"Pardon me, Master Peter, but Miss Stacy is on the line again," JARVIS said gently. "And she sounds quite upset."

Peter groaned as he rolled over on his bed, clutching his polar bear to his chest. He had already ghosted Gwen three times already that day, and while he realised that it was probably very rude of him, he didn't really much care at the moment.

How could Papa do that? How could he just let them take him away from us without a fight?

And right on the heels of those thoughts came the guilt. Peter had been planning on sitting his dads down the day after their anniversary dinner—that day—to tell them about the HYDRA files that he'd decoded. He had been hoping that they both would've been in a good enough mood to appreciate what he had done without getting too upset about the fact that he'd done all of it behind their backs.

But now it all seemed like a moot point.

He glanced at his clock, letting out another groan when he saw that it was already after 3pm. Through his slightly cracked door he could hear Uncle James talking to someone in the living room, and he knew Dad was in his lab, no doubt talking to one of his army of lawyers to try and figure out some legal loophole that would force HYDRA to release Papa back to them.

Even though Peter highly doubted that he would find one. This was HYDRA. They had practically invented loopholes, plus they had the President, most of the Senate, and at least some of the FBI on their side.

And that probably wasn't even all of them.

"What does she want, JARVIS?" he asked, trying to push himself up with his numb arms. He hadn't slept at all the night before, trying to give Dad as much support as possible and too wracked with guilt to sleep even if he'd wanted to.

"Miss Stacy has not given a specific reason for her call, Master Peter, but I would assume that she is merely concerned for your welfare," JARVIS said. "She does sound quite worried."

"Yeah, probably," Peter muttered as he flopped over again, facing the ceiling.

Lying on his enlistment forms, he thought bitterly. That's so low, even for HYDRA!

"Shall I inform Miss Stacy that you will speak to her later?" asked JARVIS. "Again?"

"No, I can talk to her," Peter said with a sigh. "Can you put her through to my tablet, please?"

"Peter!" Gwen exclaimed as soon as her face appeared on the screen. "Oh my God, are you okay? My dad saw what happened on the news and at first we didn't want to believe it, but—"

"Wait, it was already on the news?" Peter hadn't turned on the TV at all since Dad had gotten home the night before, but if the news was already reporting it then it was likely that the entire world had already heard about it, which meant there was probably an entire army of reporters camped down at the base of the Tower, waiting for a statement.

"Yeah," Gwen said grimly. "Both last night and this morning."

Peter shook his head, his curls flopping down over his forehead. "What are they saying?"

Gwen pursed her lips, yanking hard on her blonde ponytail. "It's probably better if I don't tell you."

"Geez, that bad, huh?" Peter muttered. "Whatever happened to 'everyone loves the Avengers'?"

"Most people do love the Avengers, Peter, just not the people doing the actual reporting," said Gwen. She leaned closer to her screen, lowering her voice. "And you know that control of the media is one of the main tenets of facism."

"Yeah, I know. I guess I was just kinda hoping that it hadn't gotten to that point yet." If HYDRA was already trying to smear Papa in the news then that could only mean that they were starting to move to the next phase of their plan, which likely included total or almost total control of the media.

Which meant that the military would probably be next.

A hard shiver raced down Peter's spine at the thought of the entirety of the United States Armed Forces under the control of HYDRA, and especially if supplied with weapons made from stolen Chitauri artefacts. Peter had looked through one of Dad's secured catalogs way back when he first started running the Department of Damage Control, and the sheer amount of stuff in there had raised his eyebrows. Power cores, practically indestructible metals, flying snowmobile-like contraptions, staff pulse weapons that reminded him of Teal'c's staff in Stargate SG1; there really was no limit to what HYDRA could do with the tech, especially in the hands of a brilliant engineer and a wealthy weapons' manufacturer, both of whom had massive bones to pick with Tony Stark.

"You know not everyone believes it though, right?" said Gwen. "You should've heard my father ranting when he saw the first news story. It really wasn't pretty."

"Mmm," Peter grumbled as he ran a hand through his hair. Then where was he when my papa was getting arrested for something that happened back in 1942?

"Um, did you need something, Gwen?" he asked. "'Cause I'm not really in the mood for talking, so—"

"Well, no, nothing specific. I just wanted to check on you," Gwen said, a bit shortly. "I was worried, you weren't answering my calls."

More guilt welled up in Peter's chest, and he mentally kicked himself for being such a jerk. It wasn't Gwen's fault that everything was going to hell.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't trying to be mean, I'm just…"

I'm just mad, and feeling guilty, and worried about Dad, and worried about Papa, and mad, and—

"It's okay, Peter, I understand," said Gwen. "Or, at least I'm trying to understand."

Peter gave a short nod. "Thanks."

"Do you think you'll be in school tomorrow?"

"Definitely," Peter answered, even though he had no idea if Dad would let him go or not. "There's no way I'm gonna just sit home and cry. That'd be like letting them win."

"Well, yeah, but I didn't know if your dad thought it would be safe for you to leave the Tower," Gwen said. "Although if you want, I'm sure my dad wouldn't mind coming to pick you up."

