you." Peter felt the man's large hand take his own, placing it gently back down onto the floor next to his itchy head. "You got a pretty nasty cut there on the side of your head, but it's already healed up a bunch since they brought you in here, so I think you're gonna be okay. Just… don't try and move too much yet."

Peter nodded, or at least nodded as well as he could while lying flat on his face. Just the small movement of his hand and arm had caused his stomach to start doing somersaults, so he wasn't really in a hurry to try again anyway. Not yet at least.

"Who're you?" Peter asked again, trying to sound more calm than he felt. "Where's my dad? Where're Steve and Natasha and Sam and—"

"Shh," the man said. "Just try and stay quiet for a bit, okay?" He gently patted Peter's back, and the kind, comforting gesture reminded Peter so much of his father that tears welled up in his eyes and started rolling down the side of his face.

"Oh no," the man said, stilling his hand. "Now see, I didn't mean to make ya cry, kid. I didn't mean that at all. Oh no. I'm so sorry! Um…"

"No, it's okay," Peter rasped, sniffing. He raised his hand, smearing the tears across his cheek. "It's okay. Who are you?"

"My name's Scott," the man replied. He patted Peter's back again. "Scott Lang. And you are?"

"Peter," replied Peter. "Peter Parker Stark."

"Oh… shit," Scott whispered, withdrawing his hand. "Uhh… as in, the Starks? Like, those really rich people who own that huge… ah… warehouse up there in upstate New York? As in, the Iron Man Starks?"

"Warehouse?" Peter muttered. "No, it's not a warehouse. That's the Comp—, oohh." Flattening his palm on the floor, Peter pushed his head up just enough so that he could get a better look at the man's face. "You're the one who broke into the Compound? Who wrecked Sam's Falcon pack?"

"Um… yeah," Scott replied sheepishly, swallowing hard. "Yeah, that was me. Yep, it sure was."

"That really wasn't nice!" exclaimed Peter, a lot louder than he'd intended as a sharp bolt of pain shot through the side of his head, right across where it was itching. He immediately clapped his palm over the spot, pressing against it. "Ow! This hurts!"

"Hey, I thought I told you not to move too much," Scott said. "You've got a bruise on your head there that's the exact shape of the butt end of a rifle, and you were bleeding pretty bad when they brought you in here. The bleeding has stopped now and the cut's scabbed over pretty good, but the bruise is still there."

Grunting, Peter squeezed his eyes closed as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position against the freezing metal wall, wrapping his arms around his knees. "That really wasn't nice, Mr. Lang!" Peter repeated, a bit softer this time. "You could've hurt Sam, and stealing is wrong!"

"Please, call me Scott. And I know, I know!" Scott said, holding up his hands. "Look, I didn't mean to hurt anyone, especially one of the Avengers. It's just that… Hank said that we really needed that Signal Decoy, otherwise we wouldn't've been able to take down the Yellow Jacket, and he actually was right, we really did need it, but you're right too, I should've just asked for it instead of trying to steal it, but then again, Hank said you should never trust a Stark, but then again, he probably didn't mean you, and… you're really a Stark?"

"Uh huh," Peter replied, his head spinning. "Tony Stark is my dad."

"Oh shit," Scott said, shaking his head. "Um… look, Hank's intelligence on that warehouse—"

"Compound," interrupted Peter.

"On the Compound was a bit out of date," Scott continued. "I didn't know that was your… house… until I got there and ran into—"

"Sam?" asked Peter.

"Yeah, him. Look, I'm really sorry. If it's any consolation, the tech I borrowed—"

"Stole," corrected Peter.

"Yeah, okay, stole, helped stop a really, really evil bad guy, so… think you might be able to forgive me?"

"Well, it actually belonged to my dad, so you'll probably have to ask him," Peter said. "But… yeah, I can. Just don't do it again, okay? You should've just asked. My dad's nice, he would've helped you."

"Yeah," said Scott, huffing out a breath. "I promise I will next time, okay? And that'll be the last time I listen to Hank Pym."

"Wait a minute," Peter said, grunting as he raised his head. "I've heard of a Mr. Pym. My dad told me his dad got into a bad argument with him once."

"Yeah. From what I understand, Hank had a pretty bad falling out with one of the Starks a long time ago."

"That must've been with my dad's dad," said Peter. "My dad didn't like his dad very much; he wasn't very nice to him."

"Oh. Well, again, I'm sorry."

They were quiet for a few minutes, which Peter welcomed since his head still felt like it was trying to split open down the middle. What the hell did he do that would've provoked someone into hitting him upside the head with the butt of a rifle?

"Do you know where my dad is?" Peter asked. "Or Steve, or Sam, or Natasha, or—"

"If I had to guess, I'd say they've got all of them locked up in one of these cells," answered Scott. "But they've had the lights dimmed down so low ever since I woke up in here, I can't be sure."

A frightened noise squeaked its way out of Peter's throat, and he tightened his arms around his legs, dropping his forehead down to his knees. He was starting to shiver from sitting on the freezing cold floor, which only made the throbbing in his head more intense.

"Hey, kid," Scott said, sliding across the floor over to Peter. "It's gonna be okay."

"How can you know that?" Peter whispered. "Why are we even here? What do these mean people want with us?"

Before Scott could answer, the area outside of their cell was suddenly flooded with lights, so bright they were nearly blinding. Peter yelped in pain and surprise, burying his face into his hands as Scott wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Hey, hey, it's okay, kid. What's your name again?"

"The light—, it hurts!" Peter cried, scrubbing his palms against his eyes. "Too bright, too bright! I'm not used to it so bright!"

To Peter's relief, the lights dimmed down some almost as soon as they'd turned on, and a few seconds later Peter raised his head, his eyes widening as he saw what appeared to be several other cells arranged in a circle, all occupied by members of his family, all dressed in the same funny blue jumpsuits. Steve, Sam, and Mr. Barton were in the three cells across the circle from Peter and Scott, with Natasha and Wanda in the cell to Mr. Barton's left. All of them were unconscious except for Steve and Wanda, who was wrapped up in some kind of straitjacket-type thingy that didn't look very comfortable at all. Peter gulped, flattening his hands against the glass wall as Steve locked eyes with him, gesturing wildly.

"Are you all right?" Steve mouthed to him.

"Uh huh," Peter answered, even though he knew Steve probably couldn't hear him.

Steve pressed his palm against the side of his own head, then pointed to Peter, holding his palms up in question. Peter's heart broke a little at the horrible look of guilt clouding Steve's face.

"I'm okay," he said, nodding carefully so as not to induce another round of nausea. "I'm okay, Steve. It wasn't your fault."

Any further attempt at communication was halted by the appearance of a group of five men and women who appeared to be soldiers, all with rifles strapped to their backs and carrying an unconscious Pietro Maximoff, his legs bound together at the ankles and thighs with thick metal cuffs. Peter's heart skipped a beat as he watched the soldiers step over to the cell directly to his left, unlock it with something that looked like a long, baton-type thingy, and toss Pietro inside, the hard thud of his body slamming against the shared wall of the cells causing Peter to jump. Across the circle Peter could see Wanda screaming behind her glass, and he gasped as he watched her attempt to stand up, only to be violently shocked back into a sitting position by the collar wrapped around her neck.

"Geez," Scott said, trying to keep his voice light, even though Peter could tell he was just as frightened as Peter. "These guys sure are friendly, aren't they?"

"What did they do to Pietro?" Peter asked in a quavering voice, watching with increasing terror as the soldiers proceeded across the circle over to Steve's cell. "Oh no! No, please don't take Steve away! Please, don't take Steve away!" Peter slapped his palms against the thick glass, his heart thudding madly as one of the soldiers unlocked Steve's cell and immediately slammed the shiny metal butt of his rifle right against Steve's face, causing blood to splatter from his nose and onto the grey metal floor.

"No!" screamed Peter. "No, don't hurt him! Please don't hurt Steve! Please don't hurt him!" He slammed his hands against the glass again, so hard his palms started to tingle, but the soldiers ignored him as they pulled Steve out into the circle, punching him hard in the abdomen before hauling him away. Peter felt a pair of hands wrap around his shoulders, attempting to pull him away from the glass but he twisted away from their grasp, straining to get a final glimpse of Steve as he was dragged around the corner and out of Peter's sight. The lights dimmed back down as soon as they were gone, curtaining the entire complex back into its eerie darkness.

"They're gonna hurt Steve!" Peter cried, finally collapsing back against Scott. "Why're they gonna hurt Steve? Why? I wanna go home! Why are we here? Where's my dad? Where is he?"

"I don't know, kid," Scott said, his voice grim. He wrapped his arms tightly around Peter, careful to avoid the side of his head. "I don't have any answers. I sure wish I did. I was on my way home from my daughter's soccer game when something hit me on the back of my head, and the next thing I knew I was in here. I don't know anything that's happened outside of that."

Peter sniffled, swiping his nose across his sleeve. "You have a daughter?"

"Yeah," answered Scott with a slight smile. "Her name's Cassie, she's eight years old and she's the cutest, sweetest, most adorable little thing you've ever seen. Not that I'm biased, of course."

"Mmm," Peter whimpered. "I bet she's worried about you."

Scott's shoulders sagged, his smile disappearing. "Yeah, she probably is. She's pretty tough though, and I've had to be away from her before, so… she'll be okay. You seem pretty tough there too, kid."

"My name's Peter."

"Oh yeah. Sorry. How old are you, Peter?"

"Fourteen."

"And do you have any idea why you're here? Other than the obvious fact that you live with the Avengers and your father is Iron Man?"

"No," Peter whispered. "Steve and Natasha were bringing me home from my friend's house when our car was attacked at a stoplight. Steve told me to hide down on the floor, behind the seat, but when I saw one of the bad guys trying to hit him, I grabbed onto his arm and stopped him." Peter winced, bringing his fingers up to the side of his head. "That must've been when I got hit by the rifle. I don't remember anything after that."

"You were able to stop one of those guys from hitting Captain America?" Scott asked. "That's pretty impressive! How strong are you?"

"Um… well… I'm about as strong as Steve," Peter said sheepishly. "I mean, I've beaten him in arm-wrestling matches, so…"

"Wow!" exclaimed Scott. "That's incredible! I didn't think anyone was stronger than Captain America!"

"It just happened," Peter said. The rush of adrenaline from watching Steve be taken away was wearing off fast, and Peter was already shivering. "About three weeks ago. I was… bit by a spider."

"And… that made you stronger than Captain America?" Scott asked, tilting his head in confusion. "Um… how?"

"It's kinda a long story," Peter mumbled through chattering teeth. "And I don't really wanna talk about it right now." He dropped his forehead down to his knees, fighting back more tears. What were those mean people doing to Steve right now? And where was Dad? How come he wasn't here?

"I want my dad," Peter whispered a few minutes later.

"I know you do, kid," Scott whispered back. He patted Peter's back. "But if he's not here, and it doesn't seem like he is, then I'll bet he'll be trying to get here as soon as he can. We just gotta be patient."

"But I don't wanna be patient!" Peter cried. "They're just gonna keep hurting everyone! Why are they hurting us?"

"I wish I knew, Peter," answered Scott with a heavy sigh. "I wish I knew."

"We're about five minutes out, Vision," Tony said over the secured radio channel. "Stand by."

"Yes, sir," answered Vision. "The Compound is secure and I have seen no evidence of any spy or surveillance activity since we went dark."

"Copy that," replied Tony. He tapped Rhodey on the shoulder, holding up his hand to indicate the five minute warning. Rhodey had been on the line with one of his Air Force colleagues for the last thirty minutes, trying to find out some more information on where Bucky Barnes was being held.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Rhodes said over his radio. "Yeah. Thank you, Colonel. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this intel."

"And you're absolutely sure you can trust this guy?" Tony asked once Rhodey had hung up.

"Not everyone in the military is as messed up as Ross," Rhodes answered. "And I didn't tell him everything, just enough to get the intel we needed."

"And that is… what, exactly?" asked Tony, touching down the still-invisible chopper onto the landing pad at the Compound and cutting the engines.

"All the evidence points to Barnes being held in Minsk, in some secret military prison," said Rhodes. He grabbed onto Tony's arm. "Tony, even with Vision's help, I'm still not convinced we can do this. If Belarus was involved with the Winter Soldier program back in the day, they'll probably know pretty well how to contain him."

Tony shot Rhodes a hard glare, pushing his hand away as he opened the chopper's door, hurrying across the landing pad towards the Compound's entrance. "We're not discussing this again, Rhodey. There's no way we can move on the Raft with just the three of us, so we need Barnes' help. It's just that simple."

"And I'm telling you that it might be suicide, Tony!" protested Rhodes. "Even if we ignore the fact that we might not even be able to find him in the first place, or even break into this prison where they're holding him, you told Steve yourself that Barnes might not even be in his right mind. What makes you think he's gonna wanna help us do anything?"

"Barnes did pull Cap from the river down in D.C. after the Insight carriers went down," said Tony. "Steve would've drowned otherwise, I couldn't've gotten there in time to save him."

"All right, but that still doesn't mean he's gonna wanna help us," Rhodes said. "Pulling one drowning guy from a river is a lot different than breaking into one of the most secure prisons on the planet. Tony, the Raft is a fortress, designed for the worst of the worst!"

"Where they're holding my son!" Tony shouted, nearly choking as he turned on his best friend, sticking his finger in Rhodes' face. "My son is in that goddamn submerged ocean prison, Rhodey, along with the entire rest of our team, of our family. So you can make damn sure that I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get them out!"

Rhodes held up his hands, his jaw twitching. "All right, Tony. I'm still your friend. We just gotta make sure that we're not playing right into Ross's hands with all of this, 'cause if we do that the only one who'll gain anything is him."

Tony inhaled a deep, shaky breath. "Even more reason for trying to get Barnes. Ross might be expecting me to show up at the Raft, but I highly doubt that he'll be expecting Barnes."

Arriving in the armament room located on the bottom floor of the Compound, Tony stepped over to his newest suit, hitting the button on his phone to unlock the storage locker. Directly next to it stood his latest upgrade of the War Machine armor, complete with several new features that Peter had helped Tony design. Tony averted his eyes, trying to avoid looking at the other lockers in the room, lockers filled with the extra uniforms and equipment used by the other team members. Steve's newly repaired suit, still waiting for him to test drive during one of their weekend training sessions. Steve never went too many places without his shield, especially when he was responsible for Peter, so he likely had that on him when they were taken, which meant that it was now in Ross's hands. And Tony still hadn't figured out a way to make a decent replacement for it without getting his hands on more vibranium.

Sam's spare Falcon pack was there too, fresh from a new upgrade after that fiasco with the bug man. Barton's arrowheads, the pistols that Natasha favored for some still unknown reason along with her extra stingers, even the rows of the Maximoff boy's running shoes. Almost against his will, those damn twins had started to worm their way into Tony's good graces, and now he might never see them again. Never see any of them again. Tony's heart started to flutter in his chest as if it were doing flips, stealing his breath and nearly causing him to double over. Never… he couldn't not ever see Peter again, he couldn't—, if that fucker Ross were to—, No, God, please, not now!

"We have to try, Rhodey. That's all there is to it," Tony said firmly, shaking his head to try and clear it as he stepped into his armor. Barring those times when he had needed his arm gauntlets to help with Peter during one of his nightmares, it'd been far too long since he'd suited up, and Tony couldn't deny that it felt damn good, even given the circumstances. "There's just no other way. We're all that Pete and the others have right now, and time's not exactly on our side here. As far as I see it, we don't have any other choice."

"The Compound is secure," Vision suddenly said, floating directly through the armored wall of the room. "But as time is of the essence, we should not be wasting it with petty arguments."

"See?" Tony said to Rhodes. "Even Vision thinks I'm right."

"That is not quite accurate, sir," answered Vision. "But as I am unable to come up with an alternative course of action at this given time, I suppose I must agree with you by default."

"Yeah, whatever," Rhodes grumbled, holding out his arms as the War Machine suit wrapped around him. "I s'pose if I'm gonna get myself killed, it might as well be with you two yahoos."

"That's the spirit," Tony quipped as they headed back up the stairs and towards the hangar, where the Quinjet was parked. "You remembered to fuel the jet, didn't ya, Vision?"

"I am appalled that you even find it necessary to ask me that, sir," answered Vision.

"Yeah, okay," grumbled Tony. "A 'yes' would've worked just fine there. Too bad Thor's not around for one of his linguistics lessons."

"You want me to take a shift at the stick, Tony?" Rhodey asked as they boarded the jet. Rhodes and Tony both stepped out of their armor, making their way towards the cockpit.

"Nah, thanks. Why don't you try and sleep a bit," Tony answered, kneading the back of his neck as he settled into the pilot's seat, trying to rub some of his tension away. He was tired, and under normal circumstances he would've gladly turned the stick over to Rhodey for a few hours so he could try and rest. But these were hardly normal circumstances, and Tony knew there was no way he'd be able to rest. If he didn't keep his mind occupied with flying the jet, there's no telling how many dark places it would wander away to on the way to Belarus, and Tony absolutely needed to keep his cool as much as possible. There was no way they were going to be able to break into this prison and find Barnes without all three of them being at their absolute best.

Hold on, Pete, Tony thought as the jet took off into the night, headed east over the water. We're coming for you, buddy, just hold on.

"Hey, Peter," Scott said gently from the corner. "You should come and eat something here. There's no telling how often they're gonna feed us, and—"

"I'm not hungry," Peter interrupted, barely looking in Scott's direction. He tightened the thin blanket around his shoulders, tossed in along with the stale biscuits and lukewarm watery soup the soldiers had slid into their cell a couple of hours ago.

"C'mon, kid," said Scott. "You're a teenage boy, you gotta be hungry. I remember being hungry all the time when I was a teenager. And no comments are necessary on how long ago that might've been, if you don't mind."

The corners of Peter's mouth twitched, almost against his will. He knew Scott was only trying to help him feel better, but that wasn't going to happen until Peter saw Steve again. The soldiers still hadn't brought him back, and while Peter's eyes had adjusted to the low light well enough to see that Natasha, Sam, and Mr. Barton had finally woken up, he still couldn't hear anything going on outside of he and Scott's cell. There must've been a dampening field blocking out the sound since they knew Steve had enhanced hearing. Peter wasn't quite sure if his own hearing was as enhanced as Steve's, but he had a feeling it was, and he still couldn't hear a thing.

"Peter," Scott said, a little more firmly this time. "Don't make me use my dad voice with you. I'm still pretty out of practice, and it might be awkward anyway since we just met only a few hours ago."

"It's not gonna work, Scott," Peter said stubbornly. "I won't be able to eat until they bring—"

"Come over here right now and eat something, young man!" Scott commanded, bringing his hand down against the grated metal floor and causing Peter to jump. "Right now, or I'll tell your father you were disobeying a grownup when he gets here."

"But—!"

"Right now, Peter," said Scott, raising his eyebrows. "It was bad enough that you were unconscious when they brought you in here. I don't need you passing out on me from hunger." He held out one of the biscuits towards Peter. "Please, kid. Starving yourself is not gonna help anything."

"Fine!" Peter grumbled, taking the biscuit from Scott's hand and tearing off a piece, shoving it into his mouth. It was grainy, gritty, and cold, nothing like the biscuits that Steve often made, and Peter shuddered as he swallowed it, even as his stomach started growling in anticipation of more.

"There," Scott said once Peter had choked down the entire thing and half of the soup. "See? That wasn't so hard."

"Hmph," Peter mumbled, wiping his mouth. He looked over towards Natasha's cell, his throat tightening as he saw her spoon-feeding Wanda some of the soup. Mr. Barton was sitting on the floor of his cell, breaking off small pieces of a biscuit and popping them into his mouth, his eyes trained on the cell next to Peter, probably waiting for Pietro to wake up. Sam was lying down on the low cot in his room, his blanket pulled up over his head. Peter could tell by the tightness in his shoulders that he was worried sick about Steve, just like Peter.

As his eyes swept across the circle to Steve's empty room, Peter bit his lip, trying not to think about what those soldiers might be doing to him right now and yet unable to think of anything else. Those soldiers had obviously hurt Pietro, and Pietro wasn't as strong as Steve as far as Peter knew. He was just really fast on his feet.

The sudden blinding flash of light caused Peter to cry out, and he slapped his hand over his eyes just in time for the lights to dim back down. Blinking, Peter stood up, craning his neck towards where Steve had been taken away, and his heart jumped into his throat as the five soldiers entered the circle, two of them dragging an unconscious Steve Rogers by his arms. Steve's entire face was covered in bleeding cuts and bruises and both hands were bloodied, as if he'd been forced to repeatedly punch a cement block or something. What did they do to him?

"Steve!" Peter cried as the soldiers unlocked Steve's cell and tossed him inside, cringing as Steve's strong body thudded hard against the wall he shared with Sam. Sam, already on his feet from the blinding lights, slammed his palms against the wall, yelling something that Peter couldn't make out.

"Is he dead?" whimpered Peter, the gnawing ache in his chest growing deeper and deeper as he watched Sam continue to pound on their shared wall, trying to get Steve to respond. "Oh God, please don't let him be dead! He's not dead, is he?"

"Peter," Scott said, wrapping his hands around Peter's shoulders. "It's gonna be okay, kid. I'm sure Cap's just knocked out, and—"

But Scott's voice cut off as the soldiers finished locking Steve's cell and proceeded across the circle, aiming directly for Peter. Almost immediately Peter's lungs seized in his chest and he shrank back from the wall, bumping into Scott, who wrapped his arms around him just as Peter's knees buckled. "It's okay, Peter. It's gonna be okay. You're just a kid; they aren't coming for you."

"No!" Peter managed to squeak past his tightening throat as the heavy metal door was unlocked and two of the soldiers stepped inside. "Please, no!"

"You!" one soldier said, pointing the tip of his rifle directly at Peter's chest while the other grabbed onto Peter's shoulder, yanking him away from Scott's grasp. "You must submit to a power analysis."

"Oh, come on!" Scott protested. "He's just a kid!" The first soldier immediately turned, butting Scott hard in the abdomen with the end of his rifle, causing him to yelp.

"No!" Peter cried as Scott doubled over, struggling against the ironclad grip of the soldier trying to drag him out of the cell. He could feel the bruises forming on his shoulder from the soldier's fingers digging into his skin. "No, please don't hurt him! I'll go with you if you don't hurt him!"

