Warning: language!

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Changes in the Wind

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Duty Calls - Tony Stark

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I pace back and forth in the upper labs. My eyes skimming without seeing the glass walls, the high powered chamber we created for destroying the microprocessors once we had them in our possession. We were very optimistic during construction.

Now it's the last thing on my mind.

All I can think about is that kid. Seeing Captain America die, and then running off like that. He has to be fucking terrified. Now that I've met him in person - spoke with him, and yes, bonded a little - got attached -

The idea of him wandering around this city at night in anything but a Spider-Man costume doing the things that make him happy is just outrageous. This kid deserves a suit. That kid deserves to have what's left of his family.

I put myself in charge of finding him, now I just have to figure out how to do that.

I'll start simple. I'll suit up and search every damn hole in this city.

My phone rings.

Nick Fury.

I answer, but I don't have a chance to say hello.

"I've gotten about nine different calls from nine different sons of bitches all telling me that Captain America is no longer with us," Fury snaps. "And not a single call from someone I actually trusted."

"It's true," I reply painfully.

"So what the hell are you doing about it?" Fury pushes.

"...Regrouping."

"What the hell was Steve doing out on the top of the god damn building?"

"Meeting his informant. He's had one with the Vulture for awhile. He was supposed to pull him."

"So here's something I don't fucking understand, is why my least favorite strike team was on the ground at the same time?"

"They were under James Barnes's orders. Someone's been selling us out to the Vulture. He thought he was looking for their informant."

"Well they sure fucking found one informant. They shot MY guy today."

I blink. "They what now?"

"I've had an undercover agent in Vulture's crew for… shit, I don't know. A year now? A year and a half? Trying to advance as a reliably addicted criminal. Get recruited by Hydra eventually as one of their mules."

"Who?" I demand.

"Aaron Davis. The Prowler. We're still looking for the body to confirm, but Rumlow's strike team confirmed they hit him before the van sped off. They didn't know he was one of their own. Which is why they should have never been there in the god-damn first place."

"Damn it," I choke out painfully, renewing my pacing with vigor, pinching the bridge of my nose to thwart an oncoming migraine. "Why didn't you tell anyone here?"

"Oh, well, let me think on that one," Fury replies sarcastically. "Because spies are my tools. Using plants to gather information on fighting Hydra at the ground level. That's my goddamn area of expertise. What the fuck do you think I thought YOU were busy with? Space. Aliens. Robots. Leaving street clean up to us."

"Well, newsflash, Nick," I reply angrily. "The world isn't under attack and the UN doesn't want us to get bored. If we didn't come up with something to do that met with their approval, then they split up the team and started sending us on solo missions around the world. So what do you think we decided to focus on? Fighting Hydra. It's been our primary objective ever since Ultron."

"I don't feel comfortable sharing all my goddamn intel with Avengers Village during an ongoing investigation! And now you're telling me that Steve Rogers was conducting the same damn investigation with an undercover Avenger which just got him killed? Tony, this is a big fucking mess."

"Don't you think I know that?" I reply, taking a moment to calm. "I'm sorry."

"I'm the one that's sorry," Nick growls. "Sorry for Davis's sister and his nephew Miles. They were the world to him, and him to them. I'm sorry that James fucking Barnes took it upon himself to put Shield Agents without all the intel on the ground for surveillance when they should not have been there. I'm sorry about Steve." He pauses. "I truly am, Tony."

I don't answer. I can't.

"I feel partially responsible. Asking him all those years ago. To get back out in the world."

"Don't do this," I pinch the bridge of my nose again. My head aches and pounds.

"Look," Fury says. "You said Steve was there to pull his own undercover today?"

"Yes."

"You have him yet?"

"No - he's - still out there."

"Tony, if you've still got someone out there," I can hear Fury shake his head. "The fall out from this… It's not going to be pretty. Every no-good son of a bitch out there who ever thought a dirty word is going to feel emboldened by Cap's death. I'd pull him while you still can."

I nod. "I'll get him out."