"No," Peter said firmly. "I mean, thanks, but no. I'm not—I don't want HYDRA to think that I'm afraid of them."

"Mmm, okay," Gwen said warily. "But you'll let me know if you change your mind, right?"

"Yeah, I will."

"And do you still think you'll be able to go on the Decathlon trip? I mean, the competition is in just over a week, so—"

"Absolutely. There's no way that I'm missing it." Peter made a mental note to be sure and pack at least three sets of web shooters, just in case.

"Okay," said Gwen. "Well… will you call me if you find anything out? Please? It's not just me, my parents are worried too."

"Yeah, I'll try and call tonight no matter what, okay? If I can't, I'll just see you in school tomorrow."

"All right." Gwen gave her ponytail another tug, her pretty green eyes sad and worried. "Just remember that you're not alone, okay? There's a lot of people who care about you."

"Thanks, Gwen," Peter said softly. "I mean it. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay."

As soon as Gwen clicked off Peter flopped back onto the bed, eyeing the two laptops stacked on his bedside table. He had been debating for most of the day on whether or not to tell Dad about the HYDRA files, trying to decide if it would actually do any good or just make Dad even more stressed. The guilt was eating away at him so badly that it was almost crippling, but Peter knew he had no right to be selfish at the moment.

Not when Papa's life was at stake.

Dad had tried calling the phone number given to him by the FBI agent who'd arrested Papa as soon as he had gotten home the night before, which turned out to be nothing but an operator at an answering service who promised Dad that they would "pass along the message as soon as regular business hours resumed" on Monday.

Which Peter and Dad both knew was just a bunch of HYDRA bullshit.

And, which also meant that Dad had no idea where they'd taken Papa or what they were going to do with him. An attempt to trace the licence plate of the agents' car had led to a dead end, and there was no way for JARVIS to trace the location of the answering service either, as the phone number was being routed through about a zillion different relays. JARVIS was working on it, of course, but since HYDRA was likely changing the relay locations on a real-time basis it probably would turn out to be just another dead end.

With a heavy sigh, Peter pushed himself up off the bed and got to his feet. He hadn't eaten anything for over three hours, trying to ignore his grumbling stomach because he could barely bring himself to step foot inside the kitchen. But he was already starting to get the shakes from low blood sugar, and the last thing Dad needed at the moment was for Peter to pass out because he'd been too stubborn to eat.

"No, no, no!" Uncle James was saying as Peter stepped into the hallway. "That's not at all what I'm saying, sir! I'm only asking that someone from the JAG's office look into what the statute of limitations would be in a case like this!"

There was a pause as whoever Uncle James was talking to responded, too quietly for Peter to hear.

"Yes, sir, I understand that this is a pretty unique case, but—no, sir, I don't believe at all that Captain Rogers' intentions were hostile—yes, sir, I know that, but this happened almost seventy years ago, which is why I believe that the statute of limitations—yes—yes, sir. I understand, sir, thank you for your time."

With a muttered curse, Uncle James tossed his phone aside and leaned back on the couch, scrubbing at his eyes with his palm. He gave a start as he noticed Peter, his expression instantly morphing from frustration to sympathy.

"Hey, kiddo, you doing okay? No, wait, don't answer that," he added before Peter could even open his mouth. "Sorry. Stupid question."

"It's okay," Peter said in a small voice. He flopped down into the squashy armchair opposite the couch. "I take it there hasn't been any good news?"

"Not exactly," Uncle James said with a huff. "Nat and Clint have been going round and round with Fury all day, but Fury's not exactly the darling of D.C. anymore so they're not sure how far that'll get 'em, and I've been trying to get through to someone at the Judge Advocate General's office, but since it's a Sunday there's no one around the place that can actually do any good, and the one person I have managed to talk to doesn't even think that they can help because he says that Steve's technically no longer a member of the military."

"Uhh, well… is he?" asked Peter. "I mean, I know he was before he crashed into the ice, so—"

"He never officially retired or was discharged, so in my opinion he's still a member of the Army," Uncle James said. "He was just missing in action until SHIELD found him in the ice."

"But I take it the JAG office doesn't see it that way?" Peter asked.

"They don't know how to see it," grumbled Uncle James. "No one knows how to goddamn see it, that's the problem. And I can't get anyone who'd actually know anything off of their goddamn golf courses long enough to come to the phone!"

Tears stung Peter's dry, scratchy eyes as he swallowed hard, trying to hold himself together. "But even if you could talk to someone in charge, are you sure you could even trust them?" he asked. "I mean, Dad's known the guy who took Papa away since he was my age, so—"

"No, kiddo, I'm not a hundred percent sure that I can," said Uncle James. "But we gotta exhaust all of the proper channels first, ya know? 'Cause once we start going down more of the improper ones… well… it might just wind up being us against everyone else a lot sooner than we thought."

Peter bit his lip, trying desperately to keep his tears contained. "Not quite everyone. My friend, Gwen, her dad's a police officer, and she told me that he's pretty upset by all of this, so… it's not everyone."

At least, not yet.

"Well, at least that's something," said Uncle James. He ran a palm down his face, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Peter.

"You're looking a bit peaky there, kid. Ya hungry?"