"He's just a kid!" Scott wheezed, clutching his stomach. "You're really gonna hurt a kid?"

"All Enhanced must submit to a power analysis," barked the soldier as he pulled Peter out of the cell. Peter could see Sam out of the corner of his eye, banging against the glass wall with his fists. Two cells down, Natasha and Wanda were huddled together in the corner, Wanda's face buried in Natasha's shoulder as Natasha patted her back. "It is a requirement."

With a loud clang, the door to the cell was slammed closed, cutting off Scott's raspy protests. Peter choked as he inhaled, his chest so tight it felt like it was being crushed as one soldier poked him in the back with his rifle, forcing him out of the circle and into a square-shaped, dimly lit room with a ceiling at least thirty feet high. The walls were the same dark grey metal of the cells, and there was a small, rectangular shaped window towards the top on the left side. Peter could just barely make out the shadowy silhouette of a man's head and torso in the window.

"Well, well, well," the man's gravelly voice suddenly boomed from several speakers embedded in the ceiling. "I must say, this is quite the pleasant surprise, Mr. Stark. You have no idea how pleased I was to find out about your new abilities."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Peter declared, trying desperately to keep his voice from quivering.

An evil, maniacal laugh rang out from the speakers, causing Peter to tremble even more. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a terrible liar, kid? You definitely didn't learn that skill from that asshole father of yours."

"Don't you talk like that about my father!" Peter screamed through his aching throat. He clutched his neck with both hands, pressing gingerly against his Adam's apple. "He's gonna come here, and he's gonna find us, and then he's gonna kick your ass! So you just watch out!"

But the man only laughed again, and Peter cried out as the soldier next to him poked him hard in the ribs with his rifle. "As per the terms of the new Enhanced Registration Act, all humans with innate enhanced abilities must submit to a power analysis," the man said, as if he were reading from a script. "Now then, Mr. Stark. Since I was informed that you were able to block the blow of one of my soldiers during the collection of Captain Rogers, I would very much like to see this for myself."

"Huh?" Peter asked, barely able to get the word out before one of the soldiers drew back his fist, aiming a punch directly at Peter's head. Peter's right hand immediately shot out and grabbed the man's wrist, twisting his arm and pinning it behind the man's back.

Whoa! Did I really just do that?

"Impressive!" the man in the window said, clapping his hands. "Again!"

This time it was the soldier on Peter's left who drew back his fist, and again, Peter managed to block the blow with seemingly very little effort, twisting the man's arm behind his back before he even realized what he was doing. Peter jumped back, releasing the soldier's arm, shaking his head as he examined his palms in amazement.

It was almost as if he could sense the blows coming, before they even happened. Dad had always told Peter that he had pretty fast reflexes, and he even remembered Uncle Ben mentioning it a time or two when he was little. But this seemed almost inhumanly fast.

"Again!" the man in the window called, over and over as Peter ducked and dodged and blocked the attempted punches of the two soldiers for what seemed like hours. It wasn't until Peter heard the hair-raising, unmistakable 'pop' that indicated he'd twisted the soldier's arm right out of its socket that Window Man called for a break. Peter's heart was racing, his entire body trembling as he watched the soldier reach across his body and pop his own dislocated shoulder back into place with hardly even a whimper of pain.

Who the hell are these guys?

"All right! I do appreciate that enjoyable performance, Mr. Stark," Window Man said, shuffling some papers. "Now then, moving on. I believe it is time for you to start throwing the punches. You may begin now."

"What?" Peter asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Sweat was streaming down his face in thick, sticky rivulets, stinging his eyes and nose, and his entire body was shaking so violently he was surprised he could still stand upright. "I'm not gonna punch anyone."

"As terms of the new Enhanced Registration Act, all humans with innate enhanced abilities must submit to a power analysis," Window Man repeated. "Now, you're a pretty intelligent kid from what I understand, Mr. Stark. So I'm sure you won't require me to explain what I just said in more detail. Is that correct?"

"I'm not gonna punch anyone!" Peter shouted, gasping at the tearing pain in his chest and throat. "I won't do it!"

Window Man only shook his head. "You people think you're so righteous," he spat out. "Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Agent Romanoff, that damn birdman. You people think you can just go in wherever you damn well please and provide your own brand of justice, without even thinking about the consequences of your actions. Without even thinking about the repercussions of your arrogance. Without even thinking about how innately dangerous you people are. The absolute lack of concern for the enormous amount of destruction you people leave in your wake is… well… let's just say that it is something I'm no longer willing to tolerate. New York, Washington D.C., Sokovia, Lagos; these are only the biggest examples of the many incidents I could mention if given the time. The Avengers are nothing more than a group of enhanced vigilantes who think they can take the law into their own hands, and to hell with the rest of us. And that, Mr. Stark, is going to stop! Right now!"

"No!" Peter yelled, clenching his fists, acutely aware of the two soldiers circling around him, as if they were waiting for him to pounce. "That's not true! The Avengers have made the world a safer place! They aren't arrogant, they're—"

"Really, kid?" Window Man scoffed. "You're really calling Tony Stark not arrogant? Boy, you are delusional! Tony Stark is one of the the most arrogant, egotistical, holier-than-thou people I've ever seen, and the rest of the Avengers are no better!"

"That's not true!" screamed Peter. "My father is not egotistical! He's not! And neither are any of the others! The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place, and that's what they've done! My dad flew a missile through a wormhole, he risked his life to save New York, and that's only one example! He is in no way arrogant!"

"The Avengers can no longer operate without supervision!" yelled Window Man. "It is unacceptable!"

"Who says?" Peter demanded.

"I say!" Window Man screamed, slamming his palm down onto his desk. "All of you, all you… Enhanced, you're all under my control now! The Avengers is no longer a private organization, so you'll go where I tell you to go, and you'll do what I tell you to do." Window Man leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands. "Now, Mr. Stark, I require a demonstration of your ability to punch."

"No," Peter said stubbornly, crossing his arms. "I refuse. I won't do it."

Window Man's eyes narrowed, and he jerked his head, only a split-second before Peter felt the hair on his arms stand straight up. He managed to turn just in time to block another punch thrown at him by one of the soldiers.

"You will comply, Mr. Stark," Window Man barked as Peter dodged yet another blow, flipping backwards out of the way. "If we have to keep you in here until you're too exhausted to fight back, you will comply."

"Then you'll just have to keep me in here!" Peter grunted, such intense exhaustion already seeping into his limbs that he wanted to cry, but knowing if he stopped there'd be no telling what the soldiers would do to the others. Even Steve, for all of his methods of dealing with bullies diplomatically, without resorting to violence, had told Peter that it was okay for him to defend himself if the situation ever arose where he needed to. And, remembering how horrible Steve looked when the soldiers dragged him back inside, Peter knew it was only a matter of time before he reached that point.

Please, Dad! Peter thought, flipping out of the reach of yet another blow, swaying as he landed, barely able to catch his breath before sensing the fist aiming directly for the back of his head. Please hurry!

"Okay, Tony," Rhodes said as the Quinjet touched down about a mile away from Barnes' supposed location. He and Tony both stood up from the chairs, quickly stepping into their armor. "What's the plan?"

"Uhh," Tony stammered, gulping. This was always the point during their missions where Cap would step in and tell everyone what they were going to do, explain the brilliant, tactically sound plan that he'd come up with, designed to keep everyone as safe as possible with as few casualties as possible while still accomplishing the objectives for the mission.

Except this time, Cap wasn't here. He was a big part of the reason why Tony was even here in the first place.

"Uhh," Tony said again, wracking his exhausted brain. He had half a mind to just storm the place, blasting away with his newly upgraded weapons and hoping that he and Rhodey, along with Vision's pretty remarkable skills—that mind stone sure came in damn handy in a fight—would be enough to get the job done.

"So, you don't have a plan?" Rhodes asked. "We just flew all the way out here, landing in a potentially hostile country to break a goddamn super soldier out of a secret prison, and you don't have a plan?"

"Pardon me if I'm a bit fucking distracted by the fact that my son's been kidnapped by a lunatic!" Tony snapped, glaring bullets at Rhodes. "Just… give me a second!"

Rhodes raised his hands in surrender, backing away as Vision floated up towards the cockpit. "I've counted four guards on the main entrance, three on the back," he said. "I would therefore suggest the back as an entry point."

"Yeah, okay," Tony murmured. "That makes sense. Rhodey's got that new little handy-dandy sonic pulse that we can use to get the guards out of the way, then Vision can phase through the wall and unlock the door from the inside."

"All right," agreed Rhodes with a nod. "I like it so far. What happens once we get inside?"

Tony shrugged, already impatient with all the talking. "We'll just have to play it as we see it." Walking towards the back of the jet, he closed his helmet over his head, motioning for Rhodes and Vision to follow. "C'mon, let's get this over with!"

"Dammit, Tony!" Rhodes muttered under his breath, even as he followed Tony off the jet and into the frozen woods surrounding the prison, which appeared to be nothing more than a one-story, concrete bunker. Must have most of it underground, Tony thought. Makes sense, given the fact that we're in the fucking frozen tundra.

Approaching the North entrance, which Vision had marked as the back, Tony eyes caught sight of the three guards. Nodding in Rhodey's direction, Tony stepped back as Rhodes raised his right arm, activating his sonic pulse. The pulse was loud but immediately effective, rendering the three guards disorientated enough for the three men to get behind them, quickly applying sleeper holds before Vision phased through the wall to unlock the door.

"See?" Tony said once they were inside. "That wasn't so bad."

"Sure," Rhodes replied, and Tony could just picture that one-eyebrow look that he often shot at Tony. "Not so bad. We only just announced our presence to the entire country, but hey, we made it inside!"

"I believe we should head in this direction," Vision said, pointing down a wide, dim hallway. "I'm reading a heat signature."

"Only one?" Tony asked, raising his right arm. "FRIDAY, verify only one heat signature?"

"Only one that I can see, boss," replied FRIDAY.

Tony scowled inside his helmet. "That seems a bit odd, doesn't it? Thought this place was supposed to be heavily guarded."

"It is indeed odd," answered Vision. "But perhaps its remote location lends itself to requiring less human lives as guards."

"Hmm," said Tony. "Maybe. I'm all for not having to blast anyone else today. Let's do this."

As they made their way down the dark corridor, lit only by the blue repulsor beams on Tony's and Rhodey's hands, Tony's left arm began to ache and his heart began to stutter, signs he'd come to recognize as impending trouble or panic. Something still wasn't right about all of this; it was almost as if he could feel it.

"FRIDAY, still only one heat signature?"

"Still only the one, boss," FRIDAY said. "Perhaps… wait, no, now I'm picking up a second, boss, it's right behind you!"

"Vision!" Tony yelped, turning just in time to see Vision raise his right arm, slamming it against the chest of what appeared to be a man dressed in a black suit, wearing a helmet topped with pointed tips. The man dropped to the ground like a rock but immediately sprang right back up, raising his gloved hands, the fingers tipped with sharp, silver claws.

"What the hell?" shouted Tony, stepping back behind Vision, who'd locked his fingers around the cat-man's throat, raising him slightly off the ground. "Who the hell are you?"

The cat-man grunted, clawing desperately at Vision's solid hand wrapped around his neck. "I am T'Challa, of Wakanda," he gasped in an accented voice, African, but not quite the same as any African accent Tony had heard before. "Barnes killed my father, I've come for my revenge!"

"You're the Wakandan prince?" Tony demanded. "What the hell're you hassling us for?" He nodded towards Vision, who lowered T'Challa back to the ground, still keeping his hand around the prince's neck.

"Barnes killed my father," T'Challa repeated. "I have come for my revenge. It is my right!"

"What, so you just followed us here and decided to step on our toes to get what you want?" asked Tony. "That doesn't seem very prince-like to me! Besides, even you have to admit the evidence against Barnes being responsible for that second bomb in Lagos is sketchy at best."

T'Challa twitched, his hands still scrabbling against Vision's immovable grip. "It is my right to avenge my father! Barnes is mine!"

"Tony, we don't have time for this!" Rhodes hissed from behind him. "This is already taking far longer than it should!"

"Look," Tony snapped, stepping forward as his helmet folded back behind his head, instantly flooding his nostrils with the damp, dank scent of the prison. "I hate to tell you this, but if anyone here has a right to Barnes it's me, because he really did kill my father. He killed my mother too, as a matter of fact, and I even have evidence to prove it. But right now there are other things, far more important things to worry about than revenge. My son—, and all the rest of the Avengers have been taken captive by a renegade government official, and we need Barnes' help to get them back." Tony inhaled a sharp breath, moving so close to T'Challa that their noses were practically touching. "Now, we really could use your help too, Your Highness. From what I've heard, you're a pretty decent guy to have around during a crisis. So, whaddya say. Will ya help us?"

"I have no desire to get involved in yet another problem created by the Avengers," T'Challa stated. "Barnes was responsible for the bomb that killed my father. I am here for him and nothing more."

"Tony!" Rhodes barked. "This is not helping!"

"And I'm telling you we cannot help my son without Barnes' help!" Tony cried. "My son is only fourteen years old, and some lunatic has taken him, along with the rest of my team, just because he thinks he can. Just because he thinks he has the right to decide what's best for a group of people only because they're a bit different from the rest of us. Now, I know all you folks out there in Wakanda don't like to get too involved with the rest of the world, but even you have to admit that forcibly taking a child from his parent is not acceptable! My son is counting on me to help him, but I can't do it alone. We can't do it alone. And I can't imagine that your father, who sent humanitarian workers into another country to try and help, would turn up his nose at a request like this."

T'Challa was quiet for several seconds, unmoving as his masked eyes stared into Tony's. Finally, he nodded. "Very well," he said. "I will help you rescue your son, and the others. But I cannot guarantee that I will not demand retribution when all this is over."

"Yeah, well, you'll probably have to take that particular issue up with Captain America," muttered Tony. "So, are we good here? Can Vision take his hand away without you trying to claw me or something?"

"He can," T'Challa responded.

Tony nodded towards Vision, who withdrew his hand slowly, keeping his eyes trained on T'Challa.

"Thank you," T'Challa said. He adjusted the helmet covering his head, splaying out and curling his clawed fingers. "I am ready."

"This way," Rhodes said, pointing down the corridor with his armored hand. Keeping one wary eye on T'Challa—Tony still wasn't quite convinced he wasn't going to try and bolt—they continued on until they rounded a corner and came upon a solitary barred cell. Bucky Barnes sat in the corner, his dark hair long and stringy, his metal arm reflecting back the light from Tony and Rhodey's repulsor beams. Tony's mouth went dry at the sight of him; he looked beaten down, defeated, tired. Not at all like the mindless, brutal assassin he'd always pictured, the man who'd killed Tony's parents—and likely Peter's parents, for that matter—with hardly a second thought.

"You're Bucky Barnes?" Tony asked as his helmet folded back. He cleared his throat. "The Winter Soldier?"

"Who's asking?" said Barnes in a low voice.

Tony stepped forward, nearly touching the solid iron bars of the cell, electrified to protect against Barnes' metal super-arm. "You know who I am."

Barnes' eyes flicked across Tony, Rhodey, Vision, and T'Challa before returning to Tony. Tony could tell T'Challa was chomping at the bit to get at him. He needed to work fast.

"You're Tony Stark," Barnes finally said. "The Iron Man."

"Yeah, that's right," replied Tony.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Breathing in a deep breath, Tony released it slowly, clenching his armored hands into fists. "We need your help."

The slightest of smiles crept across Barnes' lips. "Why?"

"It's a matter of life and death, or there's no way in hell that I'd be here right now," answered Tony. "For a lot of people. Including Steve Rogers."

The mention of Steve's name awoke something in Bucky, and he jumped to his feet, stepping closer to the electrified bars. "Steve?"

"Yeah," Tony said as his chest tightened. "And my son. They've been… taken, and we need your help to get them back."

Barnes' lower lip started to shake, and he tilted his head, eyeing Tony suspiciously. "Don't you wanna know—?"

"If you're in possession of all of your marbles?" Tony interrupted. "I'll admit, the answer is yes. But since we don't really have a lot of time to stand around chit-chatting, I'm willing to defer the answer to that question just so long as you agree to come with us and help us. Oh, and that you don't try to take any of us out, that's a definite requirement."

"You're here to get me out?" asked Barnes, frowning.

Tony huffed in frustration. "Wasn't that just what I was saying?" He glanced at Rhodey, holding up his hands. "Was I not clear? Yes, Sergeant Barnes, we need your help! Look, like I said, we're on a clock here! You come with us, you help us save my son and Rogers and the rest of the team, I'll put in a good word for you with the authorities. It's that simple."

But Barnes only stared at him, his eyes wide. "You called me Sergeant Barnes," he said softly.

"Well, yeah," Tony said impatiently. "That's your name, isn't it? James Buchanan Barnes, US Army Sergeant? Howling Commandos?"

"It hasn't been for a long, long time," Barnes murmured. His hands came up, hovering near the bars. "Why do you want to help me? After everything I've done?"

"Because there's a man who's taken my friends, my family, hostage," Tony croaked. "And we can't rescue them on our own. Even with your help, it's gonna be a gamble, but I need to try, we need to try. My son—, he's counting on us. They're all counting on us."

Barnes' upper lip curled into a sneer as his eyes raked across the four men standing in front of him. "I killed your mother," he spat out. "And your father. Why would you want to help me?"

Tony squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to think about how terrifying his mother's last moments must have been at the metal hand of the assassin standing in front of him. "I know you did. HYDRA, they had control of your mind. Do they still?"

"No," Barnes replied, his sneer deepening. "I don't do that anymore."

"Then come with us and prove it," Tony pleaded. He hated the way he was practically begging for this… criminal's help, but there was no other choice. "Because there's plenty of people out there who think you did, and there's no way they're gonna hear you out, not with your history. We're giving you a chance, Barnes. A chance to prove your innocence."

"Can we get this wrapped up?" asked Rhodes. "I'm detecting more heat signatures heading our way, and I'd really rather not wait for them to get here."

"The Colonel is correct," added Vision. "I suggest we begin making our way towards the exit."

Beads of sweat broke out along Tony's hairline, despite the frigid temperature of the bunker, and the knot in his throat tightened even more. It was getting harder and harder for him to swallow down his rising panic with every second that ticked by. "So what's your answer, Barnes? Are you coming with us?"

Barnes' eyebrows knitted together, his metal handing curling into a fist. "Yeah," he said. "I'm in."

"All right," Tony replied, grateful beyond belief for his armor helping to keep him upright. "Then let's get the hell outta here. Vision?" Tony stepped back, allowing Vision to take his place near the bars. "Um, you might wanna step back a bit there, Barnes."

With a short blast from the stone embedded in his forehead, Vision quickly burned through three of the bars, just enough for Barnes to squeeze out of the cell. Tony grabbed his right arm as soon as he was free, pulling him towards the exit. "C'mon, we need to run."

It was none too soon. The five men had barely taken three steps when the sound of rifle shots pierced the freezing air, along with the sound of soldiers shouting in their Belarus version of Russian. Vision took up the six position as they began to run, floating backwards so as to provide cover for the rest of them as Tony led the way, pulling Barnes along, T'Challa and Rhodey hot on their heels.

"FRIDAY, fire up the jet!" Tony commanded as the exit came into view. "And get some countermeasures ready, we're taking shots!"

"Ready, boss," FRIDAY replied. "I would suggest that you hurry though. There are more police arriving."

"Copy that!" Tony grunted, pushing open the door and shoving Barnes ahead of him, trying to keep his head covered with his gauntlet as they raced towards the jet. Behind him he could hear Rhodey's repulsors firing, interspersed with the rippling sound of machine gun bullets.

"C'mon!" Tony yelled as he and Barnes clambered onto the jet. T'Challa was next, and Tony jumped as a bullet hit the prince's suit just as he jumped onboard, bouncing off as harmlessly as if it'd been hit by one of Peter's Lego pieces. Tony would definitely have to ask T'Challa some detailed questions about his cat suit when they had the chance.

"Get us outta here, FRIDAY!" Tony yelled, racing into the pilot's seat. He vaguely noticed T'Challa tinkering with what looked like a beaded bracelet around his wrist, but was too distracted by the continued gun blasts to ask him what he was doing. The jet lifted off as the ramp was still closing, with Tony breathing out a small sigh of relief as they finally gained enough altitude to get away.

"Let's not do that again anytime soon, yeah?" Rhodes said, plopping down into the co-pilot's seat. "I'm getting too old for this shit, Tony."

"I have a feeling the Raft's gonna be even worse, Rhodey," Tony said grimly. He set the course for the presumed location of the submersible prison, about fifty miles off the coast of New York.

"How're you planning on finding this place?" Rhodes asked a few minutes later. "You know it's undetectable by any known military or civilian aircraft."

"This isn't just any civilian aircraft," Tony muttered. "Pete, Bruce, and I worked on the navigation systems for all the jets a long time ago. We got a few tricks up our sleeve that should help us."

"Hmm," answered Rhodes. "Sure would be nice to have Bruce around right about now."

"Yeah, he and Thor both," lamented Tony. "But as top-of-the-line as our communications systems are, I still haven't figured out how to break the light-year barrier, so no way to get ahold of them unless they contact us first. And from what Bruce said the last time we spoke, that's not likely. I don't even think they're on Asgard right now."

"Bummer," said Rhodes. "I've always wanted to visit Asgard."

"So has Pete," Tony replied. "I thought I could take him there when he turned sixteen or something, if Thor allowed it. I think he'd like that."

"Geez. Yeah, I'd think so. Guess he's outgrown Disneyland, then?"

"No," Tony said, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles. "He still loves Disneyland. But I think he'd like Asgard too." Tony's eyes grew misty, and he squeezed them closed, tightening his grip on the controls. "We gotta get him back first though, Rhodey. I gotta get my boy back. There's no telling what Ross'll do to him, and—"

"Let's not think like that, Tony," Rhodes said gently. "Don't forget, Peter's pretty damn strong on his own now. He's gonna be okay."

Tony pursed his lips, trying to keep them from shaking. "I hope so, Rhodey. I hope so."

Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Please, let Pete be okay. Let them all be okay.

"How many times to I have to tell you, Mr. Stark?" Window Man taunted. "You are going to have to demonstrate a punch before we'll let you out of here."