"Now do me a favor, won't you? Keep Barnes's shit out of my shit. We didn't just lose one good one today. Shield is trained for shooting at the bad guys, but they would not have been there without Barnes's interference. I would consider asking myself why that is."

"Already asking," I respond shortly.

"Good. Now - listen. I'm off the grid. I'll be wrapping up my current job and flying into Wakanda after. I will try and make it back for the funeral, but I wanted to call and say, I am sorry. I am. "

"Thank you."

When he hangs up, I send a group text message to only the select few.

Assemble.

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One Last Job - Peter Parker

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I walk MJ home. Or rather, she walks me to her home. I'm too worried and scared and confused by what's going on to do much of anything.

But I stop at the door of her dorm building.

"You're not coming up?" she asks confusedly, when she tries to go through the door and my hand tugs her back.

"Wait a moment," I whisper.

The other phone is ringing. MASON CALLING

I grip her hand in one, answering the phone with the other.

"Peter here," I answer.

"Hi there!" greets Mason cheerfully. "Boss wants to know if you're feeling too emotionally fragile from losing Brice and Davis, or if you can help him with a job tomorrow morning."

I snort, playacting all too easily. I had gotten so used to this. "You can tell him to… wait. What job?"

"My upgrade is finally past the beta stage," Mason announces proudly. "The microprocessors are ready for Hydra. They're doing the sale tomorrow morning."

"What time?" I ask, an ice-cold sweat breaking loose on the back of my neck.

"Three a.m.," Mason replies.

"Where?"

"Staten Island. The dirt road off Murray Hulbert, where they stack all the log shipments. Can you make it?"

I look at MJ. She gazes back at me, eyes concerned. Full.

The temptation to say I can't make it and stay with her… I bet she would let me crawl into her bed and fall into an exhausted, grieving sleep. The type of sleep I can never have at the garage… a locked down building designed for student access only. I'd feel safe. She's probably curl up next to me, around me, let me stay… let me cry for Captain America if I needed to…

But everything that we'd been trying find… this last job… it wouldn't bring Captain America back… but it could save a lot of lives…

Spider-Man wouldn't walk away. So why would Peter Parker?

I keep my focus on MJ. It floods me with strength. "I'll be there," I say.

She squeezes my hand, even though she doesn't know why. Even if she asks and I don't tell her yet, just in case it jeopardizes her safety - she smiles at me anyway, and I know I'm making the right decision.

I hang up the phone.

"Can I kiss you goodbye?" I ask.

"What kind of goodbye is it?"

"The kind where… if this, if I do this, it's all over. The good guys win."

She braces her hands on my shoulders. "If the good guys win, are you going to be okay?" She pauses. "No, amendment. Safe?"

"What if I told you that I'm helping save the world?"

"I don't want a world that you're not in, so, maybe I don't care," she shrugs. "Tell me if I'll be seeing you again, or if this is like uh - Alamo type of goodbye."

"It's not like that. It's more like. D-Day."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"But we won," I say confusedly.

"Have you ever actually looked at the casualties of D-Day?"

"I mean - yeah. Sophomore year."

"Jesus Christ, Peter."

"I'll be safe," I grasp her hands in my own. "But I have to go. I have to do this first."

Her face practically crashes into mine, and she winds her arms around my neck. I lift her off the step and swing her around, fusing her mouth with mine.

I start to loosen my grip, and she kisses me harder, her brow furrowed like she's angry and enacting revenge by the ferocity of her lips and tongue. I shut my eyes and melt away.

Finally she pulls back, her hands still locked around me. "This isn't goodbye," she says firmly. "This is a good luck."

...

Collisions - Bucky Barnes

...

I look at my last text to Natasha. The glow of my phone screen blinds me in my dark room. The night descended feels uneasy, as if the blackness came from drawing a blanket over my head, not the lack of sunlight outside.

So far, no answer. My gut feels like writhing snakes, staring at my phone like a beacon in deep waters. I feel hopelessness and curiosity, more than worry, of why she hasn't communicated with me at all. The belief of the inevitable. Because she never really felt anything for you in the first place.