"Uh, yeah," Peter said sheepishly. "I was gonna just go and make a sandwich or something, but—"

"Nah, a sandwich won't fill you up, and I've been trying to get Tony to eat something all damn day too," Uncle James said as he got to his feet. "So why don't we go make some real food and see if we can lure your dad out of his lab for a few minutes. Okay?"

"Uh, okay."

Uncle James wasn't as good of a cook as Papa or Uncle Sam, but he was decent enough, and a half hour later, filled up on eggs and toast and bacon, Peter loaded up a tray with a full plate and a fresh cup of coffee and headed for Dad's lab.

He found Dad sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by about a hundred different notebooks and papers, which Peter recognised as some of Uncle Bruce's notes on the HYDRA files. DUM-E beeped a soft greeting from his perch over in the corner as Peter approached, a lot more melancholy than his usual.

"Hey Dad," Peter said softly as he set down the tray. "I, um… Uncle James and I made some food, and I thought you might want to eat something, so I brought…"

He trailed off as Dad looked up at him, starting a bit as if he'd just noticed that he was there, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot and so full of terror and anger that Peter had to look away, ashamed.

I should've told them about the files a long time ago.

"Yeah, not now Pete," Dad said hoarsely, rummaging around in the mass of papers next to him. "I need to… um… I need to find—"

"Dad, please, don't you think you should eat something?" Peter asked. "You know Papa doesn't like it when—"

"Yeah, well, he's not here right now, is he!" Dad cried. He let out a sharp gasp like he was in pain, pressing his palm to his chest where Papa's dog tags were hidden underneath his shirt. "And until I can figure out exactly where those goddamn assholes have taken him, I don't see the point to—!"

"Oh my God!" Peter exclaimed, slamming his palm against his forehead so hard that he almost knocked himself over. It was one of those details that hadn't seemed so important at the time, but he still couldn't believe that he'd forgotten about it until now.

"Dad, I'm pretty sure that Papa's being held somewhere that you can only get to by helicopter."

Dad's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing at Peter. "And how exactly would you know that?"

"Uhh, from Gwen," Peter stammered, gulping. "She told me not too long after Liz's dad got arrested that her dad had a friend that worked for the FBI, and whoever it was told Mr Stacy that they were moving Mr Toomes to some facility that you could only get to with a helicopter."

For a moment Dad only stared at him, his chin trembling as about a thousand different emotions flew across his face. "And why would this so-called friend of Stacy's tell him that?" he finally asked.

"I dunno, maybe he thought it wasn't that big a deal?" said Peter. "I mean, Mr Stacy is just a regular cop, and Liz was Gwen's friend too, so maybe the FBI agent just thought he was doing Mr Stacy a favour."

"Ah huh," Dad said warily. "Except if Stacy's friend knew that information then it probably means that he's another HYDRA agent, which also means that Stacy could be a HYDRA agent, which means that—"

"No!" Peter exclaimed. "Dad, there's no way that Mr Stacy is in with HYDRA, there's no way! I swear, you have to believe me!"

"And why should I do that?" Dad demanded. "It all fits! Trying to poison you with the peppermint—"

"Dad, that was an accident, I—"

"Not calling you out when you saved him at the movie theatre," Dad continued. "Trying to butter Steve and I up, asking if we need anything and then offering to pick you up from school? It all fits, Pete!"

"No, it doesn't!" Peter yelled, startling them both enough that he nearly knocked over Dad's coffee. He got to his feet, running his fingers through his hair as he paced back and forth. "Dad, there's no way that Gwen's father is a HYDRA agent, there's just no way! I'd know it if he was!"

"And how exactly would you know it, huh?" Dad shouted. "Just because your friend Gwen is a sweetheart doesn't mean that her old man can't be an asshole!"

Peter rolled his eyes, plopping back onto the floor. "Dad, I know that. But in all the times that I've been around Mr Stacy, I've never, ever had that ice-cubes-down-my-back feeling that I always get around the bad guys. Not even once, not even when he was ranting about the Avengers the very first time that I met him. So there's no way he could be a HYDRA agent, 'cause if he was, I'd know."

Again, Dad stared at Peter for several heartbeats, finally tilting his head. "Yeah, okay, Pete," he said quietly. "I guess that Spidey Sense of yours hasn't goofed up yet, has it?"

"No, it never has," Peter said firmly. "And the first time I ever noticed it was around a HYDRA agent, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." Dad cleared his throat, reaching tentatively for the coffee cup and taking a small sip. "Well, I guess that is pretty handy. Did Miss Stacy happen to have any other information about that place?"

Peter's shoulders sagged as he shook his head. "No, that was it. But at least we know that wherever it is has to be out in the water or something, right?"

"Eh, not necessarily, but that'd make the most sense." Dad picked up one of Uncle Bruce's notebooks, flipping through it. "We haven't found anything on possible prison facilities in any of the documents that we've decoded, but knowing HYDRA they could be hiding in any number of places." He tapped his chin, thinking. "I'll tell Clint and Nat about it, I'm sure it'd at least help them rule out a few places, but there's a lot of goddamn water on this planet, so I'm not really sure if it narrows it down all that much."