"No!" Peter cried through his panting breaths, clutching his throbbing right shoulder with a bruised hand. He was so exhausted he was surprised he could still stand, but the soldiers hadn't let up at all. They'd been relentless in their attacks, only pausing for a moment to tag-team out of the room after Peter managed to dislocate the shoulder of one of them again. "I won't do it!"

Window Man shook his head. "Punch him," he ordered the soldier facing Peter. Peter immediately blocked the woman's fist, twisting it behind her back barely in time to block the fist of the second soldier coming from Peter's other side. With both of his hands temporarily occupied, the woman quickly turned and reared back her free hand, hitting Peter square in the nose.

"Aahh!" Peter cried, releasing his grips on the soldiers' arms and stumbling backwards, cradling his broken, bleeding nose in his cupped hands. The intense, searing pain caused his swollen and bruised eyes to water, which only made his senses, already overwhelmed with fear and fatigue, even more activated. His eyesight became even more jumbled, with the grey walls of the room warping into something resembling a honeycomb, and the faces of the soldiers blurred, so much so that Peter barely even detected the second fist before it managed to hit the left side of his face, knocking him down to the floor.

"Fight back!" Window Man shouted. "Fight back! Show me what you've got! Punch them!"

"No!" screamed Peter, hot, salty tears streaming from his eyes, his nose throbbing with the racing beats of his heart, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue tying his stomach into knots. He propped himself up on one elbow, spitting out blood as he gasped for breath. "I won't do it!"

"Again!" Window Man called, and again the woman soldier pulled back her fist, hitting Peter under his chin and flinging him backwards.

"They're going to keep hitting you until you either fight back or concede," Window Man stated. "And if you concede, I'll have no choice but to begin on one of the non-Enhanced people. What do you think, Mr. Stark? Should I begin with Mr. Wilson, Mr. Lang, Ms. Romanoff, or Mr. Barton?"

"No! Please, don't hurt them!" sobbed Peter, bracing himself up on his shaky arms, still spitting out blood. "Why do you want to hurt everyone?"

"As I have stated multiple times, Mr. Stark. All humans with innate enhanced abilities must submit to a power analysis. So if you are unable to submit to a power analysis to my satisfaction, I'm afraid I must begin on the non-Enhanced."

Peter shook his head, blood droplets from his broken nose flinging off to the side as his arms began to buckle from trying to hold himself up. These soldiers working for Window Man were obviously enhanced themselves somehow, and Peter knew if they could do this much damage to Steve and himself, then they'd likely seriously injure or even kill one of Peter's non-Enhanced family members. Sam, Natasha, Mr. Barton, and Scott, they were only enhanced with their special equipment, otherwise they were just regular people. Highly trained and still-dangerous people, but regular people nonetheless. There was no way they'd survive being tested like this.

"No," Peter croaked. "Please, don't hurt them. They're my family. They're all my family. I don't—, I don't wanna see them get hurt."

"Well, isn't that noble of you," sneered Window Man. "If you don't want the see your… family get hurt, then you know what has to be done. Now, get your ass up off the floor, and throw a goddamn punch!"

With a final, heaving breath, Peter pushed himself up to a standing position, gingerly wiping the blood away from his upper lip. His honeycomb vision was still there, but he could sense the movements of the two soldiers as they inched closer, waiting to pounce. Peter braced himself, bending his knees slightly and raising his arms, his hands curling into loose fists.

"Now!" yelled Window Man, just as the hair on the back of Peter's neck stood on end. He reared to his right side just in time to block the woman's fist as she aimed for his head, shoving her backwards as the man came forward, pulling back his arm, preparing to strike. Peter swung his fist, aiming directly for the man's face.

The sickening, nauseating sound of the man's nose and cheekbone breaking was something that Peter knew he would never forget. As if in slow motion, Peter watched in horror as the man's feet flew out from underneath him and he fell, slamming the back of his head against the hard, metal floor. Peter immediately stumbled backwards, shaking his head in horror at the unconscious, beaten man in front of him.

"No!" he rasped, blinking his swollen eyes, the air in his lungs turning to ice crystals as he stared down at his offending fist, shaking it out. Oh God, did I kill him?

"Very good, Mr. Stark!" Window Man exclaimed. "Now that's more like it! Again!"

Again? "No!" Peter called, choking on blood still pooling in his mouth, watching the fallen soldier for any signs of life. "No, I won't do it again!"

The soldier on the floor groaned then, and Peter nearly collapsed onto the floor in relief. He hadn't killed that soldier, but that was likely only because he was Enhanced too. If the soldier had been just a regular man, Peter's punch could've killed him.

"Again!" called Window Man. "Again, Mr. Stark!"

"No!" yelled Peter, wincing at the pain shooting throughout his face from his broken nose. Glancing frantically around the room, he searched for something, anything he could do to escape. But the only things he could see were the walls and the window; there was nothing else in the room.

The wall, Peter thought all of a sudden. I can climb up the wall.

Peter wasn't quite sure what made him think that he could try and climb up a wall, but then again, he didn't even have to think about trying it. It was almost as if he just knew he could do it. Glancing over his shoulder at the woman soldier, who was hanging back, apparently waiting for orders, Peter took off for the nearest wall—to the right of the high rectangular window—and began to climb. His fingers and toes adhered to the flat, smooth metal surface just as easily as if he were crawling along the floor, and he continued on until he reached the ceiling, easily thirty feet up from the floor.

"No," he said again, turning carefully to face the window. "I won't do it."

Window Man pursed his thick lips, his expression a strange combination of confusion and amusement. "Very well, Mr. Stark. Then we'll just wait. I can be a very patient man when I'm required to be, and I highly doubt you'll be able to maintain that position for too long given your current condition. So, once you're ready to come down, we'll continue. Until then, consider this a recess. And it's gonna be the only one you'll get, so you better enjoy it."

With that, Window Man pushed himself away from his table and stood up, flexing his arms. As he turned, presumably to walk away, the light behind him suddenly illuminated his face, giving Peter a clear view of him for the first time. Peter gasped in shock as he recognized who it was, none other than the Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross.

"We're about five klicks out, boss," FRIDAY said. "I'm sending the jamming signal now."

"Copy that, FRI," Tony murmured, his heart already starting to thud against his ribcage, hoping the jamming signal would be strong enough for what they needed to accomplish. In order for the Quinjet to land on the Raft, they first had to signal the prison to emerge from the water and open the landing platform, located at the top of the circular building. But in order to do that without sending an alarm blaring throughout the entire place, alerting every single guard and soldier stationed there to the jet's presence, they'd have to somehow signal the prison to emerge from the water, while at the same time make it appear to everyone actually there that the prison was still submerged.

"Is it working?" Rhodey asked a moment later, squinting as he peered through the cockpit windows at the rough, bluish-grey ocean. "I can't see anything out there except water, Tony."

Just then a blinking green light appeared on the screen above the throttle, indicating that the Raft was emerging and the landing platform was opening. "Looks like it," Tony said grimly. "But now comes the hard part. You got that sonic pulse ready?"

"Yeah."

"We're gonna need it," said Tony, touching the jet down on the Raft's landing platform. "There's no telling how many people Ross's got with him, but I'm betting it's gonna be more than a handful."

"I am ready," T'Challa said, startling Tony as he came up behind him.

"As am I," said Vision.

"All right," Tony said firmly as his helmet closed over his face. "Then let's go. Rhodey?"

Raising his arm that carried the sonic pulse, Rhodey nodded. "Ready."

"That will not knock them out," said T'Challa, just as Tony was ready to lower the ramp. "The sonic pulse will only stun them."

"Well, yeah, that's the point," said Tony impatiently. "But at least it stuns them enough to not fight back too much while we take care of 'em."

T'Challa tilted his head, and Tony's upper lip curled picturing the smirk on his face, hiding beneath his black helmet. "Is your goal to not cause permanent injury to these men?"

"Yeah, that's the theory," Tony answered. "We're not killers, we just wanna keep them out of our way."

"If that is the case, then I have something that will knock them out completely and silently," T'Challa said. He raised his arm, fingering the thick beaded bracelet around his wrist. "It is one of my sister's designs."

"Sister, huh?" Tony muttered. "So what do they call you down there in Wakanda? I hope it's something better than Cat Man."

"I am the Black Panther," answered T'Challa. "The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle passed from warrior to warrior. The mantle was passed down to me by my father when he felt he could no longer carry it. As he is now dead, I also wear the mantle of king."

"Yeah," Tony said slowly. "Black Panther definitely sounds better than Cat Man. Okay then, let's try your stuff out."

"There is no need to try, Mr. Stark," T'Challa said firmly. "My sister does not make mistakes; I already know it will work. You may open the ramp."

Rolling his eyes, Tony pressed the button for the ramp, stepping back to allow T'Challa to take the lead. Before the ramp was even halfway down, T'Challa pressed his clawed fingers against one of the beads, and Tony watched in amazement as the five men standing in and around the surveillance room all dropped to the floor, unconscious.

"Wow!" Tony said, unable to hide his amazement. "That was… cool!"

"As I stated, Mr. Stark," T'Challa said, rather arrogantly. "My sister does not make mistakes."

Stepping over the prone body of one of the guards, Tony's helmet folded back as he hurried into the surveillance room, scanning the monitors for signs of Peter and the rest of the team. His heart skipped a beat as he found Steve, sitting against the grey wall of a trapezoid-shaped cell, his eyes closed and his head tipped back, looking almost as beat up as he had after the Battle of the Triskelion. Pietro Maximoff also appeared to be pretty out of it, leaning against the wall of his cell with a dazed look on his face, his legs bound in two places. Tony’s breaths started to shallow as he scanned the rest of the monitors, locating Natasha, Sam, Wanda, Clint, and some other guy Tony didn't recognize, but no sign of Peter.

"Where's Pete," Tony croaked. "Rhodey, I don't—, I don't see him, he's not on any of these screens. Rhodey, where is he?"

"This isn't the entire prison, Tony," Rhodes said, laying a hand on Tony's shoulder. He leaned forward, pushing a button on the panel under the monitors. The images on the screens shifted, now showing a larger room from several different angles along with one smaller room, in which stood Secretary Ross and what appeared to be four soldiers, all wearing murderous expressions.

"Oh God," Tony gasped as his eyes finally landed on Peter, curled into a tight ball in one of the corners of the bigger room. Tony gripped the edge of the counter as a wave of dizziness washed over him, the sight of his son beaten and bloodied all too similar to that horrible vision he'd had back in the Sokovian HYDRA bunker. Peter's head was tipped back, his chest heaving with the effort it took to breathe, and his face and hands were covered in blood with his eyes nearly swollen shut. "Rhodey, what has that fucker done to my boy?"

"I don't know, Tony," Rhodes said in a low voice. "But he's alive. They're all alive. Let's try and focus on that."

"It also appears that Peter is on the ceiling, Mr. Stark," said Vision, tilting his head as he peered at the monitor. "Where he is sitting is at the very top of the room."

"The hell?" muttered Tony, forcing himself to look more closely at Peter, his eyes widening as he realized that Vision was right. Peter was in fact sitting on the ceiling, as easily as if he were sitting on the floor. "How?"

"He was bit by a spider, Tony," Rhodes said. "It makes sense if you think about it. Spiders like high corners."

"Yeah, whatever," Tony grumbled, in no mood for a lesson on the usual behaviors of arachnids. "We gotta get moving, we've no idea how long those guards are gonna stay knocked out. Any clue on who those goons are next to Ross?"

"I know them," Barnes suddenly piped up from behind Rhodes. He stepped closer, pointing to the monitor with his metal hand. "I know who they are."

"You do?" Tony sputtered in surprise. "How?"

Barnes inhaled a shaky breath, his lips twitching as he glared at the screen in front of him. "Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

The ominous tone of his voice made Tony's blood run cold, and he turned to Barnes with a pained look. "I've been told that might've been the case. You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes," answered Barnes. "I know all those people, they were all kept in Siberia with me after I—. I even helped train them."

"Who are they?" asked Rhodes.

"HYDRA's most elite death squad, credited with more kills than anyone in HYDRA history, and that was before the serum that I—". His voice broke off as he shot Tony a horrible, guilty look. "The serum that your father invented. That I took from him."

Tony's jaw clenched in anger, his hand gripping the counter so tightly it started to crumble beneath his armored grasp. "Howard never told me he invented a super-soldier serum."

"It was a secret," said Barnes. "Known only to SHIELD."

"And HYDRA, apparently," whispered Tony.

"Yeah," Barnes said, dropping his chin to his chest. "And HYDRA."

"Okay, so can we take these guys?" Rhodes asked. "How tough are they?"

"They're worse than me," Barnes answered. "We'd need some help."

"Well, we've got a whole room of Avengers just sitting on their asses," Tony barked. "Let's find their gear and get 'em out, then grab Pete and get the hell outta here."

"I agree," said T'Challa. He pressed a button on the panel, pointing to what appeared to be an anteroom off of the main circle of cells. "It seems their equipment is being held in this room."

"Okay, so we hit that first," Tony said as his helmet closed over his head. "Let's go!"

Even though every step of Tony and Rhodey's armored feet clanked way too loudly against the metal floor, no one came out to investigate as they made their way to the anteroom, much to Tony's relief. His mind still swirling from seeing Peter beaten to a pulp and the news that his own father had invented a super-soldier serum that had led to his murder, Tony was not exactly in the right mind for a battle, even as he knew he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

"Got anything on that fancy bracelet of yours that'll unlock these cells?" Tony asked T'Challa once they'd collected the team's gear.

"Hmm, yes," T'Challa answered, twirling the beads around his wrist until he found the one he was looking for. "I do believe this will work."

Walking into the circle, T'Challa pressed the bead, and Tony had to restrain himself from letting out a whooping noise as all the cells immediately unlocked. Tony rushed into Steve's cell, dropping to his knees and gripping Steve's shoulders.

"Cap. Steve, you okay?"

Steve's blue eyes blinked open, his pale face even paler than usual as he stared at Tony, as if he was trying to place him. "Tony?" he murmured, incredulous. "What the—?"

"We're here to get you guys out, Cap," Tony said in a hushed voice. "Can you stand? We gotta get to Pete, they're holding him in a different room."

"Oh God, Tony!" Steve cried as his eyes fell on the shield in Tony's hand. "Peter! If they've taken him, if they've—"

"This wasn't your fault, Steve," Tony interrupted, the words tearing through the lump in his throat the size of a marble. "It wasn't, I know that. But we need your help to get Pete away from Ross." Tony dropped the shield, shimming his hands underneath Steve's armpits and hauling him to his feet. "Now, can you help?"

The rest of the team had already assembled behind Tony and Steve, still donning their various weapons and gear. Pietro Maximoff was still a bit unsteady on his feet, but the look on his face was pure determination mixed with anger. Tony watched as Steve's gaze swept across the team—their family—plus T'Challa and whoever that dude was that was dressed like he was going trick-or-treating, and returned to lock with Tony's.

"You got Bucky?" Steve asked, his voice thick, tears welling in his bruised and swollen eyes. "You went and got Bucky?"

"Yeah," said Tony, his shoulders sagging. "Look, it wasn't only for you, Cap. I knew we'd need the help getting in here, and he seemed like a logical choice, so—"

"Thank you, Tony," Steve whispered. He reached an arm out to Barnes, pulling the grizzled soldier into a brief hug that Barnes tentatively returned. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, you can thank me more once we get Pete outta here," Tony said impatiently. "Can you help?"

"Yeah," Steve said with a determined nod, his voice raspy but strong as he picked up his shield. "I can."

"All right," said Rhodes, stepping to the side. "It's this way."

As quietly as possible, the group made their way towards the large, square room, with Tony and Rhodes leading the way. They'd just stepped inside when there was a sudden flash of light, so bright it was nearly blinding. Tony grunted, shaking his head to try and clear it when he heard Peter's panicked voice.

"Daddy!" Peter shrieked. "Look out! Behind you!"

Spinning around, Tony's heart leapt as the four soldiers they'd seen on the monitors with Ross filed into the room behind them, rifles raised and pointed at the team, the doors behind them sliding shut with a horrible scraping noise.

"Well, well, well," the booming voice of Thaddeus Ross suddenly sounded from the room's speakers, so loudly that Tony shuddered. "I do have to say, this is quite the unexpected surprise. Not that you're here, Stark, you and the rest of your… team. I knew it wouldn't be too long before you'd stick your nose into things, you're such an expert at it. But the fact that you brought along a visitor, someone I feared I was going to have to do without, now that's something I did not expect."

"I don't know what the hell you think you're talking about!" Tony shouted over the pounding of his heart.

"Daddy!" Peter whimpered, still clinging to the ceiling thirty feet above. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Peter, stop!" Tony commanded. "None of this is your fault, buddy. Absolutely none of it, so get that outta your head right now. This is all the doings of a power-hungry lunatic and nothing more." He turned towards the window. "Isn't that right, Secretary Ross? Did you actually think that going after my son, a minor, was really the right way to do all this? Rounding up certain people just because they're a bit different from the rest of us? How can you not see how wrong this is?"

"No, Stark!" yelled Ross. "It's you who's got it all wrong!" He paused for a moment, and Tony heard the sound of papers shuffling.

"What the hell's going on here?" came the disgusted voice of Sam Wilson. "Did these assholes really beat up Peter?"

"Tony?" asked Natasha, eyeing the four Winter Soldiers warily. "What's going on?"

"Longing!" called Ross, speaking Russian, something that Tony had never heard him speak before. He'd always said he detested the language. What the hell?

"What—?"

"Rusted!"

"No," Barnes whispered from somewhere behind Tony. Tony turned his head to look at him, alarmed at the pained look etching across the assassin's face.

"Seventeen!"

"Bucky?" Steve asked, gripping Barnes' regular arm. "Bucky, what's wrong?"

"Daybreak! Furnace!"

"No!" yelled Barnes. "No, please! Stop!"

"Daddy, what's going on?" cried Peter from the ceiling. "What does that mean? What is happening?"

"Don't you move, Pete," Tony commanded, holding up his hand. "You stay right there until I say to come down!"

"Nine!"

"Oh shit," muttered Barton from somewhere off to the side. "Ah, guys? This doesn't seem like a good thing!"

"Benign! Homecoming!"

"Stop!" screamed Barnes, trying to wrench his arm from Steve's grasp. "Please, stop!"

"One!" Ross yelled triumphantly. "Freight car!"

There were a few seconds of silence, such that Tony could almost hear the blood moving past his ears and the held breaths of the team surrounding him, all frozen in place. Slowly, Tony turned to face Barnes, his belly swooping at what he saw. Barnes' head dropped, his body curving slightly as if he were a predator, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey.

"Soldier?" Ross said, still speaking in Russian.

"Bucky?" Steve whispered, still holding Barnes' arm. With one swift movement, Barnes ripped it away from Steve's grip, so violently that Steve stumbled forward, nearly falling to his knees. Barnes turned around, walking in perfectly even, automatic steps to join the four other Winter Soldiers, blocking the only exit from the room, a smile so vile it could curdle blood stretching across his stubbled face.

"Ready to comply."

Chapter Text

Silence followed Barnes' declaration, stretching out for so many heartbeats that Tony found it almost deafening. All around him he could sense the stunned faces of the rest of the team, their expressions of shock and disbelief mirroring his own. Tony had brought Barnes here to help him, risked his life and Rhodey's life, even T'Challa's life to break him out of the Minsk prison so he could help them rescue the team, rescue Peter, and apparently by doing so he'd only managed to make things that much worse.

"What's wrong, Stark?" taunted Ross from his window, his slimy voice echoing throughout the metal box trap of a room. "Nothing to say? No quippy comeback, no joke, no smart remark? No trying to explain your way out of this? I have to say, I'm disappointed. I thought you always had something to say. You've always had to have the last word in every other conversation we've ever had, so what the hell is wrong with you now?"

Tony looked up at the corner at Peter, the HUD in his helmet cataloging every single one of Peter's injuries and listing them out in bullet points in front of his eyes. Broken nose in two places, fractures of his left cheekbone and jaw, multiple bruises and deep cuts covering his face and neck, bruised ribs, bruised knuckles. The fractures had already begun to heal, and likely the bruises as well, but Tony knew Peter was still in almost unimaginable pain, compounded even more by fear.

I'm gonna kill that fucker for hurting my boy!

"There are no words," Tony said carefully, trying so hard to keep from hyperventilating. He'd been right on the verge of a panic attack ever since Rhodey had burst into the D.C. apartment with the news about Peter and the team, but succumbing now would only play right into Ross's hands, which was something that Tony absolutely could not allow.

"There are no words," Tony repeated, stronger and louder this time. "No words, not in any single fucking language on Earth or any other language out there in the universe that can describe how utterly vile and despicable you are, Ross. Absolutely none. To take a child—, to take anyone, against their will and force them to fight for your own amusement, just because you think you have the right, it's just… unacceptable."

Ross let out a laugh, so evil and maniacal that it made Tony's blood curdle. "Unacceptable to you, is it, Stark? What about everybody else? What about all the death and destruction that you and the rest of your team have left in your wake over the years, with all of your… Avenging? There are dead people who would be alive today if not for you. The sheer number of innocent bystander casualties you people have caused is staggering, and that is something that this world can no longer afford. You all need to be put in check."

"Don't listen to him, Tony," Rhodes whispered. "He's just talking nonsense, trying to get under your skin and stall at the same time. Don't listen to him!"

"But… dammit, Rhodey, he's right," Tony croaked, so softly he wasn't sure if Rhodey could even hear him. Ever since Tony had announced to the world that he was Iron Man all those years ago, the number of events that one could consider out-of-this-world had risen dramatically. The fights with Iron Monger and Whiplash, both leaving long trails of destruction in their paths. The Stark Expo and Justin Hammer's drones that caused the deaths of Ben and May Parker, among others. Loki and the Chitauri in the Battle of New York, leaving such a huge mess behind that it took years to clean up. The Mandarin, who almost caused the death of Pepper. Project Insight, the HYDRA program designed to take not only Tony himself out, but Bruce and Peter as well, along with countless others.

Even the Winter Soldiers surrounding his team, ready to strike, were only there because Tony's own father had succumbed to the obsession of creating another super soldier serum. The serum which not only led to Howard's death, but the death of his wife as well, Tony's mother.