My phone rings. A 002 V.

I answer. "Yes?"

"It's happening tonight - er, tomorrow, I guess."

"What is?"

"The microprocessors. The sale. Staten Island, log shipping company off Murray Hulbert."

He's breathless. He sounds as if he's running. I can hear the sounds of the city behind him. Traffic and wind whistling, as if he's in a much higher elevation. Maybe on a bridge.

"I know the place. What time?"

"Three a.m. Where they stack all the logs."

"You did it," I say, congratulating him. "This is it. We'll get them back. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Listen," he says urgently. "It's… it's going to be big. There'll be a lot of hardware, enhanced individuals on the buyer's side, too."

"Who is the buyer?"

"Hydra."

I pretend to act surprised. "Did they say who they were sending, though? Their network is widespread..."

"He didn't say. Vulture is a regular guy though. All his tech is powerful, but no one on the crew is enhanced."

Except you, I think. I've fought you.

"If it goes south, it's a bloodbath."

"It's not going to go south," I promise. "Because the Avengers will be there to stop it."

He heaves a sigh of relief. "Y-yeah. Yeah."

"One last mission, soldier?" I ask. "Let's make him proud."

He takes in a sharp breath. My words hurt him. "Yeah," he chokes. "Proud. If there's anything else…"

"We'll take care of it."

"Okay." He says quietly. "Okay then. Guess I'll see you soon."

"Yes, you will."

I end the call and sit up out of bed. My room is still as bare as if I moved in yesterday. Looks like nothing much of anything. White walls, a bed, a dresser. A closet.

It's a spy's room, which means never putting down roots. Force of habit.

Never moving in enough that you can't pack a bag in ten seconds and leave.

I know if Natasha and I ever found our way in here… things might unwravel. This is where I hoped and hinted; she was welcome to invite herself upstairs, she knew that. If not initiate herself, she knew I had an unspoken invitation that she need only accept if she wanted to. If our physical ferocity ever crossed the invisible boundary… if our driven, burning touches deepened. But we hadn't had that conversation yet.

Only paralyzing looks from her, as if to say "I dare you to say what you're thinking".

What I'm thinking, of course, is that - these aren't kisses that lead to movies and popcorn, these are kisses that lead to bedrooms.

She would take one look at this bare, cold room and know something wasn't right. It's the room of a spy, not a soldier. A soldier makes his small corner a home, because he always hopes he can come back to it. A soldier puts a few pictures on the wall. Has a favorite blanket thrown over the foot of the bed. Keeps a Bible in the nightstand, a dogtag on the bedpost.

Natasha Romanoff would see through it. And that's where things would begin to get shaky. Nothing gold can stay, after all. My relationship with her isn't built on a solid foundation. No history, no honesty. It's toying with the pin of a grenade.

I don't even realize how badly my head is throbbing. The sensations crash down at once - the pounding migraine, the ringing phone in my hand. Only it's not ringing to me - I've dialed a call out. Barely even noticing that I was doing it.

RINGING.

Vulture answers. "What?" he answers gruffly.

"I… I…" I nearly swallow my tongue. My lungs feel as if they are stretching out my throat, aiming for the ceiling. My hands twitch like an addict. The Winter Soldier wants to tell him everything; even my suspicion of who the undercover is.

After reviewing the footage that night, and hearing his voice - at last, and without him trying to disguise it - I have a certainty to my theory. Not proof, but a certainty.

But worse than that, the Winter Soldier wants to scroll back through the contacts on my phone, pull the number for A 002 V. Send it to the Vulture, tell him to line his men up, dial the number. See whose pocket rings.

That's what the Winter Soldier wants me to do right now.

Send him the number. Tell him who you think it is.

I'm fighting him in my head, harder than I've ever fought before. I don't want to send the number. I have no proof of who I think it might be.

Send him the number.