"Yeah, I guess," Peter said, trying to ignore the sharp pang of guilt that shot through him. "Is that what Uncle Bruce is doing now? Working on the files?"

"Yeah, he and Bucky are down in his lab," Dad said. He picked up a piece of bacon from the tray, breaking off a piece. "Why?"

"Just wondering," Peter said with a shrug. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Dad shook his head as he chewed his bacon. "No, buddy, not now. I've got JARVIS still working on the tracers, Nat and Clint are busy doing their old-school spy stuff and planning raids with Sam, and Bruce is working on the files, but until we find something of actual use, I can't—I just—I'm just gonna keep digging here for awhile, and then—"

He broke off then, biting his bottom lip so hard that Peter winced. Keeping busy had always been Dad's way of dealing with loss or grief or worry or any other negative emotion because it kept his mind too occupied to dwell on things that were rotten. But as soon as he paused for more than a minute or so, that was usually when the floodgates blew open.

"They won't kill him, Dad," Peter said, trying to offer them both at least a tiny bit of reassurance. "Papa's too well-loved by too many people for them to just kill him."

"Yeah, I know he is, Pete," Dad said, his voice wobbling ever-so-slightly. "But I also know that they're not just gonna lock him away and leave him alone either. HYDRA's got almost a hundred years of pent-up anger and frustration built up, and I have a bad feeling that it's all about to be directed at him."

Oh God, Peter thought as his heart leapt into his throat. Dad's right. All of HYDRA's anger and hatred, and all of their frustration over not yet achieving their ultimate goal of control through fear, it was all about to be channeled directly at Papa.

The cracked and leaking dam that had been holding back the raging river of Peter's emotions for most of the day finally broke, and he crumpled forward, knocking the tray aside as he collapsed into his father's arms. Dad immediately pulled him close, burying his nose into Peter's hair as his entire body shook with sobs.

"Daddy, what're they gonna do to him?" Peter cried into his father's chest. "Oh God, they're gonna hurt him, aren't they? They're gonna hurt my Papa?"

"Shh, buddy, I've got you," Dad murmured as he ran his fingers through Peter's hair. "I'm not gonna lie to you and say that everything's gonna be fine, 'cause those HYDRA creeps are a bunch of pretty sadistic motherfuckers, but I also know that there's no way in hell that Papa's just gonna sit there and take it either."

"So you think he'll fight back?"

"You're damn right he will," said Dad. "Papa never backs down from a fight, you know that. And from what Bucky's told me, he's been that way since he was younger than you."

A small laugh tore from Peter's throat. "Yeah, they've both told me a few stories."

But according to Uncle Bucky, Papa would've been dead a hundred times over if it wasn't for him, and now—

Now he's all alone.

More tears poured down Peter's cheeks as he clung to his father, his mind racing with all the horrible ways that HYDRA could make his papa suffer for trying to destroy them.

And right on its heels, all the ways that he could make HYDRA pay for all of the pain and suffering they had caused his family, if he was just able to figure out where they'd taken Papa.

I have to be able to do something!

"I still want to go to school tomorrow, though," Peter said once he was able to pull himself together. "I don't want the bad guys thinking that they've won. I don't—I don't want to give them the satisfaction."

Dad hugged Peter even tighter, planting a kiss on the top of his head. "If you're sure that you won't be too scared, then I guess you can go. I'll make sure that Happy's got the guards in place."

"I'm not gonna be scared," Peter said, rather petulantly. "I'm not scared of bullies, Dad. Not even HYDRA ones."

"Mmm. Well, I'm still gonna have Happy double the number of guards around the school, and if there's anyone there that you see that you don't know, any substitute teachers, any new staff members or students, anything at all, I want you call me right away so I can come and get you. Understand?"

"I understand. And the same with the Decathlon trip?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Dad said with a heavy sigh. "I've made sure the range on the drones down there is long enough to target the competition site, so… we'll just have to make sure that there's enough security inside the building."

"And Mr Stacy will be there too, don't forget," Peter said. "I'm sure he'll be keeping his eyes open."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Dad cupped Peter's cheeks in his hands, brushing his tears away with his thumbs. "We're gonna get him back, Pete, I promise you. And once we do, we're gonna kick HYDRA's ass so hard that they'll regret ever trying to hook their claws into any of us. All right?"

"Uh huh," Peter whispered, blinking back more tears threatening to fall. "I know we will."

"All right. Why don't you go and work on your homework now, yeah?"

"Uh huh," Peter said with a sniff. "Just, don't forget to eat, okay? Please?"

You know Papa would want you to take care of yourself.

"Don't worry about me, Pete," Dad said with a dismissive wave. "I'll be fine."

"Yeah, sure," Peter muttered. "I'll come back in here when I'm done, see if you need anything else."

"Thanks, buddy."

Uncle James was on another phone call when Peter got back to the living room, so he just gave him a quick wave and headed back to his bedroom, not really wanting him to see that he'd been crying.

"I'm gonna figure out where they took Papa," Peter said, grabbing his laptops. He quickly pulled up the HYDRA files, selecting the next in line. "And the sooner the better."