Apparently he and Peter both had that in common; fathers who were so obsessed with what they could create, that they never stopped to think about all the things they might destroy with their creations until it was too late.

The Avengers had been formed to make the world a safer place. But had they indeed done that? Or had their very existence only invited more catastrophe?

"Tony," Rhodes warned. "Don't let him get to you. He only thinks he's right because he's not the one out there, fighting these fights. Anyone can second-guess things after the fact. Anyone can be a goddamn armchair quarterback, but only people with the real know-how can actually win the game. Look at what Ross did to Peter, Tony! He is wrong; you can't let him get to you!"

Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, Tony glanced back up at Peter, suppressing a shudder as his HUD once again zoomed in on Peter's bruised and bloody face. From the looks of him, Ross's men had been at him for hours, trying to break him, to mold him into whatever it was that Ross's sick mind desired. But even after all of that, the expression on Peter's battered face was not one of defeat. There was fear, so much fear in his beautiful brown eyes that Tony nearly choked, tears instantly welling in his own eyes and spilling down his cheeks. No child should ever have had to go through what Peter had gone through in his lifetime, that much was a given. But instead of all of his traumas and hardships turning him into a bitter, dysfunctional teenage boy, Peter had somehow managed to remain the brave, kind, loving, mainly happy boy that Tony had known since he was seven years old. And while Tony knew he couldn't take credit for most of that, he had at least been able to ensure that Peter had been surrounded by people who loved him, ever since Tony had taken him in.

No. The look in Peter's eyes was not one of defeat.

It was determination, and pride, and bravery, and so much love that Tony thought his heart was going to burst. Because the whole time Peter was being held captive in this submersible cookie tin of a prison, the whole time he was fighting against these monster super soldiers, Peter knew without a doubt how much Tony loved him, and how Tony would move hell or high water to get him and the rest of the team back. Peter knew that his heroes—all the people who loved him—would rescue him, just like they always had.

Someone that noble, and pure, and good, deserved better than to be used as a piece in someone's elaborate game. They all deserved better. Every last one of them.

And maybe even Tony did too, if from nothing more than sheer association.

Slowly, carefully, Tony nodded once up at Peter, knowing Peter would see it with his enhanced vision. He then turned his head, locking eyes with Sam Wilson standing behind Rhodey. With a brief flick of Sam's eyes towards the dude wearing the astronaut costume, Sam squared his shoulders, which Tony quickly recognized as the stance Sam used when he was about to take off.

The team was preparing to fight.

And so was Tony.

With a strange rippling noise, the guy standing next to Sam suddenly shrunk down and disappeared. A split second later Sam's wings flew out from his pack, smacking one of the Winter Soldiers square in the chest and sending him flying backwards just as the soldier opposite him flipped away, landing hard on his upper back.

"Vision!" Tony shouted, repulsing a third Winter Soldier in the arm as he attempted to raise his rifle. "Get to Peter!"

Vision immediately took off towards Peter, the tinkling sound of bullets bouncing off of his vibranium body making Tony's heart stutter. Satisfied that Peter was at least safe for the moment, Tony turned around to see Steve, fighting hand to hand against Bucky Barnes.

"Bucky!" Steve cried, and Tony winced at the pain lacing through Steve's voice as he ducked out of the reach of Barnes' metal arm. Steve had been barely conscious when Tony first entered his cell, and Tony knew he was nowhere close to his full fighting strength even with his enhanced healing. "Bucky, this isn't you!"

"Take out the weak ones first!" Ross shouted through the speakers. "Shoot them!"

"Watch out for friendly fire!" shouted Rhodes, repulsing a Winter Soldier into the wall. "We're stuck in a box here!"

"T'Challa, get that door open!" Tony called, aiming his repulsor at Barnes just as Sam flew down from one of the upper corners, planting both feet into Barnes' chest and knocking him out of the way. "Be careful, people! We're on a submersible, so we can't do anything that'll compromise the hull integrity or we'll all be swimming faster than you can blink!"

"The door is open!" T'Challa shouted back over the noise, immediately bounding towards the open doorway, trying to draw some of the soldiers out of the grey metal box they were fighting in and into the cell circle, where there was some breathing room. The prince had only taken one or two steps when the sound of a rifle shot rang through the air, followed by a piercing scream from Pietro Maximoff as he crashed headlong into the hard metal wall.

"Ro!" screamed Barton, dropping the arrow from his hand and rushing over to his surrogate son who was writhing in pain, cradling his shattered right knee with bloodied hands. Wanda, who'd levitated up to the window, perhaps searching for Ross himself, immediately dropped down to aid her brother, turning around and shielding he and Barton as her eyes blazed red in anger.

"Not in here, Wanda!" Barton shouted. "It's too close quarters, you'll blow the roof off the place and sink us!"

"Barton is right, let's not do that. At least while we're still on it," Tony said over his shoulder, keeping one eye on Steve still trading jabs with Barnes. "Get the kid to the jet, you can protect him better there."

"Copy that!" Barton grunted as he hauled Pietro up, wrapping Pietro's arm around his shoulders, ducking down behind Wanda to try and shuffle out of the room. Another shot rang out, bouncing off of Steve's shield as he exited through the door, chasing after Barnes with Sam directly behind him. Tony activated his repulsors, intending to fly up and collect Peter just as one of the soldiers grabbed his left ankle, slamming his bare fist into Tony's boot and shattering the repulsor.

"FRIDAY?" grunted Tony, managing to regain control seconds before he would've slammed sideways into the wall.

"Your left bootjet's failing, boss," FRIDAY responded. "Flight systems are compromised."

"I've flown with only one boot before," Tony muttered, altering the pressure on his palm flight stabilizers so he could repulse the soldier away and get up to the ceiling to Peter. Nodding at Vision, Tony gathered Peter into his arms, holding him as closely as his armored body allowed. "I gotcha, buddy," he said quietly. "It's gonna be okay now."

"Dad, I can help," Peter said, his voice muffled from his broken nose. "Please, let me try?"

"Not this time, Pete," answered Tony, landing on the floor with a loud clank. Everyone else had taken the fight out into the circle, and Tony could hear the sounds of shattering glass from the cells as the clash continued. "You're already beat up enough as it is, I'm not letting you get beat up any more."

"But, Dad," Peter protested. "I'm strong, and I can't get hurt as easily as some of the others. Please, let me help!"

"I said no, Pete," Tony said firmly, holding his hand up to shield Peter's face. He ducked down, guiding Peter towards the hallway that led to the jet. "You've done enough, the adults can handle the rest."

"But—!"

"Peter, don't argue with me!" snapped Tony. "Not about this!"

Rounding a corner, Tony pursed his lips as the jet came into view. "FRIDAY, prepare countermeasures as soon as Pete's on board. Those guards we took out in the beginning have woken up, and there's no telling—"

But Tony was cut off as a rocket-like force slammed into his back between his shoulder blades, knocking both himself and Peter forward. Skidding to a stop about three feet away from the front wheel of the jet, Tony quickly got to his knees, turning just in time to see the metal hand of Bucky Barnes wrap around his left wrist, crushing his gauntlet into his skin until Tony heard the telltale snap of his arm breaking.

"Gah!" Tony cried, trying desperately to twist his now-useless arm from the super soldier's grasp just as Steve's shield came zooming into the room, aiming for Barnes' metal arm. Tony could tell Steve's throw didn't have its usual velocity behind it as Barnes deflected the shield, setting it up in the air as easily if it'd been a frisbee and catching it before bringing it right down onto Tony's forehead, breaking his helmet into four pieces.

"Daddy!" Peter screamed, rushing out of the jet and sliding to the floor next to Tony. "No, don't hurt him!"

"Peter!" Tony croaked, pushing himself up with one hand, trying to get his knees up to knock Barnes loose as he raised the shield again, preparing to bring it down right on Tony's head. "Pete, get back on the jet!"

"Belay that order, Mr. Stark!" called Thaddeus Ross, emerging from the other side of the jet flanked by two of his soldiers just as Steve grabbed Barnes by the scruff of his neck, picking him up and slamming his forehead down hard against the floor, knocking him out. Steve collapsed next to Barnes, his blue eyes locking with Tony's for only a second before another soldier appeared, yanking them both up to their feet. Tony stumbled forward, his right hand clutching his broken left arm, his heart swooping as his eyes landed on Ross's arm wrapped around Peter's neck, his other hand holding a pistol, the end of which was pointed directly at the side of Peter's head.

"Don't!" Tony gasped, his eyes blurry with tears from pain and panic, his entire body trembling such that he could hear the tremors from his armored feet against the floor. "Good God, please don't!"

"Call off your team, Stark, and I'll consider it," Ross sneered, practically spitting the words from his vile mouth. He pushed the pistol even further into Peter's already bruised temple, nearly causing Tony to keel over as Peter whimpered in pain.

"It's gonna be okay, Pete," Tony said, locking eyes with his son, hoping his voice belied the intensity of his fear. "It's gonna be okay, I'll make sure of it."

"Now, Stark!" yelled Ross. "Call off your team now!"

"All right, all right!" yelped Tony, holding up his only good hand, not taking his eyes off of Peter's battered face, his skin almost pure white beneath the multitude of purple and blue bruises. "Cap? Can you—, can ya assemble the team?"

Steve—who looked like he could barely stay upright—covered his ear, speaking carefully into his earpiece, his eyes firmly trained on Peter as well. "Sam, I need all you guys in the hangar right away."

"Copy that, Cap," replied Sam as he hurried around the corner followed by Rhodey, Vision, Natasha, and the other dude, all of them coming to an abrupt halt as they took in the scene unfolding in front of the jet.

"And the ones on the jet!" called Ross, looking over Tony's shoulder. "Now, Barton! Get your goddamn asses out here!"

"Holy shit," Tony heard Barton breathe as he stepped out of the jet, Wanda landing down next to him. Barton immediately grabbed Wanda around her waist, moving her slightly behind him.

"Okay, we're all here," Tony said, biting his lip to keep it from shaking. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe, his heart was racing, and his fingers and toes were tingling, as if their blood flow had been cut off. "You can put down the gun now."

"Yes, you're all here!" Ross bellowed, not moving the pistol even a millimeter. "You're all here, and that is exactly where you're all going to stay!" He raised his head, looking up at the ceiling of the submersible fortress. "This is your home now, Stark. No more luxury Manhattan skyscrapers, no more sprawling upstate warehouses with lap pools and screening rooms and training gyms the size of football fields. You and all the rest of your… teammates, your family, as you so eloquently put it, the only way any of you will ever leave this place again is under my orders." He stepped forward, pulling Peter along with him. "And if you ever do leave, it'll be to do my bidding and my bidding only, because every single one of you belong to me now! I own all your asses, and the only orders given around here will be mine, starting right now!"

Drawing in perhaps the most painful breath he ever had, Tony tore his eyes away from his trembling and terrified son just long enough to glance to his left. Everyone was there: Sam, Natasha, Vision, Rhodey, and Steve, with Barton, Wanda, and the other dude off to the side. Even T'Challa was there, standing behind Rhodey.

"Please," Tony pleaded. "You've got us all here now, put the gun down. Don't—, please, don't hurt him. He's just a boy."

"Hmph," Ross grunted, his upper lip curling into that damn hateful sneer he often wore. "Just a boy, huh, Stark? No mere boy that I've ever seen before could knock the hell out of one of my soldiers, or climb up the goddamn wall and sit on the ceiling." He wiggled the pistol, digging it further into Peter's temple. "I think I'm going to have fun with this one, learning about all of his little tricks. Don't you think so, Stark?"

"You goddamn fucking piece of shit," muttered Tony. "You're insane."

"No more insane than you are, Stark," replied Ross. "Now, I am ordering all of you to strip down your gear and get back to your cells. Once you're all back where you belong, then I'll consider putting down the gun. We'll just have to see how it goes."

Tony's upper lip twitched, his lungs burning as if the very air he was trying to breathe in was on fire. Glancing to his left he saw Steve, slowly clenching his right hand into a shaky fist, Barnes still splayed out on the floor next to him. Steve glanced back, only for a split second before flicking his eyes in Peter's direction. Tony locked eyes with Peter, still panting and shaking with fear, and noticed that his stance had widened ever so slightly, with his feet forming a wide V-shape. Peter blinked his swollen eyes slowly once, his jaw clenching in determination.

Peter was ready to flip.

His heart stuttering, Tony desperately wanted to tell Peter no, to somehow signal to him that it wasn't worth the horrible risk, that not even he needed to be that brave. But Tony also couldn't see any other way out of their situation, and precious seconds were ticking away.

It was now or never.

With a single blink in reply, Tony signaled to Peter that he was ready, just as an anguished groan floated up from the floor next to Steve. Barnes was starting to wake up.

"Now!" called Tony, raising his right arm just as Peter's hand flew up, pulling the pistol away from his head and flipping backwards out of Ross's choke hold, landing directly into the arms of a swooping Sam Wilson.

"Go, tic tac!" shouted Sam, prompting the astronaut dude to shrink back down, tripping up an oncoming Winter Soldier as Tony aimed his repulsor and fired directly into Ross's chest, sending him flying through the windows into the surveillance room. With red-hot rage surging through his veins and completely ignoring his broken left arm, Tony raced after Ross, yanking him up and shoving him onto the control panel, his head slamming so hard against one of the monitors that the screen shattered.

"You depraved, malicious, pathetic excuse for a man!" screamed Tony, his armored hand wrapping around Ross's throat and squeezing. "I'm gonna kill you for what you did!"

"Dad, no!" Peter cried from behind him, still clinging to Sam, the muffled sounds of the battle in the hangar starting to wind down. "No, don't do it! Don't bring yourself down to his level!"

"Stay out of this, Pete!" Tony warned, tightening his grip, relishing the look of panic building in Ross's bulging eyes as he scrabbled helplessly, trying to loosen Tony's grip on his neck. "See how it feels, Ross? Now you're the one at my mercy!"

"Dad, please, don't!" Peter pleaded, tugging on Tony's elbow. "This won't change what happened!"

"Yeah, but it might make sure it'll never happen again!" Tony barked, not taking his eyes off of Ross, whose face was now the color of an overripe tomato. "And it can never happen again, you got that, Ross? Never again!"

"Daddy, please!" begged Peter, still pulling on Tony's elbow, just enough to wiggle it. "This isn't you; you aren't a killer!"

"Get him the hell outta here, Sam!" yelled Tony. "He's already seen enough!"

"Yeah," replied Sam with a heavy sigh, gently lifting Peter's hand from Tony's arm. "Let's… go wait by the jet, Peter."

Tony glanced behind him, watching as Sam wrapped his arm around Peter's shoulders, leading him out of the room, sniffing and shuddering. As soon as Peter was out of sight he clenched his jaw, turning back to Ross.

"You see that, you motherfucker?" he rasped, bringing his face so close to Ross's that their noses were practically touching. "Did you see how many people love that boy? Did you see it? He is so much better than you there's not a number that exists that's high enough to calculate it, and you were just gonna blow his head off? Not while I'm still breathing, Ross! You will never, ever get your filthy hands on my son again, or anyone else on our team, do you understand me? I'm gonna make sure of it!"

"You—, don't—, have—, the—, fucking—, balls—, Stark!" Ross wheezed through clenched teeth. "You never have. Not to do what needs to be done!"

"Oh, and you're one to talk!" snapped Tony. "'Cause apparently the only balls you have left are just enough for you to order your goddamn goons to beat the shit out of a kid!"

"Tony," Steve said, suddenly appearing at Tony's left, placing one bloodied hand on Tony's shoulder. "Tony, don't. It's all over now, we can make sure that Ross gets the justice he deserves. Killing him isn't the answer."

"Justice?" Tony said, incredulous. "Really? You seriously would trust the same government who gave him permission to do all of this, to give him justice? Am I hearing things, Cap?"

"Tony, we cannot be the judge, jury, and executioner," said Steve. "We just can't. If we start doing that, if we allow our emotions to get the better of us, then we're no better than the bad guys that we're trying to stop."

Tony squeezed his eyes closed, his entire body trembling as he tried to maintain his grip on Ross's throat. "You can't understand, Cap," he whispered. "He threatened—, he was gonna kill my son! I can't—, I can't allow it, I can't let him get away with it!"

"But killing him won't change that," Steve said, gently but firmly. "And Peter's gonna be all right. He will, Tony, you know he will. But right now he's out there, in pain and crying in Sam's arms, and he only wants his father. He needs you, Tony. We all do."

"You told me yourself that the Avengers are not killers," came the gravelly, accented voice of T'Challa as he slid into the room next to Steve, carrying his helmet under his arm. "Do not allow revenge to consume you, Stark, as I almost did. It will not bring you the peace that you seek."

Ross's eyes were starting to roll into the back of his head, his face a horrible shade of purplish-blue, his breaths coming in loud, shuddering gasps. Tony only had to squeeze his fingers together a bit more and it would be all over.

"C'mon, Tony," said Steve in his captain's voice. "The mission is over. It's time to stand down."

Shaking his head, Tony waited three more heartbeats before releasing Ross, who immediately crumpled to the floor, gasping and choking. Shoving him under the control panel with his foot, Tony turned, looking up at Steve.

"Okay, Cap," he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. "I'm down."

Steve nodded, clapping his battered hand on Tony's shoulder. "All right. Then let's get the hell out of here."

"I'm afraid that your jet was disabled during the battle," T'Challa said as they stepped out of the surveillance room. "And Mr. Barton mentioned something about removing the controls to the hover engines, to prevent it from being repaired before the authorities arrive."

"Okay, so… how're we gonna get out of here?" Tony asked, taking in the carnage around the damaged jet. The four Winter Soldiers were all knocked out, with Natasha and Barton busily binding their hands and feet with the same metal cuffs Tony had seen on the Maximoff boy. A fifth Winter Soldier was being dragged in by Vision and the guy Sam had called "tic tac", the man's bruised nose so crooked he looked like he'd been punched by someone wearing a boxing glove made of iron. Bucky Barnes was sitting on the floor near the ramp to the jet, looking like he'd just gotten his clock cleaned, and Peter was a few feet away, still sniffing into Sam's shoulder.

T'Challa held up his hand, pointing to the beads encircling his wrist. "I have already called for my own aircraft, it should be here within the hour."

"It can get here from Minsk in an hour?" Tony asked. "That's pretty damn amazing! What kind of propulsion system does it have?"

Smirking, T'Challa shook his head, raising his hand. "Now is not the time to be discussing such things. You are injured, as is your son and several of your team members. I believe medical attention should be the first priority."

"Yeah, that's true," whispered Tony as he came up to Sam and Peter. Sam nodded, patting Peter on the back.

"Your dad's here, Peter," he said quietly.

Slowly, Peter raised his head, his shoulders still shaking as he turned to look at Tony. "Did you do it?" he asked in a squeaky voice.

Tony knelt down, raising his right hand, entwining his armored fingers gently into Peter's matted hair. "No, Pete. I didn't."

"Good," Peter said. He wound his arms around Tony's neck, laying his head just above Tony's arc reactor. "I knew you were better than him. I knew it."

"Oh God, Peter," gasped Tony, burying his nose into Peter's neck. He smelled strongly of blood and sweat, nothing like his usual green apple scent, but Tony didn't care. He was alive. "I don't know about that. But I do know that you're better, and that's all that matters."

It was quiet for a few minutes, and Peter had nearly fallen asleep against Tony's chest when they were both startled by a sudden loud clanking noise. Peter yelped, tightening his grip on Tony's neck as the walls of the Raft started to vibrate.

"It's okay, Pete," Tony murmured. "It just means we're coming up out of the water. I think T'Challa's plane is coming in."

"Is he the panther guy?" asked Peter. "His suit is cool."

"Yep, that's him," replied Tony, suppressing a smile. "And you're right, his suit is pretty cool."

They both watched as the Raft completed its ascend to the surface and the upper doors opened, allowing the Wakandan aircraft to touch down next to the broken Quinjet. Tony couldn't help but admire the sleek, nearly circular design and hoped he'd get the chance to pick T'Challa's brain about it at some point, if in fact the prince ever chose to leave Wakanda again after everything that had happened.

"All right, buddy," Tony said, wrapping his good arm around Peter. "Let's get you onboard.

"Man, this thing is nice!" Barton exclaimed as he and Wanda dragged Pietro onto the aircraft, his shattered knee wrapped in a blood-stained bandage. "Don't you think so, Tony?"

"Damn right," replied Tony. Settling Peter down on one of the plush couches towards the back of the aircraft, across from Barton and the Maximoff twins, Tony stepped out of his armor, keeping his left gauntlet on to protect his broken arm. He sat down next to Peter, curling his arm around Peter's shoulders and breathing out a shaky sigh of relief. The rest of the team shuffled in, with Steve supporting Barnes and Sam talking to the tic tac dude. Rhodey, Vision, and Natasha brought up the rear, with Rhodey settling into the copilot's seat next to T'Challa as soon as he stepped out of his armor.

"Lucky bastard," Tony muttered under his breath, grimacing when he saw Peter's slight grin. He needed to start remembering just how well Peter could hear now.

"I'm sure James will tell you all about it once we get home, Dad," Peter murmured.

"Yeah," answered Tony. He pressed a kiss to Peter's head, careful to avoid the worst of the bruising. "Don't try and talk too much, Pete. Your jaw is broken."

"Uh huh," Peter replied sleepily, leaning his head against Tony's arm and closing his eyes. "Hurts, Dad."

"We're gonna get you fixed up in no time, buddy," Tony whispered. "Just try and rest now."

Somehow they both managed to doze off leaning on each other, waking only when the aircraft began its descent. Tony blinked as he looked out the windows, expecting to see the familiar skyline of New York City and instead seeing a cluster of smaller buildings in brilliant colors of blue, purple, and teal, surrounded by mountains topped with trees so green they looked like they'd been painted.

"Dad? Where are we?" asked Peter, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"I don't exactly know, buddy," Tony said, shifting to sit up. "Hey Rhodey, what's up?"

"I've brought you to my home, Stark," answered T'Challa, expertly touching the aircraft down on a circular landing pad. Killing the engines, he pushed back from his seat and walked to the back, holding a hand out to Tony to help him up. "Welcome to Wakanda."

"Whoa," breathed Tony, gently helping Peter to his feet. "Um… you didn't have to—"

"I assumed you would want to keep your son's new abilities as secret as possible," said T'Challa. "I assure you, your secrets will be safe with us here. Also, my sister's methods for healing are quite advanced, much more so than your traditional remedies."