"I didn't pop the Captain, if that's what you're wondering," Toomes says hesitantly. It's the first time I've ever heard him sound unsure. "So if this is the start of some noble revenge shitshow, I'm out."

"It's not. I already know who killed him," I lie all too easily. Blood pools in my mouth from biting my tongue. "You and Shield had a run in today..."

"If it weren't for Captain America's death, it would have been a normal interruption," Toomes answers. "They killed one of my guys."

"Which one?"

"Aaron Davis."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say blankly.

"I'm going with the sale tonight anyway. Did Pierce tell you?"

Someone told me. I suspect the person is…

"No. Which sale?"

"Microprocessors. They're ready. Hydra is buying."

I start choking as if my throat is closing up with an allergic reaction. My breath wheezes horribly, and I feel the pressure in my ears change as if climbing up a high mountain.

I need to tell him the Avengers are coming tonight.

To end it all. Take him out, take down his crew, both him and the buyers from Hydra, recovering the stolen microprocessors, and then bringing them back here to the lab to be destroyed for good…

It all ends tonight…

Unless the Winter Soldier loses.

"They…" I start to say.

If I tell him, this will undo the work of the undercover… Steve's work, too. His last mission that he never got to see through.

"Hello? Barnes?"

I drop the phone in my lap, my hand shaking, I clutch at my wrist with the other, holding it still.

"Hello? Damnit." The Vulture sighs with annoyance and hangs up.

I unleash a ravaged exhale. Before anything else can happen, I put my phone in my pocket and I flee the room. Leaving the door open behind me.

Running down the hallway at a fully enhanced sprint, ignoring the elevator, reaching a balcony looking into a cross-section of hallways below me.

I throw myself over the railing and plummet for the hall below, tuck, land, and roll back to my feet, grabbing the next and throwing myself over again. Three floors of this until I reach a closed hall, aiming for a stairwell that echoes and taunts my footsteps - a man running, haunted.

My headache pounds with his name. Steve. Steve. Steve.

...

The Rat Identity - Adrian Toomes

...

Schultz drives. After two a.m., the roads are nearly empty and yellow with old lights. I should have eaten something before leaving to calm my nerves. Instead, I eat a handful of peanuts from a packet like I'm on a really shitty airline.

Peter sits in the back. Sort of jumpy, like a cricket.

The salt burns my tongue as I grind my teeth together, knocking back another handful of nuts and fiddling with the radio sticking to the dash with duct tape.

"What is that?" Peter asks.

"Police scanner," I mutter, "But an old one." I smack the side of the radio, watching the little red dials come to life. The audio scratching and struggling through.

Schultz looks at something written on his hand, before curving both fists over the steering wheel. His knuckles look strained. "You want… uh… midtown precinct. Hell's Kitchen."

"Of all the places for Tom and Greg to dump a body," I mutter, pissed off. "They pick Hell's Kitchen. That's the Devil's neighborhood."

"No one messes with the red devil," Schultz agrees.

"Wait," Peter asks worriedly, "Did they get caught by another boss?"

"Vigilante," I correct. "The devil is another masked idiot doing ninja shit. Red suit. Kind of like that Spider one that was around for a few years. But they didn't get caught. They just picked a bad, bad area." I twist one of the dials on the radio. "We got a heads up from someone in the NYPD that they found Davis's body already. We thought we'd tune in."

The audio on the radio is louder now, the voices clearer.

" - ell's - tchen - sanitation pier - 99. Abandoned boat ramp north - the pier - 10-34 reported - DOA… multiple abdomen piercing rounds - forensics - site..."

"What does DOA mean?" Peter asks.

"Dead on arrival," I answer. "Sounds like Davis all right."

"In what universe do Tom and Greg dump Davis in an area where people walk and jog regularly," Schultz rolls his eyes. "Just because the dock is broken, they think, ey, this looks creepy enough. Let's leave it here."

I get a text message from Pierce.

They're on their way.

I answer quickly. Good.

My phone buzzes again.

Davis was an Agent of Shield working for Nick Fury undercover.