Because while Dad was probably right that they wouldn't kill Papa, Peter had no doubt that HYDRA was pissed off enough at him that they would do everything in their power to try and break him.

Which to Papa, would probably be even worse.

Steve was cold.

And not just the chilly kind of cold, the kind that would prompt him to put on a sweatshirt or jacket, or cuddle up with Tony under a blanket.

No, this was the bone-chilling kind.

The kind that used to seep through the thin walls of his ma's house during the bitter Brooklyn winters, burrowing through multiple layers of clothing to settle deep into his bones. The kind that made his shoulders turn in and his teeth clench.

The kind that he'd experienced in the throes of his highest childhood fevers, and when he had been pulled into the ice.

Both times.

The second thing that he noticed—or was it actually the first? He couldn't quite tell—was the pain.

Searing, piercing, throbbing pain, burning across every single nerve fibre in his body and intensified by the faint but piercing constant noise being piped through the speakers mounted in the upper corners of his cell. Even the slight movement of regaining consciousness had been enough to send hot flashes of pain shooting across Steve's body like a million bayonets stabbing him from all directions. His head was pounding like someone was driving into his temple with a jackhammer, his chest crackled and protested with every single shallow inhale, and he was pretty sure that at least a few of the bones in his left foot were broken, if the throbbing keeping time with his heartbeat was any indication.

With a choked gasp Steve shifted slightly, trying to manoeuvre just enough to get his hand underneath him so he could push his upper body up off of the freezing cold concrete floor.

They had taken his clothes sometime between being shoved into the backseat of Agent Bartlett's car and his arrival at… wherever he was, leaving him dressed only in a paper-thin t-shirt and pants. The car had barely cleared the parking garage when the agent sitting next to him jabbed him in the neck with a needle the size of a straw, pulling a cloth bag over his head as he lost consciousness. Steve grimaced as he gingerly touched the puncture site, hot and tender under his fingertips. Whatever it was they had shot into him had burned something fierce going in, which led Steve to think it was the same drug that Killian and Stane had given him down at the Miami bunker.

Which likely meant that they were trying to mess with his memories again, and that he really had no idea how long it had been since he had been taken.

As long as they don't make me think that Tony is dead again, Steve thought, squeezing his eyes closed as another starburst of pain shot up his left leg to his knee. His foot felt like it had been stomped on by something heavy and metal, which didn't make too much sense since he couldn't remember encountering anything metal that could take steps, but given that this was HYDRA, Steve wasn't putting anything past them.

Finally in a semi-upright position, Steve ran his tongue across his dry and cracked lips and tipped his head back against the cement-block wall, trying to keep his thoughts from wandering to Tony and Peter and managing to think of nothing else. Worry for his husband and son gnawed at him, consuming him from the inside, magnifying the pain coursing through his body to almost unthinkable levels.

Please let them be safe!

With any luck Peter was already situated on Asgard, but knowing Tony, he was probably holed up in his lab, running himself ragged with trying to find him. Tears stung Steve's eyes as he imagined his beloved husband going mad with worry, refusing to eat or sleep and snapping at anyone who attempted to help him.

It was how Tony had been when they first came back from Afghanistan, consumed with plans of revenge against the Ten Rings. Steve remembered vividly the night that he ventured down into Tony's workshop at the Malibu house and found him hovering a metre above the floor, testing the latest design of his flying boots. Tony had missed dinner that evening so Steve had brought him some food, and somehow over the course of their ensuing conversation Tony had ended up firing his palm repulsor off to the side of him, triggering a whole cascade of repressed memories of fighting against the HYDRA regiments during the war.

That had also been the first time that Tony had shown his tender, nurturing side with Steve, which Steve had already seen him demonstrate in spades with Peter.

Please, let them be safe!

As long as he could believe that Tony and Peter were okay, Steve knew he could handle anything that HYDRA wanted to throw at him.

An indeterminable amount of time passed. With no windows in his cell Steve had no idea if it was day or night, only adding to his overall disconcertedness. He made an attempt to use his heart rate and respiratory rate as a way of keeping time, but quickly realised that his mind was so muddled from pain, hunger, and dehydration that he couldn't seem to count to anything higher than twenty without dozing off into a sort of semi-sleep, snapping awake again every time the pain crescendoed.

And if he wasn't going crazy, which he knew was entirely possible, he could've sworn that the high-pitched piercing noise was getting louder.

It was so gradual that he must have just dismissed it at the time, but now that he thought about it, it was definitely louder than it had been when he'd first noticed it, slicing through the blood rushing past his ears straight into his pain centre.

Slowly, Steve curled his shoulders forward, drawing his knees up to his chest and clamping his palms over his ears, trying to drown out the sound that was now too loud to ignore. He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting against the increasing urge to scream.

I can't let them see any weakness!

There were plenty of men who had endured being held prisoner during the war, and if they could survive it, then so could he.

I am Steven Grant Rogers, born July the fourth, nineteen hundred and eighteen. Son of Joseph and Sarah Rogers, husband of Tony Stark, father of Peter Stark-Rogers.

Leader of the Avengers.

I can't forget who I am.