"Yeah, okay," Tony said, still stunned by the bright scenery surrounding them and trying to ignore the fact that his broken arm was throbbing with every single beat of his heart. All the adrenaline from the fight had worn off, leaving him with nothing but pain, exhaustion, and his ever-present, underlying gnawing fear for Peter.

The ramp to the aircraft opened, and Tony watched as a group of bald women dressed in bright red, brown, and silver uniforms lined up on either side of the ramp, all carrying spears at least seven or eight feet long. Another woman—much younger than the warriors and with elaborately braided hair—was also there, both of her hands resting on what appeared to be some type of floating stretchers.

"Come, Stark," T'Challa said, holding out his hand towards Tony as Barton and Wanda helped Pietro down the ramp, laying him down on one of the stretchers. Speaking in a language Tony didn't understand, the girl with the braided hair spoke to one of the warriors, apparently asking her to take Pietro into the building and start working on him.

"Yeah," whispered Tony, his right hand resting on Peter's shoulder, guiding him to the second stretcher. "C'mon, buddy, let's get you situated."

"Dad!" Peter yelped as he sat down, holding out his hand towards Tony. His frightened brown eyes were as wide as they could be given the fact that they were still swollen. "Don't leave me!"

"The table will easily hold the weight of you both," said the girl, smiling softly. "Your father may sit with you."

"Cool," Tony said, grunting in pain as he sat down on the table, replacing his hand on Peter's shoulder as Peter leaned into him. The girl nodded as the table began to move towards the building a few yards away, with T'Challa hanging back to help coordinate the rest of the team. Tony could see Steve and Vision supporting Barnes, still so out of it that he was barely able to move, Sam with the tic tac dude—Tony really needed to learn his name—and Rhodey with Natasha.

"I am Shuri," the girl said, weaving the table around corners and down a hall to what appeared to be a very high-tech laboratory.

"Tony Stark," Tony replied, trying to keep himself from gaping as he glanced around the lab, filled with every kind of technological gadget imaginable, and some that weren't. "And my son, Peter."

"Hello," Peter said, his mouth curling into a lopsided smile.

"It is nice to meet you," Shuri said, smiling back at Peter. "We don't receive too many visitors here, especially during times of mourning."

As the table came to a stop next to a series of computer panels, Shuri proceeded to soak two large cloths in a pale bluish solution, wringing them out and applying one to the left side of Peter's face, gently guiding his hand to hold it in place. "This will help with the pain," she said, holding up the second cloth. "For your arm?"

"Oh yeah," Tony said. Carefully, he removed his gauntlet, setting it down on the tablet next to him as Shuri wrapped the cloth around his swollen forearm, the relief from the throbbing pain so immediate that he gasped. "Oh hell, that feels so much better!"

"Good," Shuri said. "Then it is working. Now I must go and check on your friend's knee. I will return shortly."

"Thank you," whispered Tony.

"Dad," Peter rasped as Shuri walked across the room over to Pietro's table. "She's really pretty, don't you think?"

"What? Oh sure, I guess," Tony said, his eyebrows shooting up as he glanced at Peter, barely suppressing a laugh at the ga-ga look in Peter's eyes. "Oh God, Pete, buddy, I'm not ready for that yet! Aren't you supposed to still think that girls have cooties or something?"

Peter chuckled, pressing the cloth harder against his sore jaw. "Nope."

"Well, I think you're looking at her through painkiller goggles right now anyway, kid," Tony said, winking. "It'll pass."

"Mmm," said Peter, resting his head against Tony's shoulder. "I don't think so. I think she's pretty."

"Yeah, well, just keep those thoughts to yourself," Tony said, grinning despite himself. "'Cause I have a feeling you won't think she's so pretty once she starts working on your busted-up nose. Right now its more crooked than a politician, Pete."

"It's okay," Peter mumbled, his eyelids starting to droop. "M'm tired, Dad. Wanna lay down."

"Okay, buddy," Tony said, kissing the top of Peter's head and shifting down towards the end of the table so Peter could rest his head on Tony's lap. "Careful of your face, there, bud."

"Uh huh," whispered Peter as his eyes fluttered closed. "'Night."

"'Night, buddy," Tony whispered back, smoothing the matted curls off his forehead. It'd been far too long since he'd cuddled Peter to sleep, and Tony had missed it. "Don't let anymore spiders bite."

I can't believe I could've lost him today. I'm never letting him out of my sight again.

As it turned out, the team was in far worse shape than Tony had even realized. In addition to Pietro's blasted knee, Tony's broken arm, and Peter's multitude of injuries, Steve had not only suffered broken ribs, broken knuckles, a bruised kidney, and plenty of facial bruising during his "power analysis" at the hands of the Winter Soldiers, but also two more broken ribs and a dislocated finger at the hands of Bucky Barnes. How he was even able to stand, much less be coherent enough there at the end to talk Tony down from strangling Ross was nothing short of a miracle.

Natasha and Sam had both managed to escape with only minor injuries, a sprained ankle and two broken fingers, but Scott, the guy Sam had called tic tac, wound up with a pretty bad concussion after he was backhanded into a wall by one of the Winter Soldiers, such that he had no memory of the entire ride to Wakanda and had no idea where he was once he finally woke up in Shuri's medbay.

Out of all of them, only Rhodey and Vision managed to escape completely injury-free, with Barton and Wanda suffering only a few cuts and bruises.

Whether it was because she was busy with Steve and the Maximoff boy or simply because she knew Peter needed the rest, Shuri let Peter sleep for almost four hours before she woke him to start fixing his face. Unfortunately for Peter, his enhanced healing had actually worked against him in this instance, causing his nose and jaw to heal in their crooked states and requiring Shuri to re-break them in order to get them both positioned correctly. And even with the aid of the liquid painkiller, Tony still had to go and retrieve his right arm gauntlet so Peter could hold his hand during the procedure without the risk of crushing it. It was all Tony could to do to keep from crying from Peter's yelps of pain as Shuri worked on him, speaking to Peter in as soothing a voice as she could while working as fast as possible.

"I am finished, Peter," Shuri said, laying a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder as she applied the cloth to his repaired face, freshly soaked in the painkilling solution, and covered his shivering body with a dark grey blanket. "You may rest now, you will be fine soon."

"Uh huh," Peter whimpered through his gasping breaths, still clinging to Tony's hand even as he looked to be on the verge of sleep. "Thank you."

"Go on back to sleep, buddy," Tony murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Uh huh," whispered Peter as his breaths evened out, likely aided by the painkiller-soaked cloth. "I'm so tired, Daddy."

"Peter is very strong in both mind and body," Shuri said to Tony once Peter was asleep, unwrapping the cloth around his left arm and eyeing it critically. "There is no need to worry, he will be fine."

"I know he will," Tony whispered, wincing as Shuri pressed over a particularly sore spot on his arm. "I just hate seeing him in pain, he's been through so much already."

"It is always difficult to see our loved ones in pain," Shuri replied, picking up one of her gadgets. "I'm going to heal your arm now, Mr. Stark, please try and remain still."

With an affirmative nod from Tony, Shuri began to run the gadget back and forth across Tony's arm. Tony flinched at the odd, tingling, electric-like sensation, almost as if he could literally feel the fibers of the broken bone knitting themselves back together.

"This arm has suffered extensive trauma," Shuri said, frowning at him. "You are fortunate that you have as much use of it as you do."

"Yeah, well, being Iron Man isn't exactly without risks," Tony muttered. "And my left arm's been bum for years now, ever since a plane tried to knock me out of the sky on one of my first missions."

"Hmm," said Shuri, quirking an eyebrow. "Well, I would suggest that you try and avoid additional trauma if you can. I am able to heal many things, but extensive nerve damage becomes more difficult the longer it persists."

"I'll keep that in mind," Tony said as Shuri completed her work with the gadget and began pressing her fingers along his arm, as if testing for further weak spots.

"I believe I have finished," she said a few moments later. "Would you like to rest now? I can have another table brought over."

Tony immediately shook his head, the thought of being separated from Peter by even a few inches so soon after Tony almost lost him forever was too much to even consider. "No, no, thank you. I… want to stay right here with him, if that's okay."

"Of course," Shuri said. "I must go and see how the others are doing, I will check on you both later."

"Yeah, sure," said Tony. "If you wouldn't mind take extra good care of Cap over there, I'd appreciate it. He's been through even more than Peter here lately."

"I take extra good care of all of my patients, Mr. Stark," protested Shuri. "There is no favoritism here."

"Hey, that's cool, I didn't mean anything by it!" Tony said, raising his free hand. "Just… trying to look out for my teammates."

Shuri tilted her head, her deep brown eyes trailing across Peter's sleeping form to his hand, still clinging to Tony's. "A good man always looks out for his family, Tony Stark. My brother told me you were a good man before you arrived here, and now I have seen it for myself. Your teammates will all receive the best care I am able to provide."

Tony's throat tightened; he didn't particularly feel all that great at the moment, not with what he almost did in a fit of nearly uncontrollable rage. "Yeah, thanks. To both you and your brother."

"You are welcome."

As it turned out, thanks to Shuri's advanced healing technology, all of the team members were able to recover quickly. Even the extensive bruising that covered Peter's face was wildly improved by the next morning, and by the following afternoon it was almost as if nothing had happened at all. His nose and jaw were completely healed and free from any residual pain, there was only a few remnants of the deepest bruises present around his eyes and along his cheekbones. Tony's left arm felt the best that it had in many years, and even Steve and Pietro—who under normal circumstances would've likely lost his supersonic running speed with how badly his knee was blasted—were almost completely back to normal.

Three days later even more good news arrived, in the form of a communication addressed to Tony and Steve from Nick Fury. Among other things, the communication stated that the presidential order giving control of the Avengers over to Secretary Ross had been rescinded, and the team was free to return to the United States at their leisure and resume normal activities. When Steve inquired as to exactly how Nick Fury had managed to achieve such a feat in such a short time, Nick informed him that the evidence—which turned out to be a complete livestream of the confrontation with Ross, downloaded from FRIDAY and sent to Fury by Clint Barton while he was sequestered on the Quinjet—was incontrovertible. Fury even went so far as to alleviate Tony's concerns about keeping Peter's new enhancements a secret, saying that he'd had plenty of experience with altering visual recordings, and knew Tony well enough to know that Tony wouldn't want that part broadcasted.

Fury also informed Tony and Steve that when the squadron of Marines he sent to take Ross into custody arrived on the Raft, they not only found Ross and his five Winter Soldiers dead from various gunshot wounds, but also managed to unearth evidence that Ross had indeed framed Bucky Barnes for the second explosion in Lagos, under the hope that he could then flush Barnes out and capture him.

And, as wrong as it perhaps was, Tony couldn't help but be relieved that Ross was dead. At least now he didn't have to worry about the lunatic ever coming after Peter again with revenge in mind.

"This is quite the place you've got here," Tony said one evening a few days later, as he, Steve, and T'Challa strolled around the palace grounds following the evening meal. "I can kinda understand why you guys would wanna keep it hidden away."

"My father was of the mind that Wakandans should only take care of their own, that we should not get involved with the rather messy affairs of the rest of the world," T'Challa replied. "And to be honest, after what happened in Lagos, it would be quite easy for me to continue along that same path. But I now believe it is the destiny of our people to help others, not to continue to hide away."

"That's very brave of you, Your Highness," Steve said softly. "Especially after what happened to your father."

T'Challa dropped his gaze. "I was consumed with the idea of vengeance after my father's death, and I am not proud of my actions that followed. I would have killed your friend Barnes at that prison had Stark here not appeared when he did."

"Hey, I'd say it was good timing all around," Tony said. "Since you came in pretty darn handy during the fight at the Raft."

"Yes, that may be," said T'Challa. "I understand now that it was not Barnes who was responsible for my father's death. That he was a victim, just as much as my father. You prevented me from killing an innocent man, Stark, and for that I am grateful."

"Still," said Steve. "I can't thank you enough for how you've offered to help him."

"You are welcome," answered T'Challa with a slight smile. "If I am able to help Barnes find peace, I know my father would be pleased."

They walked along in silence for a couple of minutes, enjoying the calm evening air when Tony suddenly heard an odd humming sound coming from behind them. Jerking around to find the source of the sound, which seemed vaguely familiar, Tony was shocked when he saw Peter and Shuri burst through one of the side entrances to the palace, sparring back and forth with what appeared to be fully functioning lightsabers.

"What the—?" stammered Tony as all the blood drained from his head. "Christ, Pete, what the hell are you doing?"

"Oi, Shuri!" called T'Challa, his brow furrowing in annoyance and confusion. "What did I tell you about using that particular technology to build playthings?"

"It's just a bit of fun, brother!" said Shuri, jabbing her lightsaber towards Peter and laughing as he flipped out of her reach.

"Yeah, a bit of fun that'll end up with one of you losing an eye!" shouted Tony. "Or worse!"

"Aww, Dad, it's okay," Peter protested, skidding to a halt a few feet away. He pointed to the chest plate he was wearing, similar to one worn by the female warriors that guarded the king. "Shuri let me borrow some of the Wakandan armor, so I can't get hurt."

"Yeah, but it's still not covering your face!" Tony retorted, shaking his head. "Look, can't you two just go and build a Lego castle or something?"

Peter glanced at Shuri, his shoulders sagging. "But we already did that! And Shuri said after we watched the all the Star Wars movies that she was sure we could build a lightsaber that was even better than the ones in the movies, and so… we did!"

"Mmmhmm," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Of course you did. Look, isn't there a way to… turn off the part of that thing that could actually go through you?"

"That is not a bad idea, Shuri," said T'Challa. "It would be in very poor form for you to maim one of our guests."

Shuri sighed, throwing a sharp glare at her brother. "Fine," she grumbled. "But then they won't make the cool noises."

"Well, you'll just have to improvise," said Tony, rubbing his knuckles into the top of Peter's head. He'd been growing so fast lately that it was getting harder and harder for Tony to reach the top of his head. "You're both good at that, it seems."

Peter and Shuri exchanged frustrated glances. "Yeah, okay," Peter finally said. He pressed a button on the hilt of his lightsaber, eliminating the humming noise. "There, I did."

"Hmph," grumbled Shuri. "Now we may as well be playing with sticks. C'mon Peter, let's go see what else we can try."

Tony watched as the two teenagers walked away, chattering a mile a minute as they disappeared back into the palace. As soon as the door slammed shut he turned to T'Challa, raising an eyebrow. "I am so not ready for this whole teenager thing. Between Pete's excessive smarts and the spider bite making him as strong as an ox, he's gonna think he's invincible now."

Steve, who Tony noticed had been eerily quiet during the whole exchange, stifled a laugh. "I'm sorry, Tony, but I can't imagine that you didn't do some pretty… questionable and dangerous things when you were a teenager. I know I did."

"Yeah, well, that's completely different," Tony said, shooting Steve a glare. "My dad couldn't have cared less about what I was up to, and I imagine that the most rebellious things you and Barnes used to do involved jumping onto trains and hiding in boxcars. Not playing with actual light-swords."

Hurt flashed across Steve's eyes, only for a second before it was gone. "There was no way I could've caught up to a train when I was Peter's age, Tony," he said. "I could barely walk two blocks back then without getting winded. But Bucky and I did hitchhike back from Rockaway Beach on the back of a refrigerator truck one time, after Bucky spent our train money trying to win a stuffed something for a redhead. That was… interesting."

"Well, there's worse pursuits I can think of than trying to impress a girl," said Tony.

"Besides," Steve continued, the smirk back on his face. "Peter's like the easiest kid in the world, Tony. He was bound to do something… impulsive one of these days."

"I will say, with all of her responsibilities here, it is rare that my sister allows herself to act like the child she still is," said T'Challa. "It is rather refreshing to see her like this, especially after the loss of our father."

"Yeah, well, that just means you'll have to invite us back sometime," said Tony. "'Cause you still haven't explained the propulsion system for your aircraft, or the tech behind that suit of yours."

T'Challa grinned. "All in good time, Stark. All in good time."

"C'mon, Pete, it's time to wake up," Tony said two mornings later, gently shaking Peter's shoulder. "Heading back home today."

"Mmph, don't wanna get up! Too comfy!" grumbled Peter, his face pressed into the fluffy pillows on the bed he'd been sleeping in ever since Shuri had discharged him from the medbay. While the Wakandan palace wasn't really all that extravagant, especially compared to some other royal palaces Tony had visited over the years, Tony had definitely appreciated the spacious bedroom he and Peter had shared during their stay, as well as the sprawling grounds, offering a view of the beautiful mountains in the distance. And as much as he missed Pepper, and his own lab, and just tinkering in general, Tony was a bit sorry that it was time to leave. Despite the circumstances that had brought the team to Wakanda, once his injuries had healed, Tony couldn't remember the last time Peter had seemed so relaxed. He hadn't even had a single nightmare the entire time they'd been there, which was practically unheard of. Tony would have to ask if they could come back again sometime, especially since Peter and Shuri had gotten along so well.

And managed to cause so much trouble together. Tony still couldn't believe that they'd managed to not burn the entire palace down the time they attempted to bake cookies by trying to harness energy from the sun.

On second thought, maybe seeing Shuri again wasn't such a great reason for them to come back.

Regardless, since T'Challa and Shuri had agreed to try and rid Bucky Barnes of his HYDRA programming, Tony knew that Steve at least would want to check in on him from time to time. And there was no reason why Tony and Peter—and even Pepper, if T'Challa allowed it—couldn't accompany Steve on those visits.

After managing to cajole Peter out of bed—with the suggestion that he could join Shuri in her lab while she was working with Vision, after he first ate a decent breakfast—Tony left the room, searching the grounds for Scott Lang. With everything that had been going on with Peter and with Scott recovering from his concussion for a couple of days, Tony hadn't yet had the opportunity to thank him for helping to comfort Peter during their time together in the Raft cells.

As it was, he didn't need to search for very long. Tony found Scott only a few minutes later, taking a stroll through the gardens with Sam Wilson.

"Excuse me, Mr. Lang," Tony called, hurrying towards them. "I was wondering if I might have a word?"

Scott immediately gulped, glancing at Sam fervently before nodding. "Um… sure, Mr. Stark."

"I'll catch up with ya later, tic tac," Sam said as he leaned in towards Tony, lowering his voice. "Go easy on him, Tony. Dude's already scared to death of you."

Suppressing a grin, Tony waited until Sam was out of earshot before turning to Scott. "Look, Mr. Lang—"

"Please, call me Scott," Scott blurted out. "And I know what I did was wrong, and I know I shouldn't've listened to Hank Pym, because he said you should never trust a Stark, but then Peter said that he really only meant you should never trust Howard Stark, 'cause apparently they didn't like each other very much, and that you weren't anything like Howard Stark, and I know stealing is wrong, and I shouldn't've done it, I should've just asked, because Peter said that you're pretty nice and you would've helped me, and—"

"Um, pardon me?" Tony said, holding up his hand. "Mr. Lang—, Scott, I didn't seek you out to reprimand you. I came here to thank you."

"Huh?" Scott said, his eyes widening comically. "Uhh, you did? Um… for what… exactly?"

"Well, for your help during the Raft fight, for one thing," Tony said. "You were damn handy, with your… shrinking ability, and I really appreciate the fact that you just jumped right in when things started to go down. The way you and Sam were working together, it was almost like you'd been with the team for a lot longer than only a couple of days."

Scott pursed his lips, dropping his head. "Yeah well, what better way to impress my little girl than by telling her I got to fight alongside Captain America and the Falcon. And Iron Man, of course. She thinks you're pretty cool too."

"Of course," Tony added with a smirk.

"Soo, does this mean you're not gonna have me arrested once we get back home?" Scott asked. "'Cause I really am sorry… about the—"

"No, no, I'm not gonna do that," Tony said. "And I mainly came by to tell you thank you for looking after my kid. From what Peter told me, you were really helpful to him during that whole horrible experience, and for that I'll always be grateful."

"Peter's a great kid, Mr. Stark," said Scott. "I was glad to meet him, even if it had to be under those circumstances."

"Yeah, he's the best," Tony said with a smile. "In fact, if you and your daughter ever feel like taking a trip out to New York, I'm sure Peter would love to meet her. Just let me know and I can send the jet to pick you guys up."

"Oh, wow, I'm sure Cassie would love that!" exclaimed Scott. "And if I'm ever able to convince her mom that I'm worthy to take her anywhere again, I'll be sure to take you up on that offer. Thank you, Mr. Stark. I really appreciate—"

"Tony," interrupted Tony. He held out his hand. "My friends call me Tony."

"Tony," echoed Scott as he shook Tony's hand. "Thank you, Tony. Apparently Hank Pym was wrong about you Starks."

"Well, at least about two of us," Tony said, winking. "I'll see ya on the plane then, Scott. T'Challa says it's wheels up in about an hour."

"Yeah, see ya then."

With a nod, Tony headed back towards the palace, making his way over to Shuri's lab where he found her and Peter examining a live data stream on a monitor, with Vision sitting on one of the floating tables right next to them.

"What are you kids up to now?" asked Tony. "You're not trying to turn Vision into a humanoid torch, are you?"

Peter shot him one of his "duh" looks. "No, Dad. We're trying to take readings from the stone in Vision's forehead, but there's so much there that the computer only catches maybe one out of three of the lines of code. It's gotten even more complex since it fused with Vision."

"This is fascinating!" Shuri exclaimed, tapping commands into her monitor as the screen continued to fill with hundreds upon hundreds of code lines. "I've never seen anything quite like this, I wish we had more time!"

"We don't even have a supercomputer at home that's capable of taking these readings," said Peter, his eyes wide as he stared at the data in front of him. "I mean, when we made Ultron it was super dense too, but not even he compared to this. It's almost like Vision and the stone are evolving together."

"Yes, and I'm so glad I'm able to be of service," said Vision, sounding so thoroughly bored that Tony had to stifle a chuckle.

"Aww c'mon, Vision," Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're helping to broaden two brilliant young minds here. There's no more noble of a calling than that."

"Hmm," Vision grumbled. "Well then, perhaps I'll remind you of that the next time these… brilliant young minds decide to use nanoparticles to build an aesthetic pyrotechnic device."

