Hey you guys, thank for the reviews that I've gotten so far, it really means a lot. And yay, this is the fourth chapter, and my second chapter in two days! (I'm so proud of myself...) *sniffles*

If anyone's in AP Euro...you have experienced HELL, my friends. I pity you, as well as I pity myself. :)

Previously in Left Behind…

I was given a room and told not to go outside, if it could be avoided. Some of my stuff had been hauled out from New York so I could still somewhat have a life. What was most important…was absolute secrecy. No one could know that Obadiah Stane, Stark's old enemy, was after me, Stark's only son.

Why? Who knows, right? We'd basically agreed that it couldn't be to get to him. Stark hadn't known of my existence until a few years ago, at most. He probably knew when I started MIT. Mom…well…when she agreed for me to attend college, I'm sure she knew it was only a matter of time before he sought us out. We never thought that it would be for another reason. I never thought I would need my father to keep me safe.

I stood on the balcony connected to my room, the crisp February breeze blowing through my black hair. The light wind rippled my t-shirt, which read MIT.

"Hey," said my mother's gentle voice from behind me. I turned around and smiled slightly.

"Hey."

"Are you okay?" she asked, approaching me cautiously. I nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah," I said, exhaling. "I think so." After a moment, I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Are you?" She didn't answer. "Mom?"

"Jason…I honestly don't know."

"Mom, I'm sorry," I said quietly, though I didn't know exactly what I was apologizing for. "I never thought…I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," she said, though I'm sure she just said it as a reflex. I remained silent, feeling the cool air on my face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, my voice soft and sad. "Mom, why didn't you trust me?"

"Jase…I trust you with my life," she breathed, her mouth forming into an unwilling smile. She brushed her light orange hair out of her face. "I just thought…the less you knew…" I bit my lip.

"Mom…" I said. She let a small laugh escape her lips.

"When you were little…Iron Man was your hero," Mom said. I nodded silently.

"I know," I admitted after a minute. "But that doesn't explain anything. I would've been happy…ecstatic even…if he was my dad."

"That's not why," she said quietly. I fell silent once again. I guess parents always have that gift of making you shut up without having to yell at the top of their lungs. "As you got older, and more talented…" She broke off, tears rapidly falling down her pale cheeks. "God, there were so many times I wanted to tell you. There were so many times I almost did."

"Then why didn't you?" I asked, my voice low and bitter.

"I thought it was better for you to think that he was gone," she said honestly, "Rather than knowing he was out there…but not with us." Finally understanding, I nodded solemnly. Then a thought struck me.

"Mom…if you wanted to hold me back…why'd you sent me to MIT?"

"Never, Jason," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "I never wanted to hold you back. I just…I didn't want you to feel…unwanted. Unloved."

"None of this makes any sense," I muttered sullenly. Mom rubbed her forehead and sighed, sitting on the edge of my new bed.

"I know," she whispered as I sat down next to her, bending down and putting my head in my hands. I ran my fingers through my black hair, which I now knew I had inherited from Tony Stark…the man I was growing to despise. Mom's hand closed around mine, and I looked up, my brown eyes searching her blue ones.

"What?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Jase, never think that I meant for any of this to happen," she said softly, her hand brushing hair out of my eyes. "You were the best thing that ever happened to me, don't get me wrong…but I never meant for you to find out this way."

"Mom, sometimes things happen," I said, standing up and staring out the window that was overlooking the sea. "And sometimes there's nothing we can do to change it." I looked back at her, and she smiled sadly. My voice lowered, and I said, probably more to myself than to anyone else, "Sometimes things were always meant to happen." I stared out the window once again, my own voice echoing in my head.

Sometimes things were just meant to happen.

I absently traced my fingers across the clear windowpane that guarded the living room from the sea below it. I frowned as I noticed, past the waterfall, a stairway that led down…somewhere. I hadn't noticed it before. I cautiously walked over to it, stepping down one stair. When I was sure that nothing unusual would happen, I walked down the rest of the staircase and found myself staring at, behind a glass door, the most impressive workshop I'd ever set eyes on. I knew immediately that this was Stark's workshop…where he'd built everything from weapons to his many Iron Man suits.

As I stepped closer, a fingerpad identification thing popped up. Surprised though I was, I kept calm. I swore under my breath, but before I lifted my hand to try a code, the door swung open. Confused, I walked in. (I know, you're probably thinking, "Wise choice, Jason. Walking into a dark room that was supposed to be locked.")

"Mr. Stark?" I called. "Are you in here?" I got nothing in response. I frowned, but walked farther in. In the corner, some early designs and prototypes of the Iron Man suit were hanging from the ceiling. As old as I was, and having long left my superhero obsession behind, I couldn't help my jaw dropping wide as it would have if I'd been eight years old.

I looked around until I saw a desk covered with old VHS tapes, photos, and newspaper clippings. I slowly walked over to it and carefully picked up an old picture frame with a photo of two adults with a smiling little boy…a smiling little boy with black hair and deep brown eyes. My mouth opened and my eyes, that were a reflection of the boy's, grew large. I studied the parents, and I realized with a pang that the father was Howard Stark…my grandfather. My eyes darted to a yellowed newspaper clipping that announced the death of "business mogul" Howard Stark and his wife, Maria, leaving behind their seventeen-year-old son to mourn and the elder Stark's trusted friend Obadiah Stane to run the company. My eyes narrowed angrily and the mention of Stane. Sickened, I put the clipping down and looked away.

Tony Stark…was nothing like I had thought he was. Everyone…everyone always seemed to know exactly who he was. He was a playboy, a billionaire…he seemed to have it all. And I think that it had even gotten to the point that he had even fooled himself. But maybe he hadn't gotten over his parents' death. Maybe some part of him was still that seventeen-year-old boy who was grieving…alone. Maybe…all that I had ever believed about him was a lie, a façade.

Was it possible…it truly wasn't his fault?

Did he honestly not abandon my mother?

He must have, I convinced myself silently. There's no other reason. There can't be another reason.

"Thought I'd find you in the shop," said a voice behind me. I swung around, my eyes opening even wider. Tony Stark chanced a smile at me, one I hesitantly returned.

There it is, chapter 4! Did you like it? (Because I liked writing it...) Let me know! (REVIEW!)

Umm...I wanted to invite all you readers to join the Dark Side because we (apparently) have cookies. And I don't know about you, but I seriously like cookies, and DAMN their cookies are good.

I'll have chapter 5 posted really soon, so you don't have to wait for it THAT long. I want to get everything posted before we go to our Robotics competition this Thursday-Friday.

Thanks

-William D. J. Watson