He managed to doze off three or four more times, eventually being startled awake by a loud clank followed directly by a nearly blinding overhead light and two sets of footsteps walking towards his cell, one heavy and one lighter.

"Well, well, well. It's nice to finally meet you, Captain Rogers," said an older, grey-haired man wearing a white lab coat as he and a young woman with long red hair arrived outside the transparent window of Steve's cell. While three entire walls of the barely five metre by five metre cell were composed of solid concrete at least a metre thick, the entire front appeared to be a window. But despite its glass-like appearance, it was clearly made from a material that was not glass, as Steve was pretty sure that he had busted a couple of knuckles the one time he had attempted to punch through it.

When Steve didn't answer the man stepped closer, giving the window a sharp rap. "Now, Captain, you of all people should know that it's impolite to not acknowledge someone who is speaking to you."

Breathing in through his nose, Steve looked directly at the man, hoping his eyes could convey even a fraction of the contempt he was feeling.

"Who are you?" he said in his Captain's voice, or at least what was passing for his Captain's voice with a tongue that weighed a hundred kilograms and a mouth that felt like it had been coated with a thick layer of rock salt.

"You can call me Doctor List, Captain," the man said, far more politely than Steve would expect from an agent of HYDRA. The man gave a slight bow, placing his hand on the middle of the young woman's back. "And this is one of my colleagues, Ms Wanda Maximoff."

Steve blinked, searching through his foggy brain for any previous reference to a Doctor List or a Wanda Maximoff, and coming up empty.

"Why am I here?"

Doctor List's eyes crinkled as he smirked. "I have been very eager to meet you for quite a long time, Captain, as I'm sure you can imagine." He stepped even closer, placing his palms against the window. "I have studied the work of Abraham Erskine for most of my life, but unfortunately I have never quite been able to replicate the miracle that he created in you. And as a scientist, this was immensely frustrating for me."

"Which is exactly how he would've wanted it," Steve rasped. "Dr Erskine knew what would happen if HYDRA ever got their hands on his formula, which is why I made sure that they never did. And no one's been able to replicate his work since."

"At least not yet, Captain," said Doctor List. "However, now that you have come to stay with us for awhile, I am hopeful that we have finally reached the end of our failures."

"We have finally reached the end of our failures."

The doctor's words reverberated inside Steve's throbbing head, and he dropped his chin to his chest, pressing his palms against his temples. He couldn't tell if the doctor didn't know about Peter's extraordinary genetic makeup or if he was just not mentioning it, but in that moment nothing terrified Steve more than the thought of Peter sitting in one of these cells instead of him.

I don't care what they do to me, as long as they leave Peter alone.

"You haven't answered me," Steve said as he raised his head again. "Why am I here?"

But Doctor List only smiled, a wide, leering smile as he nodded towards the young woman, who the whole time had been standing as still as a statue, her face completely blank.

"You know what to do, my dear."

The young woman—Wanda, the doctor had called her, who didn't look much older than Peter—gave a nod, stepping back as Doctor List took a slim metal device from his pocket and touched it to the window, opening a hole just large enough for Wanda's hand to slip through.

And then before Steve could react, there was a flash of bright red light and suddenly Peter was there, dressed in all black and looking down at him with such malice in his big brown eyes that Steve's heart literally skipped a beat.

"Peter!" Steve shrieked, immediately clutching his sore chest. "Oh God, Peter, are you all right? Where's Dad, little guy, why aren't you with him?"

But Peter only shook his head, his eyes narrowing even further as he grabbed Steve by the scruff of his ragged t-shirt, yanking him to his feet and slamming him up against the back wall. A sharp cry tore from Steve's jagged throat as he landed on his injured foot, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip as he struggled to meet his son's eyes.

"Peter, where's Dad?" he asked. "Why aren't you with him?"

Again, Peter shook his head, grabbing onto Steve's right arm and yanking it forward as Doctor List stepped inside the cell, a long silver syringe in his hand.

"No!" Steve yelled as Doctor List stabbed him with the syringe, still struggling against Peter's ironclad grip as he tried to meet his son's eyes. "Oh God, what did you do to him? What did you do to my son?"

"Not to worry, Captain," said Doctor List as he withdrew the syringe, now filled with Steve's blood. "Your son will be treated very well."

Panic washed over Steve like a tsunami, stealing all the air from his lungs. If HYDRA had already managed to capture Peter, then that probably meant they had Tony as well, and then—

Oh God, no! Please, no!

"Peter!" Steve cried. "Little guy, you have to listen to me! These people are going to hurt you, you have to find Dad and get away from here!"

There was a pause as Peter slowly turned his head, his eyes locking with Steve's, blank as an untouched canvas as he leaned in nose to nose.

"Who the hell is Peter?"

"No!" Steve choked on a gasp as Peter released his grip and he fell into a crumpled heap on the freezing cold floor. He immediately reached for his left foot, cradling it as Doctor List and Wanda turned and walked away, their footsteps echoing in time with his panicked cries.

"Please, don't hurt him! Please don't hurt my son!"

But the only reply was the slam of the heavy metal door.

"Oh God, no!"