"Wait a minute, you two did what?" barked Tony. "You can't tell me that T'Challa said it was okay for you to set off fireworks around the palace?"

"Umm…" mumbled Shuri, looking sheepishly at Peter. "No, he did not. Peter and I sort of went into the mountains and set them off there."

"Oh that's even better! Let's set off the fireworks inside a forest, for heaven's sake! Nothing bad could happen there! C'mon, Peter, you're so much smarter than that!"

"It's okay, Dad!" Peter said, biting his lip. "Nothing bad did happen, so it was okay."

"Ugh," Tony grumbled, his eyebrows knitting together. "Well anyway, it's time to go, child. T'Challa and the rest of the team are assembling at the landing pad."

"Thank goodness," said Vision, hopping down from the table.

Peter scowled, glancing helplessly at Shuri. "Fine. I guess I have to go now."

"Let me save all of this and I'll walk you out," Shuri replied, rapidly tapping her monitor. "I have a feeling I'm going to be studying these readings for a long time."

"You'll let me know what you find out though, won't you?" asked Peter, a slight flush creeping up his pale cheeks.

"Of course," Shuri said with a smile. "You're the only one who understands any of this stuff besides me."

The rest of the team was all waiting when they arrived, and Tony once again had to hide his smile behind his hand as Peter and Shuri exchanged a very awkward handshake/ hug/ fist bump that had them both giggling at the end. Rhodey even had the audacity to elbow Tony in the ribs as he watched.

"You're gonna have to keep an eye on that one, Tony," he said under his breath. "He's gonna be breaking hearts all over the planet."

"Christ, Rhodey, he's still only fourteen!" Tony grumbled. "Don't make him grow up before he has to!"

"I think he's gonna do that whether you like it or not, Tony," Rhodes said with a rather maniacal grin as they took their seats in the back of the Wakandan aircraft, allowing Barton to take a turn in the copilot's seat. "And something tells me you're not gonna like it."

Tony sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, Peter was getting older, and lately those seven years that he didn't get to have with Peter were starting to bother him more and more. Tony knew it shouldn't, that Peter wouldn't be the incredible boy that he was without the influence of his birth parents and his aunt and uncle who raised him before he came to live with Tony, but still. It was times like these when some of that old, irrational jealousy started to rear its ugly head again.

"Hey Dad," Peter said after they took off a few minutes later, once he was able to peel his face away from the windows. Plopping himself down onto the couch, he scooted over right next to Tony, laying his head on Tony's shoulder.

"Hey, buddy," Tony said. He kissed the top of Peter's head, ruffling his curly hair. "You'll need a haircut when we get home, bud. I'm surprised you can even see right now with your hair hanging in your eyes like it is."

"Mmm," mumbled Peter. "Pepper will take me, she likes to."

"Yeah," answered Tony, settling back on the couch and closing his eyes. "Wanna watch a movie when we get back?"

"Yeah!" Peter said excitedly. "Can we watch the new Star Trek movie? I think it's available for streaming now."

"Whatever you want, bud," said Tony. "We can even invite Steve and Sam and the rest if you want to."

Peter thought for a moment. "No, not this time, if that's okay. It's been too long since we've just watched one together."

Tony's throat tightened. Maybe his silly, irrational jealousy was just that. Silly and irrational. And while he may not have been in Peter's life for his first seven years, Tony was going to do his damndest to make sure nothing kept him away for the rest of it.

"You got it, buddy."

Chapter Text

"I still can't believe you got to go visit Wakanda!" exclaimed Ned as he and Peter meandered down the school hallway to their lockers. "Like, I always thought Wakanda wasn't even a real place. You know, like Atlantis, or that Nidavellir place that you sometimes read about in your mythology books."

"Shh, Ned!" Peter hissed as he elbowed Ned in the side. "Keep your voice down, dude! I'm not really supposed to talk about it!"

"Man, what I wouldn't give to even get a glimpse of it though!" Ned said as they arrived at Peter's locker. "I bet it was beautiful."

"Yeah, it sure was," Peter replied wistfully. "In more ways than one. And the tech there… I mean, wow! It was like everything you could dream up with your wildest imagination, and even some that you couldn't! Shuri and I even built real-life lightsabers!"

Ned's eyes went so wide that Peter was surprised they didn't pop out of his head. "Are you serious?" he squeaked. "You actually built a real-life lightsaber? Like, fully functional and everything?"

"Shh!" Peter admonished, glancing anxiously around at the surrounding students. "Yeah, man, we built two of 'em. And they were even better than the movie versions."

"Did they even make the cool noises?" Ned asked, completely ignoring Peter's warning to lower his voice. "Because you know it's not technically a lightsaber unless it makes the proper noises."

"Yeah, they made the noises, Ned," Peter said with a grin. Reaching his locker, he started dialing the combination, leaning closer so he could whisper. "They were seriously some of the coolest things I've ever seen. At least until my dad and the king made us stop using them."

"Why'd they do that?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess they were afraid we were gonna get hurt or something, I dunno."

"Oh," replied Ned. "Yeah, I suppose getting your hand cut off or something would've hurt a bit. And then they probably would've arrested you for putting their princess in danger. Even if it was her idea, you still could've been thrown into a dungeon or something. Do they have a dungeon in Wakanda? I bet they do."

"I'm not sure I would've been arrested if she'd've cut off my hand, dude, no matter how much it hurt," Peter said. "And I didn't see a dungeon there, but we were only there for about a week, so we didn't get to explore the whole palace."

"Man, dude, I'm so jealous!" whined Ned. "It's just not fair that you get to go to all these cool, secret places just 'cause your dad is Iron Man! How come I can't come with you guys one of these times?"

Peter grimaced, remembering all the reasons why they'd headed to Wakanda in the first place. The presidential order turning the Avengers over to Secretary Ross had been kept a secret from the public, so aside from a few select others, no one outside of Avengers Tower knew about what had gone down at the Raft. And while Dad had told Peter that he could tell Ned about visiting Wakanda, Peter wasn't allowed to tell him anything about why they went there, or about what happened on the Raft.

Which was fine. As much fun as visiting Wakanda—and especially getting to meet Shuri—had been, Peter was in no hurry to revisit his time on the Raft anytime soon.

"Do you think your princess will ever come here?" Ned asked as they entered their classroom. "I mean, I'm sure New York City isn't as cool as Wakanda, but—"

"Who got to meet a princess?" Flash Thompson said, plopping down in his seat behind Peter. "You, Parker? And which Disney princess was it this time? Elsa? Moana? Merida?"

"No—" Peter started.

"Yeah!" interrupted Ned. "Peter got to go to Wakanda with the Avengers, and he got to meet their king and princess!"

"Ned!" chastised Peter. "I'm not really supposed to talk about it, remember?"

"Talk about what?" laughed Flash. "The fact that your rich-ass father pulled you out of school again to take yet another trip to Disneyland? I can't believe you fell for that load of shit, Leeds. Everyone knows that Wakanda is just a made-up word."

"Um, every word is made up, Flash," answered Ned, looking confused. "And why would Peter lie about something like this?"

"'Cause he's desperate to make himself look cooler?" Flash said, sneering. "You know how he's always tripping over himself whenever Liz is around. Well, here's a newsflash for ya, Parker. Having a billionaire for a father still doesn't make you cool."

Thankfully spared from having to answer by the arrival of their teacher, Peter shot Ned a glare and opened his textbook and notebook, preparing to take notes. Peter tried to pay attention to the teacher's lecture, he really did, but as it had ever since the team had returned home, Peter found his mind wandering back to Wakanda and Shuri and all the fun they'd had while he was there. They'd even gotten to talk together the previous night, when Shuri was explaining some of the things she'd discovered in her study of the mind stone data.

"So I know you were gone and all," Ned said later that afternoon, on their way to the lunchroom. "But did you hear about what happened at your aunt's old hospital a few days ago?"

"No," Peter answered wistfully. He really needed to go and visit Ben and May's graves again soon. They'd probably enjoy hearing about Wakanda and Shuri. "What happened?"

Ned winced. "It was all over the news, dude, I'm surprised you haven't heard anything. Some guy got all hyped up on crack or something and tried to rob the pharmacy in there at gunpoint. By the time the police were able to get there he'd already killed a pharmacy tech and two nurses, and then he ended up shooting one of the police officers in the leg before they could take him down. It was bad."

"Oh wow, that's horrible!" Peter exclaimed. "Those poor people!"

"Yeah," Ned said sadly. "And my mom told me the wife of one of the nurses had just had a baby a couple months ago too, so now she's never gonna know her father."

"I'm gonna tell my dad about it," Peter said as they sat down with their lunch trays. "I know he'd wanna help those families out somehow."

"Sure he would," Flash cut in as he passed their table. "Just throw some money at 'em, that'll make everything better! That's what Tony Stark is good at, isn't it?"

"Don't, Peter," warned Ned as Peter's eyes narrowed. While he very much disliked the intentional jabs thrown at himself, Peter absolutely hated anyone talking trash about his father, or any of his other Avengers family members. "Flash is just talking out of his ass, you know that."

"Well, then he should learn to keep his trap shut," grumbled Peter. "My father is very generous with his money, and everyone knows it. I mean, he completely overhauled all of the science labs at this place not even a year ago and offered to take our entire class on a field trip to MIT."

"I know that, Peter," Ned said. "Flash is just jealous, and not only because you got to meet a real-life princess. Don't let him get to you."

"Mmm," Peter mumbled. "I know." But as Ned tactfully changed the subject over to discussing the release date of the the new Lego Death Star, Peter fiddled with the napkin on his tray, his mind wandering. There had to be ways to help prevent horrible crimes like the one at the hospital that didn't involve money. Peter knew if he'd been at that hospital for whatever reason when all that stuff had gone down, he wouldn't have hesitated to jump in and help somehow. And now, thanks to his new enhancements from the spider bite, he wouldn't even have to worry about getting hurt.

"Dude, have you even heard a word I've said in the last five minutes?" Ned asked, breaking Peter from his reverie. "I just asked you when you wanted to come over and help me set up my new computer."

"Huh?" asked Peter. "When did you get a new computer?"

"When you were down in Wakanda flirting with the princess!" Ned retorted.

"I wasn't flirting with her!" snapped Peter. "Shuri's my friend, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever. So, when can you come over?"

Peter let out a sigh. "I dunno, I'll have to talk to my dad first."

"Why would your dad care about it? He's let you come over whenever you wanted to before, as long as you let him know ahead of time."

'Cause the last time I went to your house we were kidnapped by freaking super soldiers on the way home, Peter thought. "Yeah, I know, but he's just been a bit overprotective lately. I'll talk to him, okay? Hopefully by the end of the week."

"But I'll have it done already by then," grumbled Ned.

"Ned—"

"Nevermind, it's okay," Ned said dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

"You know I wanna come and help!" Peter protested. "It's just…"

"More super-secret Avengers stuff?" asked Ned, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well… yeah," Peter answered. "I'm sorry, Ned, but I really can't tell you any more than that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Ned. "Just sometimes I wish you didn't have to keep so many secrets."

Peter's eyebrows shot up and he bit his lip, nodding. "Yeah. You have no idea, dude."

"Hey, buddy!" Dad said as Peter slid into the backseat of the car a few hours later, following Peter's practice session with the Academic Decathlon team. Happy was driving, which was normal, but Steve was sitting in the front passenger seat, which Peter took to mean that Dad was still paranoid about being jumped on the way home. He'd probably even stashed an extra set of gauntlets in the trunk, right next to Steve's shield.

Peter supposed he really couldn't blame Dad for being paranoid. The Raft incident had only happened a couple of weeks ago and was still very fresh in everyone's minds, even after their relaxing and recuperating stay in Wakanda. But Peter really didn't feel like discussing the incident at May's hospital in front of Steve, and it was late enough already that Pepper would likely be home shortly after they arrived back at the Tower.

"How was school, Peter?" asked Steve. "Did you miss all your friends?"

"It was okay," Peter replied. "And yeah, it was nice to see everyone again."

"You didn't get too many nosy questions, did you?" asked Dad, frowning. "Because I warned Principal Morita to make sure that—"

"No, Dad," interrupted Peter. "It was fine. Everyone thinks we just went to Disneyland again."

"Again?" Steve said with a grin. "I'm still waiting to go for the first time."

"Yeah, well, after spending time in Wakanda, I'm afraid the kid's not gonna care all that much about Disneyland anymore," said Dad as he ruffled Peter's hair. "Might as well start working on Thor, see if we can get ourselves invited out to Asgard before Pete here graduates from high school."

"Whoa!" exclaimed Peter. "I'd love to go to Asgard sometime! Do you think Thor would let us?"

"If he'd ever call we could ask him, bud," Dad sighed. "It's been awhile since we've heard from Thor and the big guy, and I'm starting to wonder what the hell they're up to out there." He pinched the bridge of his nose, which usually meant he was fighting a headache.

"Were you talking with Mr. Fury again today, Dad?" Peter asked. "How's all that going?"

Dad huffed out a sharp breath. "Ah, you know, Pete. Even though everything's been reset now, Fury still thinks the Avengers should have some sort of documented rules and regulations, indicating what our criteria are for taking care of who we deem to be the bad guys."

"But at least he's allowing us to come up with most of it ourselves," Steve said firmly. "There's no way I'd be on board with something like this otherwise, especially since we now have people like Scott and T'Challa out there who aren't technically part of the Avengers, but who still could be if we needed them."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Peter said. "So, something like a check off sheet for each mission?"

"Yeah, something like that," said Dad. He tripped his head back, closing his eyes. "And a list of countries that don't want us crossing their borders under any circumstance. Because for whatever reason, there's still world leaders out there who would rather try and take on their super-badass bad guys by themselves than ask us for help."

"But even so," Steve said, throwing Dad a look. "We would still go in if they asked, as long as we deemed it necessary."

"Yeah, sure," mumbled Dad. "It always comes down to your call, Cap. We all trust your judgement."

The rest of the short drive passed in silence as Peter bounced his legs, eager to get home so he could ask Dad some questions out of Steve's—and hopefully Pepper's—earshot.

"Hey, Dad?" Peter asked once they arrived in their Tower apartment and he'd had a chance to dump off his school stuff. Dad had headed straight to his lab when they got home, and Steve was planning on coming back up for dinner in about an hour, so Peter knew he didn't have much time. "Um, can I ask you something?"

"Anytime, Pete," Dad said, setting down the tech he was working on, which appeared to be a type of portable repulsor. "What's up?"

Peter looked down at his palms, picking at a piece of dead skin by his fingers. "Um… I was wondering… if it would be okay for me to start training with the team. You know, when we go to the Compound on weekends?"

Dad pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes. "And why would you want to start doing that?"

"Well… because…" Peter mumbled, gulping. "Because I think I can help. I wanna help. And with what I can do now, I think—"

"You think you wanna be an Avenger?"

"Well… yeah."

"No, Pete," said Dad, shaking his head. "You're a bit too young still. Maybe when you're older."

"But, Dad, I can help now! And I know if I started training with the team, I could be even better!"

"And I said no, Pete!" Dad snapped. "You're too young, barely even a teenager! And yes, I know that you can climb up the walls, and that you managed to remodel the face of one of those Winter Soldiers there on the Raft, but that was a somewhat controlled situation. It's completely different out there in the field. Besides. We're supposed to be keeping your new… skills… a secret, aren't we?"

Anger and shame flooded Peter's body, and he bit his lip, trying to stay calm. He probably should've waited to bring this up until the Raft incident was further behind them, but who knows how many more instances like that one at the hospital would happen in the meantime? "But, Dad, what if we shouldn't keep it a secret? I'm strong, even stronger than Steve. You've seen what I can do, so why can't I help? And if you're that concerned about keeping what I can do secret, then why couldn't I just wear a mask or something?"

"Peter, the answer is no. End of discussion—"

"You guys let Wanda and Pietro train, and they're only a couple years older than me! How am I any different? Why should I be any different?"

"The twins train with us because Barton says that they can," Dad barked, his brow furrowing in frustration. "Since he's one of their responsible adults. And for the record, the twins are eighteen, which is an entire four years older than you, Pete."

"Thanks, I know how to add," Peter mumbled under his breath.

"Excuse me, child? I didn't quite catch that. My ears don't work as well as yours, remember?"

"Nothing!" grumbled Peter. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter."

Dad's shoulders sagged, and he stepped over to Peter, placing his hands on Peter's shoulders. "And as your responsible adult, I'm telling you no," he said. "C'mon, Pete, I don't wanna argue with you. Just… trust me on this, okay? It would be much easier for everyone for you to just stay the awesome kid that you are."

Easier for who? Peter thought bitterly. Easier for you, maybe. But what about those poor people at that hospital? What about the next person who gets mugged on a Queens street? What about when the next mission comes along and you guys all leave me here alone again?

"Hmph," Peter muttered. "Fine."

"Fine," Dad echoed. "Now, why don't you get started on your homework before Pepper gets home, yeah?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'm gonna go and work in my room."

"Oh. Okay, sure," said Dad. Peter usually did his homework in the lab because he enjoyed watching Dad work, but he didn't really feel like being around his father at the moment. Peter needed to think, and he knew he couldn't do that in the lab when he was supposed to be doing homework.

Shuffling into his room, Peter flopped onto his bed with a heavy sigh, shoving his backpack onto the floor. He hated arguing with anyone, especially his father, because it always made him feel horrible. Deep down he knew that Dad loved him and was just trying to protect him like he always had, but Peter hated the thought of just sitting around, pretending that everything was still the same with him since the spider bite when it absolutely wasn't anymore. All his life he'd been too small and too weak to do much of anything useful, but now that was no longer the case, and there was no good reason that Peter could see for not using his new abilities to try and help people.

A long time ago, back when Peter was around five or six years old, there was one night when Uncle Ben was nearly three hours late coming home from work and wouldn't answer his cell phone. Peter and May were both worried sick, pacing back and forth in their small Queens apartment, with May trying to keep a brave face on for Peter even as her narrow shoulders were shaking with fear and anxiety. When Ben finally unlocked the apartment door and walked in, May flung herself into his arms and broke down, completely ignoring the fact that Ben was so filthy that he seemed like he'd been splashing around in a puddle of grease.

It wasn't until after May had pushed Ben into the bathroom to clean up and he'd had a chance to eat his reheated dinner that he explained why he'd been so late. Ben had been on his way home—taking a shortcut through some not-so-nice side streets—when he happened to see a woman on the side of the road whose car had gotten a flat tire. He'd stopped to help the woman, and was just about finished with changing her tire when he was hit in the back of his head by someone else and knocked out. By the time he came to, the woman he was helping was gone and the entire contents of his truck, all the tools that he used for his work as an electrician, had been stolen.

May, of course, immediately became frantic, asking Ben why he always felt the need to stop and help every random stranger that he saw and trying to insist that they bring him to the hospital to have him checked out. And Ben had refused, saying he was fine, that there was nothing wrong with him that a couple of aspirins couldn't fix. He was far more concerned about having to replace the stolen tools than with any of his own injuries.

And later that night, when Ben was tucking Peter into bed, Peter remembered asking him why he'd stopped to help the lady in such a poor area of town, where the danger of something bad happening was so high. And Peter would never, ever forget his response.

"Peter," he'd said. "If you are able to do something good for someone else, then you have a moral obligation to do that something."

Peter hadn't quite understood what Uncle Ben meant way back then, but his words reverberated through Peter's head now, as if he'd only heard them a few moments ago. The spider bite had given Peter his new enhanced senses and strength, so why shouldn't he use those skills to try and help people. It's what the Avengers did all the time.

And if Dad said he couldn't be an Avenger yet, well… then Peter would just have to show Dad that he was wrong.

But first, he'd need equipment. One of the last things Steve always did before the team left on a mission was to double-check all of their equipment and gear, to make sure everything was there and it was all in good working order. Even with Peter's enhancements, he knew he would need things to help him fight so he didn't have to resort to using his fists. After seeing what only one punch had done to that Winter Soldier, Peter knew that could never happen again.

He would need something that would help him stop the bad guys without hurting them too much, and help protect himself at the same time. Something like Steve's shield or Mr. Barton's arrows. And he would also need a suit; all of the Avengers had uniforms. Peter's would need a mask, so people wouldn't be able to recognize him, but Peter was sure he could come up with something that would hide his face but still allow him to see well.

Rolling over, Peter grabbed George from on top of his pillows, squeezing the polar bear to his chest as he brainstormed. I was bit by a spider… I can climb walls like a spider… so… I should build something that helps me act like a spider…

"Spider webs are sticky and strong," Peter mumbled into George's neck. "So… that means I should build… something to help me make a web."

"Pardon me, Young Peter?" asked FRIDAY. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Huh?" replied Peter. He'd completely forgotten about FRIDAY; he would need to deactivate her or something once he started working so she wouldn't be constantly asking him what he was doing. "Oh, nevermind, FRIDAY. Just… talking to myself."

"Oh, all right, then," said FRIDAY. "Please let me know if I can be of further assistance."

"I will, FRIDAY, thanks."

Okay, I'm gonna build spider web shooters, Peter thought. But what can I use for webbing?

Glancing to his left, Peter's eyes landed on the huge framed poster of the starship Enterprise-D hanging on the wall of his room, held in place by the glue he'd invented for that science fair a few years ago. Peter had tinkered with the recipe a bit since then and had now found one that was so strong that Dad had started using it in some of the new tech he was designing, instead of soldering pieces together. It was also being used as wall adhesive for all of Steve's drawings and paintings around the Tower and up at the Compound, so hopefully it would be easy for Peter to adjust the recipe yet again and make some kind of webbing fluid that he could store in the shooters.

Reaching into his bedside table, Peter pulled out one of his spare chemistry lab notebooks and a pencil and started sketching out ideas for possible web-shooter designs. Getting all of the necessary materials for the tech shouldn't be a problem since Dad always kept his lab very well-stocked, so Peter was pretty certain he'd be able to find everything he'd need in there. Sneaking the stuff out could pose a problem, but since Peter had always been pretty light on his feet, and even more so since the spider bite, he wasn't too worried about that. Dad still listened to his loud music most of the time anyway when he was working alone, so chances were very good that he wouldn't notice anything.

"Miss Potts and Captain Rogers have just arrived, Young Peter," FRIDAY said a few moments later. "It is time for you to eat dinner now."