I stare at the phone in my hand. What the fuck?

I type back. Did you know this?

The mission was not sanctioned by me. Fury just turned in his report to me.

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. "Well, what d'ya know," I say, twisting around in my seat and looking at Schultz and Peter. "Just had a little birdie in Shield tell me that Aaron Davis was our rat."

Schultz and Peter both react with mouths falling open.

"That moron!" Schultz groans.

The radio crackles. "...Identify - facial recognition - alias - The Prowler…"

"Does that mean he was feeding our information to Shield the WHOLE TIME?" Peter exclaims. "I can't believe it!"

"I would have thought Jackson would have betrayed us before Davis," Schultz growls.

"I thought so too," I admit. I give a white grin to Peter. "So now we know. Our rat."

"Fucking rats," Schultz goes on. "Damn, he was a good actor. I just thought he was too… too…"

"Too chill," Peter mumbles.

"Fucking traitor!" adds Schultz.

"Yeah, yeah," Peter adds unconvincingly. "I can't believe it!"

"Believe it," I say, and I am secretly relieved, yet again, that it ain't Pedro. "It's always the ones you don't suspect."

I suspected Peter from the beginning, so it makes sense. Davis didn't get into our group because an old associate of Mac's pointed us out because he wanted revenge. He got into our group because Nick Fury wanted him here.

"So I'm guessing we are in the clear for tonight," Peter says hesitantly. "No one told him about the sale was ready before he died, right?"

"No," I assure him. "It's good." I turn on my phone again, dialing Greg.

"Hullo!" he answers joyfully. "That you, Mason?"

"Gregory," I snap. "They found Davis already you near-sighted, blundering, MORON!"

Greg begins to stutter. "It was clear! It was clear! It's a good spot! No one uses it for boats no more!"

"Three feet of fucking water by a dock is not a good spot, you idiot," I yell. "Next time I tell you to DUMP A BODY, don't fucking DUMP A BODY in a primary jogging route where every bitch named Rachel goes on any god-damn evening for her nightly exercise!"

"Someone named Rachel found him during a jog?" repeats Greg confusedly.

"You're a idiot," I say, and I hang up the line.

Peter lets out a strange little giggle. But it's not a funny giggle. More like he is making a hard choice between giggling or throwing himself out of a moving vehicle cruising at fifty miles an hour onto a nearly-empty bridge, sans traffic during this ungodly hour.

I'm no stranger to strung-out newbies getting a little hysterical on the job with no sleep, but I need his mind sharp and obedient.

"It's not fucking funny," Schultz says.

"It is kind of funny," I say. I reach back and slap Peter's knee. "Get it together, Pedro. I need you fully in the zone tonight."

"You… you got it, boss. Count on me."

...

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NEXT TIME: HYDRA VS. THE AVENGERS...

Reader Replies

Sakura-Fiction - It cracks me up how much you hate Bucky. This delights me as an author. I've done my job lol. I also love the phrase IronDad XD That just made my day. Thanks for reviewing as always!

curry-llama - Sorry about the anxiety but holy shit it's gonna get worse darlin'. XD Thanks for your amazing reviews as always, I have the same thoughts about the far from home trailer!

cargumentluv - That's right! Peter should listen to MJ! XD Thanks so much for your reviews :)

LoonyLovegood1981 - Totally agree on the Mysterio looking like Dr. Strange and Thor, and I bet Flash totally would have said that if he knew Dr. Strange existed lol. Wouldn't it be hilarious if Peter was like "more like Dr. Strange" and everyone looks at him like "who is that?" XD I would crack up. I'm so glad you're enjoying the chapter! Sorry it's a bit terrifying. Apologies for future terror.

Starnight5 - I am so sorry its frustrating lol. I also love that though. XD Thank you so much for reading :D (hugs)

Tightpants182 - LOL I love you so much thank you for your review this just made my day! IM SORRY ITS SO ANXIOUS LOL. And I love how frustrated you are the characters, me as an author is very happy! Thanks for reading (hugs)