Steve's chest was so rigid and tight that he could barely draw in air, pulling memories of his severe childhood asthma attacks from deep within the recesses of his mind and slamming them to the surface. The sensation of being unable to breathe had never failed to cause Steve to panic, but this time he couldn't blame the lung disease he had suffered with for the first twenty-four years of his life, or the fact that he was drowning.

This time, he could only blame himself.

Wrapping his arms around his front, Steve slammed the back of his head into the wall, trying to knock himself out. But like a cruel joke, all he managed to do was magnify the pounding in his head to an even more unbearable level.

This is all my fault! I failed him, and now they've—oh God, now they're gonna—!

He couldn't even bring himself to finish the thought.

The fact that Peter seemed to have magically disappeared as soon as Doctor List and Wanda left his cell only served to prove that the edges of Steve's sanity were being slowly chipped away, leaving nothing but his demons behind.

And now those demons were out for blood.

"That was very impressive, Mr Stark-Rogers, thank you!" exclaimed the lead judge as Peter concluded his three-minute unprepared speech. By sheer dumb luck the topic Peter had been given was the history of asthma treatments, which, thanks to his papa and his own experience with the disease as a young child, Peter was practically an expert on. Tony watched proudly behind his sunglasses as the entire audience applauded his sweet boy, a wide smile stretching across his lips almost against his will.

It was the first time that he'd managed a smile since HYDRA had ripped Steve from his arms more than a week ago.

Nine days, to be exact.

Nine days of going round and round with more lawyers, government officials, military officials, and reporters than Tony ever cared to know existed, all while trying to subsist on less than a handful of hours of sleep and trying to keep a semi-brave face for Peter, his brave boy who was so worried sick for his papa that he could barely function, but could still deliver a three-minute off-the-cuff competition speech that knocked the socks off of every single judge and the opposing team.

And the worst part of it was, Tony still had no idea where HYDRA had taken Steve, or even if he was still alive. No, no, he's alive! I have to believe that he's alive! None of the leads that he and Bruce had managed to find in the HYDRA documents had amounted to anything, and while Natasha and Clint were already planning raids on a few newly uncovered coastal HYDRA strongholds, Tony wasn't holding out much hope that Steve would be found in any of them.

Knowing HYDRA, they had been planning on nabbing Steve for a long, long time, and so would likely keep him hidden somewhere that wasn't already documented.

"Way to go, kiddo!" Sam called from Tony's right as Peter retook his seat with the rest of his team. He leaned in, giving Tony a gentle nudge with his elbow. "That kid of yours is pretty incredible, Tony."

"Yeah, I know it," Tony said softly, biting his bottom lip to keep it from shaking.

Steve should be here.

As they had originally planned, the entire team was in D.C. with Tony to watch Peter's competition. Even Bucky had made the trip, keeping as incognito as possible with sunglasses, a baseball cap, and an oversized hoodie covering his metal arm.

Although at this point, Tony was almost positive that HYDRA was already aware of Bucky's existence and was just choosing to ignore him. After all, what was a former brainwashed assassin to them now that they had finally captured their legendary enemy Captain America.

The fact that Captain America was also Tony's husband and Peter's papa didn't matter to them at all, because why should they care about breaking up a family when they had their whole global-domination evil agenda to push?

A few rows in front of Tony sat George Stacy, his wife, and their three boys, who had all expressed their profound sympathies before the start of the competition, with Stacy reaffirming his desire to help in any way possible multiple times. Tony had managed to be polite while he thanked him, a feat that had required a lot more energy on his part than it probably should have. Even though he had finally let go of the notion that Stacy was a HYDRA agent, Tony still didn't trust the man.

Very few people had ever offered anything to Tony without an ulterior motive, and despite the reassurance from Peter's Spider Sense, George Stacy was not yet on the list of people that Tony could trust without reservation.

The prepared speeches were next—in which Peter gave a daring and brave speech comparing the rise of modern terrorism to cancer that earned him a standing ovation from not only the entire audience but also the opposing team—followed by the Super Quiz round, which Tony knew was Peter's favourite part of the competition.

And in true Midtown fashion, their team didn't miss a single one of their questions, earning them the National Championship and several ear-splitting whistles from Sam Wilson.

They celebrated with plenty of pizza, Dr Pepper, and obnoxious music once everyone was safely back in the Stark Industries building. Tony hung back from most of the festivities, trying to keep an eye on Peter without making it seem too obvious. For his part, Peter did pretty well, managing to maintain his brave face for almost an hour before Tony noticed Gwen Stacy taking him by the hand and exiting the boisterous room, heading down a quieter hallway where Peter immediately started to cry.

"It's just not fair!" Peter sobbed, curled into a tight ball on the floor while Gwen rubbed his shoulder. "He should be here, and they just took him away from us!"

"No, it's not fair," Gwen murmured, and a lump rose in Tony's throat at her tone, sweet and kind with absolutely none of the judgement that Peter had faced from a few of his other classmates. "And it doesn't mean that you're weak if you're upset about it either."

"I know," Peter said, sniffing. "It's just… I just feel—"

"You feel helpless," Gwen cut in. "And that's totally normal too, and anyone who thinks otherwise is just a big jerk."