"Yeah, thanks, FRIDAY," Peter answered. He set George back down on his pillow, patting the polar bear's head as he pushed himself up off the bed, shoving the notebook under his mattress to keep it away from potentially prying eyes. With any luck, Peter would be able to have a preliminary design nailed down by tonight, and hopefully be able to start building tomorrow.

But as Peter opened his bedroom door and heard Dad's boisterous voice bantering back and forth with Steve, he felt a sharp twinge of guilt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd so blatantly disobeyed his father, and this wasn't just some little white lie he was telling. This was a lot bigger than another misplaced backpack or pair of glasses, and Dad had always told Peter that he was a terrible liar.

As a matter of fact, Steve, Bruce, Pepper, Natasha, Sam, and Ned had all told Peter the same thing at one time or another.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Hey, Peter!" Pepper exclaimed as Peter sat down next to her at the table. She leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Were you talking to your princess friend again?"

Peter shook his head, his cheeks flushing red like they did pretty much anytime someone mentioned Shuri. "No," he said, clearing his throat. "I just talked with her yesterday, and she said she was gonna be really busy for the next few days. T'Challa's getting officially crowned as king, and apparently that's a pretty big deal down there."

"Yeah, I would imagine that would be a big deal," said Pepper. "It's too bad you guys couldn't've stuck around for it."

"Well, us even being there in the first place was kinda a big deal," Peter answered. "So I can understand why they'd wanna keep something like that private."

"I'm sure Pete can ask for pictures later," Dad said with a wink, ruffling Peter's hair.

Ducking his head, Peter nodded, shoving a huge bite of curry into his mouth. With all of her recent trips to India lately Pepper had acquired a fondness for Indian food, which Peter greatly enjoyed. He'd always loved spicy dishes.

"Hey, Steve?" Peter asked a few minutes later, halfway through his second plate of curry. "I was wondering, um… did you see anything on the news about a shooting at a hospital in Queens? It happened while we were gone, so—"

"Yeah, I did hear a couple mentions about that," Steve answered. He shook his head. "It's too bad, what happened there. Those poor people."

"What's this?" asked Dad.

"Yeah, I was gonna ask you about it too," Peter said. "Ned told me about it. Two nurses and a pharmacy tech were killed when some crazy guy tried to rob the pharmacy at Aunt May's old hospital. One of the nurses had a brand-new baby at home."

"That the same place where we brought that fixed-up gaming system way back when?" Dad asked.

"Mmmhmm, that's the one," answered Peter. He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "And I was thinking, maybe we could—"

"I'm sure we could do something for those families, Peter," said Pepper. "With all the work we do with the Stark Relief Foundation around the world, sometimes it's easy to forget that there's tragedies that happen here at home too."

"Well… yeah," Peter stammered. "That would be great of you—I mean, of us—but I was also wondering… you know… maybe during downtimes like this, when we're—I mean you guys—aren't on one of your missions, wouldn't you be able to help out with stuff like that? I mean, I keep thinking that if Iron Man and Captain America had showed up at that hospital during the robbery, maybe those poor people wouldn't've been killed."

Steve and Dad looked at each other, both raising their eyebrows. "Well… Peter," said Steve after a short pause. "What happened at that hospital was tragic, but I really don't think that we—"

"What Cap means, is that regular police work is a bit below the Avengers paygrade," Dad interrupted.

"Tony, that sounds a bit callous, don't you think?" said Pepper.

"Not if it's true," Dad protested. "Besides, I prefer to think of it as blunt, not callous."

"We wouldn't want to undermine the authority of the local police forces, Peter," Steve said gently. "Unless they were to specifically ask for our help, it wouldn't be proper for us to intervene."

"And in a city the size of New York, there are literally hundreds of police incidents in a day, Pete," Dad said. "Even if we wanted to, there'd be no way we could respond to every single one."

"Yeah," Peter whispered. He set down his fork, no longer hungry. "I suppose not."

"Where's all this coming from, Pete?" asked Dad. "You've never mentioned anything about this kind of thing before."

"I dunno," mumbled Peter. "It just seems like we—you guys—get so busy fighting against aliens and homicidal robots and corrupt government officials, that the regular people just get forgotten."

"So you're just trying to look out for the little guys?" Dad asked. "That's very noble of you, Pete."

"Yeah, well, someone's got—"

"I can have my office contact the local police chiefs," said Pepper. "Maybe there's something we can donate that would help. And I'll definitely see about setting up something for that poor baby whose father was killed, and for the rest of the families too."

Stifling a sigh, Peter nodded. "Thanks, Pepper. That's really nice of you."

"That's my boy," Dad said proudly, clapping his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Always thinking of others."

"Yeah," whispered Peter. He quickly downed the rest of his water glass and wiped his mouth. "Can I please be excused now? I got more homework to do."

"Yeah, sure," answered Dad. "Come to the lab when you're done, okay? I could use your help with this new repulsor I'm working on."

"Sure," Peter said with a brief smile. "Sounds good."

Hurrying back to his room, Peter closed the door, retrieving the notebook from under his mattress. "All right," he murmured as he picked up his pencil, looking at what he'd already drawn with a critical eye. "Let's do this."

As Peter had anticipated, it wasn't that difficult for him to acquire the necessary materials that he needed to build his tech. After finalizing the design for his web shooters over the course of a couple of weeks, Peter deactivated FRIDAY for a few minutes and snuck the required hardware out of Dad's lab one evening while Dad was down talking with Steve in his apartment and Pepper was working late. Peter was also able to sneak several yards of the Stark Industries bullet-resistant fabric out as well, thankful that Dad's record-keeping at home was sketchy at best. Dad was in the planning stages of yet another new set of uniforms for the team and had asked for Peter's help with them since he did all of the construction by hand, but he was notoriously bad at keeping track of exactly how much of the stuff he had at any given time, so it was easy for Peter to make off with some of it without him noticing.

Since the fabric came in only two colors, black and a rather ugly, taupe-like shade, dyeing the lighter version into the dark blue and red colors that Peter wanted for his suit wasn't too difficult. In fact, cleaning up the massive, crime scene-like mess in his bathtub afterwards was much more difficult, requiring Peter to scrub so hard when he was done that he nearly took the finish off the tub. Next time he'd have to use some sort of disposable tub or something.

Piecing the suit together proved to be a bit more challenging, though. It was one thing to sew together a uniform for Steve or Sam while following a specific set of measurements, and a completely different thing to try to do it on yourself. Since Peter had never had a superhero suit before his measurements weren't listed anywhere, and while Peter's initial guesses were fairly accurate, they didn't exactly produce the end results that he wanted. Using a pair of his jeans as a model for the legs of the suit would have worked out fine if Peter had indeed wanted his suit bottoms to resemble a pair of jeans.

Which he didn't. Peter wanted the whole suit to be tight-fitting, so as to decrease wind resistance as much as possible when he was swinging between buildings. And if Peter thought that sewing an entire suit by hand was difficult and time-consuming, having to then rip out all of the hand-sewn stitches and re-sew them was even more so. The fact that he ran out of thread twice and had to wait for Dad to stock more of that particular color didn't help either.

The mask was even trickier. Peter realized very quickly that he wouldn't be able to use the mesh he'd initially chosen for the eyes, as while he could see through it well enough, it didn't allow him to use his enhanced peripheral vision at all. Since that was unacceptable, Peter instead came up with the idea to take the lenses from one of his pairs of glasses and install those into the mask instead. Dad had initially designed the glasses for Peter to use when he was tired or feeling overwhelmed, as his IMAX vision tended to go a bit haywire the more tired he got. And with Peter's tendency to misplace things, he now had four pairs of the glasses.

Peter had initially thought he would be done with designing and building by the time spring rolled around, but with having to hide what he was doing most of the time and then the mistakes with the measurements, it ended up taking the entire rest of the school year and most of the summer before Peter had a suit, web shooters, and web fluid that he considered useable.

"Hey, bud," Dad said after dinner one evening near the end of July, stopping Peter as he was about to head back to his room. "We need to talk."

"Uhh," Peter stammered, gulping. Oh, shit! "Um… about what?"

Dad shot Peter a rather impish grin. "In case you've forgotten, it's your birthday coming up here pretty soon, and I was thinking we could do something different this year than Coney Island or Disneyland."

"Oh!" Peter stuttered, so relieved that his knees nearly buckled. "Like what?"

"Well, how does Wakanda sound?"

"Really?" Peter squeaked as his heart skipped a beat. "Oh, that sounds awesome!"

"Yeah, I thought you'd be excited about seeing your little princess again," Dad laughed. "And Steve and Pepper are gonna come with us too. Steve wants to check in on Barnes, make sure he's recovering well."

"Yeah! That sounds so awesome, Dad, thank you!" Throwing his arms around his father's torso, Peter ducked his head down under Dad's chin, sighing happily when Dad patted his back. It was getting harder and harder for Peter to do that lately with how much he'd grown, but he still loved hearing his father's heartbeat beneath his ear.

I'll even be able to ask Shuri to look over my designs for me!

"Mmm, good," Dad murmured, kissing Peter's temple. "It'll do you some good to get dragged out of that room of yours for a few days. What the hell are you doing in there all day, anyway?"

"Aahh," Peter stammered, biting his lip as he raised his head. "Well—"

"No, no, on second thought, maybe I don't wanna know," Dad said, shaking his head. "Just remember, kid, I started college when I was fifteen, so if anyone was an expert at getting into trouble, it was me. But, that also made me something of an expert at sniffing out trouble. So… just try and keep that in mind, okay? 'Cause I don't wanna get down there to Wakanda only to have T'Challa pull me aside and tell me that he caught you and Shuri trying to do… something inappropriate for two people of your esteemed stature."

"Oh my God, Dad!" Peter moaned, ducking his head back down, his face flushing so hard he felt dizzy. "Good grief, no! I would never!" Dad had sat Peter down for The Talk just a few months ago, and Peter couldn't remember another time when he'd wanted nothing more than to just melt into a puddle of goo right there in the lab. It had been absolutely mortifying, to say the least. On both of their parts.

Dad chuckled. "No, probably not. There's no question that you're much more of a saint than I was at almost fifteen."

"Sure," Peter whispered, his throat thick with embarrassment. "No, Dad. You won't have to worry about anything like that."

"Good. Then we're leaving in three days, so you might wanna start packing."

"I will," Peter said, clearing his throat. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, buddy," said Dad with a smirk. He patted Peter on the cheek. "It'll be nice to see you smiling again. You've been a bit on the teenage-angsty side lately."

As it turned out, the birthday trip to Wakanda was even more fun than Peter could have hoped for. Peter was beyond excited to see Shuri in person again, even more so after the scary incident that she and T'Challa had gone through with their long-lost cousin, N'Jadaka. The son of King T'Chaka's brother, who had been sent to live in the United States on an intelligence mission but was later found to have betrayed Wakanda, N'Jadaka was raised in a rough Oakland neighborhood and eventually became a US Armed Forces black ops specialist, obtaining a kill ratio that was high enough to earn him the nickname Killmonger. After traveling to Wakanda to make a claim to the throne, N'Jadaka nearly killed T'Challa during a ritual challenge battle and forced Shuri and her mother into a temporary exile in the mountains until they were able to regroup and defeat N'Jadaka.

Peter showed Shuri the designs for his web shooters and asked her opinion, knowing she'd be able to keep things a secret, and was thrilled when she gave them her impressed stamp of approval. They also spent several hours going over the data Shuri had collected on the mind stone during the last trip, still trying to make some sense of all of it.

Bucky Barnes was there, freed from his cryosleep and looking a bit thinner and more worn than Peter remembered him being, but with a clarity in his eyes that wasn't at all there during the fight at the Raft. Steve was absolutely overjoyed to see his best friend looking so well, and he and Bucky spent a lot of time catching up, so much so that Peter only saw them a few times the whole time they were there.

And Peter's birthday celebration itself, well, it pretty much blew Disneyland out of the water. Following a feast literally fit for a king, dozens of men and women dressed in elaborate costumes of bright teal, blue, and purple performed an elaborate dance to a long line of drummers. After the dance a birthday cake was wheeled out, which was five entire tiers of the richest chocolate Peter had ever tasted, and it was all capped off with an incredible fireworks display that would have rivaled any presidential inauguration party, all designed by Shuri, of course.

By the time it was all over, Peter was so exhausted that he was sure he'd be able to sleep nonstop for the next month.

But the best part was, without a doubt, the tight hug and kiss on the cheek that Shuri gave Peter right before he boarded the Quinjet to come home. He could still remember the nearly intoxicating smell of her beautiful hair, sandalwood, and something else he couldn't quite place.

Yeah. It was probably safe for Peter to admit that he didn't think of Shuri as only a friend anymore.

"Hey, Ned? I was wondering if you'd do me a favor," Peter said as he and Ned walked down the hall to their lockers after their last class. Since school had started up again he and Ned had gotten into the habit of spending a few hours in the robotics lab every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, but now that Peter's suit and web shooters were finally ready, he wanted to start patrolling during those hours instead.

"Sure," Ned said, his nose buried in the latest issue of Lego Magazine. "What's up?"

"Um… I was thinking of skipping out on the robotics lab for awhile," Peter said in a low voice. "There's… some other stuff I need to do."

"Huh?" Ned asked as he looked up. "You wanna quit the robotics lab?"

"No!" exclaimed Peter as he opened his locker. "Well, yeah. Sorta. Think of it more as I'm like taking a hiatus or something."

"Okay, why?" asked Ned.

"Because I need to do some things by myself," Peter said through clenched teeth. "Secret things. But I need you to help me with an alibi in case my dad or Steve or someone else asks about it."

"What the hell do you gotta do that's so secret you wanna hide it from your dad?" Ned demanded. "And even more secrets from me? That's low, dude."

"Look, it'll only be for a little while!" begged Peter. Just long enough for Dad to see what I'm capable of. "Please? You know I wouldn't ask something like this if it wasn't important!"

Ned frowned, dropping his shoulders. "Mmm. Okay, but I don't think Shuri's gonna like it if she finds out you're cheating on her or something. Her brother'll probably send his warrior army up here to get ya."

"What? No, this has nothing to do with Shuri! Good grief, you're just as bad as my dad!"

"Okay, okay!" said Ned. "But it pretty much sucks that you're asking me to do this without telling me what's going on."

"Look," Peter said, lowering his voice. "With any luck you won't have to do anything. It's for emergency purposes only. And like I said, hopefully it won't have to be for too long."

"Fine," grumbled Ned. "But don't expect me to lie for you more than once or twice. I don't need Captain America dressing me down like he did to Flash that one time."

Peter breathed out a huge sigh of relief as he patted Ned on the shoulder. "Thanks, dude. I owe you one."

"Yeah. I think this is at least worth an invitation to Wakanda," Ned said. "Just be careful, okay?"

Smiling, Peter nodded as he slung his backpack over his shoulders, his suit and web shooters carefully tucked inside. "Yeah, I will."

As soon as the coast was clear at the school Peter took off in the direction of the subway, hopping on the train headed for Queens. Stepping off the train, a massive wave of nostalgia washed over Peter as he climbed up the steps to the sidewalk. How long had it been since he'd walked along these streets? Dad used to bring him over here every now and then, to eat at Delmar's and walk around a bit, but with everything that had happened in recent years—Project Insight, the HYDRA raids, Ultron, and all the government stuff that had led to the fight at the Raft—Peter couldn't remember the last time they'd done so.

Well, that was about to change.

"Good Lord!" Mr. Delmar exclaimed as Peter walked in, the pungent smell of baking bread making his mouth water. "Look at you, Mr. Parker, sorry, I mean, Mr. Stark! You're at least twice the size you were the last time I saw you!"

"Hey, Mr. Delmar!" Peter said, waving at the bushy-haired deli owner. "Yeah, it has been way too long. How're things?"

"Ah, you know how it is," said Mr. Delmar as he swept his arm around the store. "Just trying to make a living, ya know? Are you here for your regular, kid?"

"Oh yeah," answered Peter with a wide smile. His stomach was growling so loudly he was surprised Mr. Delmar couldn't hear it. "And smoosh it down real flat, please."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember you like your sandwiches smashed down," Mr. Delmar said with a wink. He tossed Peter a small bag of gummy worms. "So, how're things up there at that big ole fancy tower? Those Avenger people still treating you okay?"

"Oh yeah," Peter answered, scooting down to pet the floofy ginger cat perched on the far end of the counter. "You don't need to worry about me, Mr. Delmar. My dad's the best, and the rest of them are really great too. It's pretty awesome."

Handing Peter his sandwich, Mr. Delmar quirked one bushy eyebrow. "Hmm. Well, just don't forget where you came from, all right, kid? I'd love to see your face around here more often than once every couple of years."

Peter smiled, thinking of the suit hidden away in his backpack. "Yeah, I think you'll be seeing me a bit more often from now on."

"Sounds good! Stay safe out there, okay?"

"Thanks, Mr. Delmar!" answered Peter. "See ya soon!"

Peter headed down the busy street, munching on his sandwich as he walked about three blocks before ducking into a dead-end alleyway. Shoving the final bite into his mouth, Peter tossed the trash into the dumpster and unzipped his backpack, pulling out his brand-new suit. With a quick glance around to make sure no one could see him, Peter proceeded to strip out of his clothes and pull on the suit. With a quick check of the time, Peter tucked his phone into its special pocket and activated his web shooters, webbing his backpack to the brick side of a building. He'd designed the webbing to dissolve after a couple of hours, and he needed to make sure that he enough time afterwards to change and get back to the school before Dad or Steve came to pick him up, so he needed to get started.

Pulling on his mask, Peter inhaled a deep breath and looked up at the side of the building, easily ten stories high, and aimed his web shooter. The string of webbing shot out, attaching itself firmly to the very top ledge of the building. Tugging on it to make sure it could support his weight, Peter smiled and took off.

The first few times that he patrolled not too much happened. Since Peter hadn't had a chance to really test his equipment before, he ended up spending the first few patrolling afternoons just getting the timing and rhythm down with the swinging between buildings. There were a few things that he was able to help with; an attempted stolen bicycle and a couple of lost old ladies, but nothing too interesting happened until the afternoon where he noticed a speeding car that had run a red light and was heading straight for the side of a bus. With his heart in his throat, Peter managed to swing down and land directly in front of the car, stopping it just in time to avoid t-boning the bus. And while he didn't then wait around for the police to show up, Peter did manage to web the man's hands to the steering wheel, preventing him from escaping before the police arrived.

"Who the hell are you?" the man asked, panting as he struggled against the ironclad hold of the webbing.

"Call me Spider-Man," Peter answered proudly before flipping away. The newest Queens crime-fighter.

With his confidence growing higher every time, Peter continued with his patrols, boosted up even more when he got the idea to tell Dad that Ned's mom could start bringing him home on Tuesdays and Thursdays instead of Dad or Steve coming to pick him up. Without the time constraints of having to make it back to the school before the designated pickup time, Peter was able to relax even more into his new role.

And, judging by how normal everything seemed to be at home, no one in Avengers Tower was any the wiser.

One afternoon around three weeks later, Peter had just swung up to the top of a building about a block away from Delmar's, taking a quick breather after a bad mix-up with a guy who Peter had thought was trying to steal a car when he actually had just locked his keys inside. Since it had been a rather boring afternoon other than that, Peter was just about ready to call it quits and head back home when he noticed a group of four men, all wearing toy Avengers masks, entering a bank on one of the corners.

"Finally, something good!" Peter muttered as he flipped down from the building. Hurrying down the street, Peter silently entered the bank, closing the door behind him.

"Whoa, this high-tech stuff makes this all too easy!" one of the guys—the one wearing the Hulk mask—said as he aimed what appeared to be some sort of laser rifle at the ATM, completely cutting away the front of the machine. He backed away once he was done, allowing the guy in the Thor mask to step forward with another, three-pronged weapon that removed the front of the machine using what looked like a magnetic field of some kind.

Where the hell would a bunch of random bank robbers get fancy weapons like this? Peter thought. The only time Peter had seen anything that even resembled stuff like this were back in some of the old SHIELD files he'd peaked at after the whole Project Insight mess.

Peter watched as the robbers yanked the drawers full of money out of the ATM and proceeded to empty them into the black duffle bags they were carrying, chattering the whole time about how they could hit at least four more banks that evening.

"Hey, what's up, guys?" Peter said a few seconds later. "Did you forget your PIN number or something?"

The four men immediately froze and looked up, the Iron Man guy cocking his rifle and taking two steps forward as Peter shot a web towards him, yanking the rifle from his hands.

"You're not really the Avengers!" Peter said as he shot up to cling to the ceiling, bringing his feet down into the chest of the Thor robber, knocking him backwards and into a sign hanging on the wall. I would know.

Dodging a punch from the Iron Man robber, Peter caught the guy's hand, diverting it to hit the Hulk guy instead and knocking him down. He jumped down from the ceiling, intending to start webbing up the robbers and leave them for the police when the Captain America guy picked up the three-pronged rifle and shot it towards Peter, encasing him in the same magnetic field that they'd used to rip apart the ATM.

"Oh my God, this feels so weird!" Peter gasped, his voice sounding like it was coming from the deep innards of a wind tunnel. The Cap dude raised the rifle, slamming Peter up against the ceiling of the bank and back down again. Peter managed to fire his web on the third pass, catching it on a shelf filled with bank flyers and hurling into the back of the Cap guy, sending him flying into the window and knocking him down.

"C'mon, guys, let's wrap this up!" said Peter, flipping out of the way of yet another flying fist sent by the fake Iron Man. "It's a school night! And how did jerks like you get tech like this anyway?" Webbing the Iron Man's three-pronged rifle to the wall, Peter turned just in time to see the Hulk guy raise his weapon and pull the trigger.

The sound of the weapon as it powered up reminded Peter of the Stark Industries jet taking off from a runway. The entire back end of the weapon started to glow a bright pinky-purplish color just a few seconds before a massive energy beam discharged from the barrel. Peter was barely able to shove the Iron Man guy out of the way before the beam cut completely through the windows of the bank, shooting across the street and directly into Mr. Delmar's store.

"Mr. Delmar!" Peter cried, the robbers instantly forgotten as he ran down the street, hurdling burning pieces of debris as he jumped inside the destroyed deli, calling Mr. Delmar's name. Peter found the store owner bent over on his hands and knees behind the deli counter, coughing violently against the dense smoke filling the store.

"Who the hell are you?" Mr. Delmar gasped as Peter wrapped Mr. Delmar's arm around his shoulders and lifted him up, dragging him out of the destroyed building, with Murph the fat ginger cat tucked under his other arm. "Where'd you come from?"

"Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, sir, " answered Peter. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No way," said Mr. Delmar with another cough. "It would take a lot more than that to get me to go to a hospital. I'll take my cat back though, if ya don't mind, Spider Boy."

"Huh?" asked Peter, his attention drawn back to the now-empty bank, with currency bills still fluttering to the ground. The Avengers robbers had all fled the scene.

"My cat?" Mr. Delmar asked, pointing to the meowing animal under Peter's arm. "Can I have my cat back, please?"

"Oh, sure," mumbled Peter, handing the fuzzy cat to Mr. Delmar, who immediately tucked him to his chest. "You okay then, sir?"

"Yeah, yeah. I can hear the sirens already," Mr. Delmar said as he tried to shush the cat, who was still meowing furiously. "I'll be fine."

"All right then," Peter said, his shoulders sagging in frustration. He was going to have to figure out some way of telling Dad and Steve about these hi-tech weapons without making it seem like he'd seen them in action. These things were far too dangerous to be just floating around on regular city streets.

As twilight began to stretch across the city, Peter hurried back to the alleyway where he kept his backpack and clothes, his heart dropping down to his knees when he got there and realized that the webbing he'd used to secure it earlier had already dissolved, and the backpack was gone.

"Oh, crap!" Peter muttered. He was already on his second backpack of the school year, and it had barely even started. "Dad's gonna kill me!"

Not to mention the fact that he now had absolutely nothing with which to cover his Spider-Man suit, which meant he was going to have to figure out a way to sneak back into the Tower, which, for all intents and purposes, was a building that was supposed to be impossible to sneak into.

"Crap, crap, crap!" mumbled Peter as he swung from building to building, his heart thudding wildly as he crossed the distance between Queens and Midtown as quickly as possible. He and Ned had never stayed in the robotics lab this late, and Peter had a feeling Dad was going to have a few questions for him once he got home.

Landing about a half a block away from the Tower, Peter ducked under a large awning, pulling out his phone with a shaky hand. "FRIDAY?" he whispered. "Can you tell me my dad's location?"

"Mr. Stark is currently speaking with Captain Rogers and Mr. Wilson in Captain Rogers' apartment, Young Peter," answered FRIDAY. "Would you like me to contact him for you?"

"No, no, FRIDAY, thanks," Peter said quickly. "Um… I'll be home in a few minutes, so I'll call him when I get in."

"Very well," said FRIDAY.

Securing his phone, Peter swallowed hard as he approached the Tower. The only thing he could think of that could possibly work would be to climb up the side of the thing and try to get in using the entrance on the Quinjet landing pad, which led directly into Dad's lab. Looking up at the huge, tall Tower, Peter inhaled a deep breath and began to climb, avoiding any windows with lights still on and trying to stay on the west side of the building. All of the residential apartments were on the ten uppermost floors of the huge building and mainly faced east, so Peter was hoping that none of his family members would happen to be looking out of one of their westward-facing windows at the same exact moment as he climbed up past them.

Huffing and puffing, Peter finally reached the top of the Tower several minutes later. As he dropped down onto the landing pad, Peter ducked down behind the Quinjet to catch his breath. He was sweating profusely under his suit from all his exertion, and was really looking forward to a hot shower once he got inside, hopefully to be followed by a large dinner.

Peter punched his alarm code into the panel next to the door, relieved when the door immediately clicked open. Crawling up onto the ceiling, Peter made his way across the lab, down the dark main hallway, past Dad and Pepper's bedroom and into his own room, dropping down silently onto the floor with a huge sigh of relief. Pulling off his mask, Peter flopped backwards onto his bed and squeezed his eyes closed. He had made it.

"FRIDAY, lights," a low voice suddenly said from the corner. Peter gasped, shooting up from the bed so fast that his head started to swim, causing him to flop right back onto his pillows. Blinking against the sudden brightness of the lights, Peter winced as he turned towards the corner, his tired eyes slowly focusing in on the person sitting in the chair over by the window.

"Care to explain where you've been all afternoon?" asked Dad, his voice thick with anger and disappointment. "And that goddamn Halloween costume you're wearing?"

Chapter Text

Tony watched as Peter's mouth opened, then snapped closed again three separate times, his lower lip starting to shake.

"Well?" Tony said sharply. "Are you gonna just sit there gaping like a lost fish, or are you gonna answer me?"

"I—, I was—" Peter stammered, still squinting against the brightness of the lights. Tony probably should've told FRIDAY to dim the lights a bit, but it was too late for that now. "I was—"

"You were what, exactly?" demanded Tony, squeezing his shaky hands into fists in his lap. "You were in the robotics lab with Ned, dressed in your long underwear, and just lost track of time?"

Peter shook his head, his sweaty curls flopping down over his forehead. "N—, no. I was—"

"Okay, so we've at least established that you were not where you told me you were," Tony snapped. He sucked in an agonizing breath, trying desperately to keep calm but realizing that he was failing nonetheless. Howard had often resorted to shouting at Tony whenever he'd done something stupid as a kid, usually while brandishing a glass of Scotch in one hand, and Tony was frantically trying to avoid going that route.

"So, I'm asking again," he said in a hard voice. "Where the hell were you all afternoon?"

Gulping, Peter ran a trembling hand through his sweaty hair, causing his wayward curls to stick up in every which direction. Kid needed a haircut again already. Goddamnit, how can he not see that he's still just a kid?

"Um… I was just trying to help—"

"You were trying to help," grumbled Tony. He leaned forward in the chair, his eyes boring into Peter's. "And help who, exactly?"

"People," Peter whispered. "Just… people, anyone. Whoever needed me."

"Mmmhmm," Tony said. "And exactly how long did you think you could keep up this little circus routine of yours? How long were you planning on choosing to disobey me?"

A single fat tear snaked its way down Peter's round cheek, and Tony's heart lurched so painfully that he nearly choked. The kid's jawline may have sharpened up a bit since he hit puberty, but he still had the same roundness to his cheeks that he'd had ever since he was seven. Tony bit his lip; he hated seeing Peter so upset, and hated even more when he was the cause of it, but this was far too big of a thing to just brush aside. This was a hell of a lot bigger than just another lost backpack.

"Dad, I'm sorry!" Peter cried. "I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't mean to what, exactly?" barked Tony. His chest was getting tighter with every stuttering beat of his heart, and his left arm had been aching fiercely ever since Steve had called him down to see the news footage of the bank robbery that had led to the destroyed deli. "Kid called himself the Spider-Man," the store owner had told the reporter. "I don't know who he is or where he came from."

Well, it hadn't been at all difficult for Tony and Steve to figure out who the Spider-Man was, or where he came from. And Peter was damn lucky that it'd been Steve who saw the footage first. As it was, there had been barely enough time for Steve and Sam to get Tony to calm down a bit before FRIDAY announced that Peter was almost home.

Peter sniffed, swiping at his eyes. Tony could see he was starting to shiver as well. "Dad, I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't—"

"You mean that you didn't mean to get caught though, don't you?" Tony said, his voice rising with every word. "Because isn't it the goal of every child who does something idiotic behind his parent's back to not get caught? But Christ, Pete, what in the goddamn hell were you thinking? Did you seriously think that you'd be able to keep something like this a secret from me? How stupid do you think I am?"

"Dad, no, that's not what I meant!" Peter cried. He tucked his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and dropping his forehead down. "That's not what I meant at all! I didn't—"

"Then what the hell do you mean?" yelled Tony. "You mean that after I specifically told you no, you went out there behind my back and tried to play superhero? That you just said, 'ah, to hell with what my father says, I must know better right? 'Cause I'm a teenager, and teenagers know everything, don't they?' And then I have to see on some fucking news station some goddamn reporter talking about 'The Spider-Man.' I had to see that my son, who I specifically told to not get involved, tried to go up against something that he didn't understand and nearly got people killed in the process!" Tony paused, his throat so tight he was surprised he could still speak, tears stinging his eyes at the sight of Peter in front of him, cowering in fear on his bed.

"Goddamnit, Pete!" he choked out. "I told you no! I told you no, and you disobeyed me! For weeks you deliberately disobeyed me, going out there and swinging around the city in your goddamn underoos!"

"How do you know—?"

"FRIDAY can keep track of where your phone's been, Peter!" Tony snapped. "And I've never had any reason to use those logs until now, but after I saw that news footage tonight I went and pulled them up. You've been out there for weeks, swinging and flying around, risking your life and lying to me, and I want to know why!"

The room was quiet for a few seconds, with only the sounds of Tony's gasping breaths breaking the leaden silence. Peter was shaking so hard on his bed Tony was surprised he hadn't yet vibrated out of his skin, his hands clamped so tightly over his ears that his knuckles were white. Tony wanted so badly to curl his arms around him, to draw him to his chest and rub his scalp, like he always used to whenever Peter was upset. But he couldn't just yet. Not until he'd made Peter understand just how badly he had scared him.

"Please!" Peter finally squeaked from somewhere in the depths of his tangle of limbs. "Please, I'll tell you anything you wanna hear, just… please, don't yell at me anymore! I can't—, I can't take it, it's too loud! Too loud, Daddy!"

Tony tried to resist, he really did, because the discussion was nowhere near over. But hearing the word 'daddy' fall from Peter's lips for the first time since the Raft incident months before was the final straw. Tony broke down completely, pitching forward onto Peter's bed and wrapping the shivering boy into his arms. Tears streamed down Tony's face as Peter immediately tucked his head under Tony's chin, his fists gripping Tony's shirt just like he used to when he was little. In all of his fear and anger, Tony had completely forgotten how much Peter hated any kind of yelling, even more so since the spider bite. Peter's ears were so sensitive now, Tony couldn't imagine the kind of pain he'd been causing him during his rampage.

"Christ, Pete," he murmured, threading his fingers into Peter's damp curls. "I can't—, I'm so sorry, buddy. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to yell like that."

"Hurts, Daddy," whimpered Peter. "Too loud!"

"I know, bud," Tony whispered. He grabbed one of the throw blankets from the end of the bed, tucking it around Peter's shivering body. "I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."

"Uh huh," Peter murmured through his chattering teeth. "Okay."

"But, you still need to explain yourself," Tony said gently. He rubbed the pads of his fingers over Peter's scalp, sighing when Peter practically melted against Tony's chest. "I can't just let this slide, Pete, you know that."

"I know," Peter said. He inhaled a deep, shaky breath. "I was—, I was just trying to be like you." More tears slid down his cheeks, wetting through Tony's shirt. "A hero, like you. I just wanted to show you that I could be an Avenger."

"Oh God, Pete," Tony croaked, burying his nose into Peter's hair, his hands gliding up and down Peter's back, trying to warm him. "You don't wanna be like me. I'm not a hero, not really. And you're—"

"Yeah, you are," Peter insisted. He lifted his head, his brown eyes all red-rimmed and weepy. "You are. You're brilliant—"

"Not as brilliant as you are, Pete," Tony interrupted. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever seen, and I've seen quite a few."

"You're brave," said Peter, as if he hadn't even heard Tony. "You flew that missile through the wormhole, you went to help Steve with the Project Insight, you took out the Ultron bots when they attacked during the party, you—"

"Not as brave as a little boy who stood up to a Hammer drone ten times his size and didn't even flinch," Tony sputtered. "Not as brave as a boy who figured out how to take down Ultron's entire drone army. Not as brave as a boy who took on five Winter Soldiers and lived to tell about it."

"You're responsible," Peter continued. "You shut down your weapons manufacturing as soon as you found out how they were being misused, even though you knew it was gonna cost you a ton of money. You didn't even hesitate, because you knew it was the right thing to do."

Tony let out a heavy sigh. "But how many innocent people died before then because of my weapons?" he murmured. "I'm not responsible, Pete. I was a murderer. And I'll never—no matter how many lives that I save from now on—be able to atone for all the lives that were lost because of my ignorance and greed."

"No, Dad," Peter said, shaking his head, his curls all in disarray. "No. That's not true. There was no way you could've known what was going on."

"I could have if I'd've pulled my head out of my ass every now and then," said Tony. "But instead I chose to be an idiot, drinking and sleeping around and ignoring all of the collateral damage that was piling up around me. And all that nonsense didn't stop with Iron Man, buddy, not all of it. All those months where I thought I was dying, I did so many stupid things. Too many to count. I even got so shitfaced drunk at my own birthday party that not even Rhodey was able to talk me down. I ended up damaging almost half of the Malibu house before that fiasco came to a halt."

"You thought you were dying?" Peter gasped. His hands gripped Tony's shirt so tightly that Tony was surprised it hadn't torn yet. "When?"

"It doesn't matter now, Peter," Tony said dismissively. "It's all in the past."

"Mmm," Peter said, tucking his head back down. "Yeah, it's in the past now. Just like the days when you were building weapons instead of superhero suits."

"Peter," Tony started. "This doesn't mean—"

"I was just trying to be like you," Peter repeated. "But I guess I screwed it up."

"Yeah, you did, kid," said Tony. He cupped Peter's cheeks, brushing his tears away with his thumbs. "But I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be better. And you can't do that if you're going behind my back and trying to take on things that you're not ready for. You say I'm brave, Peter, but there's been so many times when I've been so fucking scared of losing you that I could barely breathe! Killian, Ross, that goddamn vision of you dying in my arms, Pete, all of those things, they haunt my dreams every single night! I'd rather fly through a million wormholes or take on a million Project Insights than face the possibility of losing you. And then tonight, when I saw that news footage, when I saw that destroyed store, and for a few agonizing seconds I didn't know if you were buried under all that rubble somewhere or if you'd made it out somehow, well, let's just say it's damn lucky that Cap was there, because he almost had to catch me."

Peter's lower lip quivered, and he caught it between his teeth, nodding with downcast eyes. "I'm sorry that I made you worry."

"Well, it's a bit better now that I know you're okay, Pete," Tony said. "But I'm only half joking when I say I'm not sure how much more my heart can take of this. It isn't exactly in its finest working order, you know. Hasn't really been since Afghanistan."

"I think it's stronger than you think," mumbled Peter. "You told me you survived surgery in that cave with almost no anesthesia. That takes a pretty strong heart."

"Mmm, maybe. But I have a feeling trying to put up with having a superhero teenager for a son is gonna be its biggest test yet."

"I'm not a hero," Peter said, slumping against Tony.

"No, you aren't," Tony agreed. He kissed Peter's temple, squeezing him so tightly that Peter grunted. "At least not yet."

Peter froze, his head slowly lifting from Tony's chest. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Tony said with a sigh. "That maybe I was wrong. I still want to talk to Cap and Sam about it first, but while I'm not ready for you to be galavanting around Queens at all hours of the night trying to stop bank robberies, I might be willing to reconsider allowing you to join in on our training sessions up at the Compound."

Peter's eyebrows shot up so high they disappeared under his hair. "Really? You're serious?"

"But only if you can promise me that you're not ever going to do anything like this ever again," Tony said firmly. "And you're not gonna start training right away, either. As much as I hate to do this, you're gonna have to wait for a while still, and I don't know exactly how long yet, so don't ask. But the disobedience can't go unpunished, Peter. It just can't."

"I know," Peter whispered, his chin dropping down to his chest. "I know. I'm sorry, Dad."

"Good. You should be," Tony said, softening his words with a kiss to the top of Peter's head. He curled his hand around Peter's arm, pointing to the web shooter around his wrist. "Now, go get cleaned up so you can eat something, 'cause when you're done I wanna have a good look at these fancy new toys of yours."

"So, if you're done doing whatever it was that you were doing, then why can't you come back to the robotics lab with me?" asked Ned the following day while he and Peter were walking to the lunchroom. "I've been working on something pretty cool in there and I've been dying to show you!"

Peter let out a heavy sigh. "I can't, dude. Since we don't have decathlon practice those days, Dad's picking me up right after school. We need… we're working on something pretty important at home."

"Why's it so important all of a sudden?" Ned asked. "Your dad's never made you skip out on robotics lab before?"

"I know," answered Peter. "He's designing a new repulsor, one that he can launch from an independent power source, and he wants me to help him." Not that I have a choice.

"What good would a single repulsor do?" asked Ned as he picked up his lunch tray. "Wouldn't you need like a set of them to do anything useful?"

"They come in sets," Peter said. "Mainly for emergencies, like if an airplane lost its engine power or something. The repulsors could be launched and attach themselves to the plane to keep it level until it can land."

"Oh. Well, I guess that is pretty cool," Ned said. "Think your dad would let me help too?"

"Maybe, I can ask him," answered Peter as they sat down at their usual table. Peter and Ned always sat together at one end of a long table with Michelle, a rather eccentric girl from their class, down at the other end, her nose usually buried in a book.

"Hey, look," Ned said a few minutes later through a mouthful of tater tots. He elbowed Peter in the side. "Liz is putting up the Homecoming banner."

"Mmm," replied Peter as he took a sip from his milk carton. "When's that?"

"Couple weeks I think. I was thinking of asking Betty, you think she'd wanna go with me?"

"Sure, dude," Peter said distractedly. Too bad Shuri doesn't live closer.

"Otherwise we can always go stag," Ned continued. "But I bet Liz would go with you if you asked."

"I'm not—, I don't know if I even wanna go," Peter mumbled. Or if Dad would even let me if I did want to.

"Why not?"

'Cause I'm pretty much grounded until I'm eighteen? "I dunno, I guess I'm not all that big on going to a school dance when the girl I'd rather take lives on another continent. But I can ask my dad if I can go if it's important to you."

"Since we'd look like complete losers if we didn't go, I'd say that's a yes," said Ned. "So yeah, please ask."

"You guys are already losers," piped up Michelle from the other end of the table. "Missing one overpriced high-school social event wouldn't change anything."

Peter looked up, frowning in Michelle's direction. "That isn't very nice."

Michelle shrugged, closing her book with a loud slap. "Who said I'm nice?"

Ned quirked an eyebrow as he watched Michelle walk away. "It is too bad that your princess doesn't live closer though."

Sighing, Peter nodded. He'd been missing Shuri quite a bit lately, talking to her on video chat just wasn't the same. "Yeah, but I doubt her brother would allow her to travel up here alone, and I really doubt the school officials would let her guards in with their eight-foot sonic spears, so I don't think it would work out."

"No, probably not," Ned said. "I still think I might ask Betty though. That okay with you?"

"Sure. Go for it, dude."

"Cool. So, when can you come over and help me with the Death Star?"

"Um…" Peter stammered. He shoved the last of his tater tots into his mouth. "I dunno, I gotta ask—"

"You gotta ask your dad about that too?" grumbled Ned. "Geez, dude, you get into trouble lately or something? Why's he treating you like you're eight years old again?"

"It's just a phase that he's in," snapped Peter. "Dad gets a bit overprotective sometimes, you know that. Can't really blame him, given some of the stuff he's been up against."

Ned held up his hands. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it, I was just wondering. I mean, I've been sitting on the Death Star for a couple weeks now, waiting on you, so I just thought—"

"I'll ask if you can come over this weekend," Peter interrupted. "We're not going up to the Compound until they finish some construction work Dad's having done on it, so maybe you could spend the night on Friday. Sound good?"

"Yeah!" Ned said, his round face breaking into a huge smile. He always enjoyed getting invited to spend the night at the Tower. "Think we could convince Captain America to help us with it?"

"Sure, I can ask him," Peter said. "He'd probably enjoy it. I can ask Natasha too, she likes Legos. She helped Shuri and me with our castle down in Wakanda."

"Black Widow likes Legos?" asked Ned, raising his eyebrows. "Who woulda thought, huh?"

Peter shrugged. "She says she finds it relaxing. She's helped me build a bunch of stuff before."

"Cool!" Ned said excitedly. "Sounds great!"

The bell rang then, indicating the end of the lunch period. Peter and Ned picked up their trays, heading over to the conveyor to return them. "So, when are you gonna ask Betty?" Peter asked. "Better do it soon before someone else does."

Ned cleared his throat. "Maybe in gym class later today, if I can work up the nerve."

"Sure," Peter said, inwardly groaning about gym class. He'd always hated gym class since he'd always been so small and weak, and the classes never really allowed him to showcase his gymnastics skills. But ever since the spider bite they'd become even more troublesome. It was a lot harder than one would think for Peter to not show off his super strength now, which usually ended up with Peter laying off even more than he probably needed to and appearing even weaker than he looked. He still was always one of the last people picked for team sports, and he had to concentrate so hard on trying to not hurt anyone that it exhausted him.

"I think we're doing the fitness challenges today and Friday," Ned said as they headed to their physics classroom. "You know, the Captain America fitness challenge?"

"Oh geez," groaned Peter, grinning sheepishly. "Yeah, Steve told me that Principal Morita had asked him to do those videos a long time ago. I guess he finally found the time."

"Guess so," said Ned. "Should be fun!"

Holy shit, Tony thought, adjusting the counter lamp so he could examine one of Peter's web shooters a little more closely. This is just… brilliant!

Tony had meant to have Peter go over the tech with him last night before Peter went to bed, but after he finally managed to get Peter warmed up and cleaned up and fed, it had gotten too late for Tony to get any more than just a cursory glance. As it was, Peter was practically nodding off at the dinner table, exhausted from the intense confrontation plus the events that had led up to it. Tony had gotten him tucked into bed, and then he'd ended up sitting there on the bed next to him for nearly half of the night, his hand on Peter's shoulder or carding through his hair, just like he used to when Peter was little or when he'd had a nightmare. It had been a long time since Tony had done that, but he felt like he needed to that night. Almost more so for his own sake than for Peter's.

"FRIDAY, what did Pete use to construct this?" asked Tony, turning the web shooter over the magnifying glass. "I mean, besides the pieces of my tech that he swiped from the lab."

"I believe Young Peter used his glue formulation, boss," answered FRIDAY. "Which is now patent pending, by the way. Miss Potts submitted the paperwork early this morning."

"Yeah, yeah, that's good. Make sure Pepper knows to set up a separate trust for Pete with any profits that come from it."

"Miss Potts has already done so, boss," FRIDAY said.

"Course she has," muttered Tony. "She thinks of everything. Just one of the many reasons why I love her."