Which just happened to be the same thing that he had told Peter as well, but like Sam liked to say, sometimes Peter needed to hear things from someone other than his dads for it to completely sink in.

Teenagers.

They flew back to New York the following day, with Natasha graciously saving Tony when Mr Harrington asked to sit next to him on the plane. The last thing Tony needed was to have the final remaining threads of his patience completely shredded by Peter's dorky Decathlon coach talking at him the entire flight home.

He was up to his eyeballs in decoded files and new suit schematics when Peter suddenly walked into the lab, exhausted and disheveled, his pale cheeks lined with tears.

"Pete? Buddy, tell me what's wrong," Tony said as shot to his feet, with Peter practically collapsing into his arms. He tucked his boy's head under his chin, his entire skinny body shaking so badly that he couldn't even seem to form words.

"Daddy, I can't—we can't—they've—it's just—we'll never be able to—and it's all my fault!"

"Shh, buddy, it's gonna be okay," Tony murmured as he carefully guided them over to the couch, whispering reassurances into Peter's curls while he cried himself out.

"But it's not okay!" Peter rasped against Tony's soaking wet chest. "Daddy, I was just—I only wanted to help, but now—we're not—we're not ever gonna—!"

"Pete, it was just a bad dream, yeah?" Tony said, stroking Peter's hair. "Whatever you saw, it wasn't real, buddy."

"No, Dad, it wasn't a nightmare, 'cause I wasn't asleep," insisted Peter. "I was—I was—" He lifted his head, his brown eyes red and swollen and his round cheeks lined with tear tracks. "I've—I've gotta tell you something, and I don't think you're gonna like it."

Something about the tone of Peter's voice caused Tony's blood to run cold, and he gulped, brushing Peter's matted curls off his forehead.

"Uh, okay buddy. Why don't you just start at the beginning then, yeah?"

Peter nodded miserably, his hands twisting in his lap as he proceeded to tell Tony that he had been secretly decoding their HYDRA files in his room at night ever since he had discovered the bill containing the Registration Act. It was all Tony could do to stay quiet while Peter explained what he had uncovered, his fingers wrapped so tightly around his left forearm that he could feel bruises forming.

We tried so hard to protect him, but he managed to get right into the middle of it anyway, just like he always does.

I should've seen this coming. Why didn't I see this coming?

"So that's why I think we need to move the sceptre," Peter said, finally pausing to take a breath. "'Cause I'm thinking that one of these semi-enhanced people can run really, really fast and was trying to steal it when the drone fired at up at the Compound, so—"

"Pete, we've already moved the sceptre," Tony said quietly, once he was able to find his voice again. "That's the reason why we didn't come home right away, okay? It's not at the Compound anymore."

Peter blinked, swallowing hard. "Uhh, well, that's good, but now—"

"Pete, just stop right there, okay? Just… give me a second." Tony sucked in a deep breath, uncurling his fingers from his arm as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to react. Peter had deliberately gone behind he and Steve's backs and messed around with stuff that he had no business messing with, but at the same time he had uncovered some pretty important information about what HYDRA had been trying to accomplish, so while Tony knew that he should punish him, he was honestly so fried at the moment that he could barely think.

"No, Dad, you don't understand! I need—"

"No, what you need, Peter, is to go back to bed!" Tony snapped, his temper finally getting the better of him. "And I mean actually go to sleep, not go poking your nose where it doesn't belong. Again."

"But—!"

"I said, now!" yelled Tony, his heart lurching when Peter flinched and clapped his hands over his ears. He immediately reached for him, tucking him against his chest. "I'm sorry, bud. I just—" He broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

I just miss him so damn much that I think I'm going crazy.

"I know, Dad. I miss him too," Peter murmured as more tears leaked from beneath his closed eyelids. "But that's what I've been trying to tell you. What I found tonight… it's—it's pretty bad, and now… now I don't know if we'll ever be able to find Papa."

Pain pierced Tony's chest with an intensity that he hadn't felt since his open-heart surgery in the freezing Afghanistan cave.

"Pete," he said, bracing himself as best as he could. "What did you find?"

Peter pulled back, his lower lip shaking. "One of the files that I decoded tonight, it was talking about the same kind of technology that the old SHIELD helicarriers had, the retro-reflective panels? Well, I thought that kind of tech could only be used for planes and other stuff that can fly, but now—now it seems like HYDRA's figured out how to use it to cloak a building, and—"

Tony gasped, his blood pressure plummeting so fast that he felt woozy, and he grabbed onto the back of the couch, trying to keep himself upright.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no!

"So, what you're saying is that HYDRA's probably got Papa in a building that's pretty much invisible?"

"Yeah," Peter said somberly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

A loud rap on the window of his cell startled Steve awake, and he groaned, slowly peeling his eyes open and shielding them against the harsh white light as the silhouette of a bespectacled brown-haired man dressed in a very expensive suit came into focus.

"Oh, Captain, did I wake you?" the man asked. "I am so, so sorry about that."

Steve grunted as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, his swollen right hand pressed against the broken ribs on his left side and his teeth tightly clenched against the pain shooting through his body like a million bolts of lightning.

He felt like he had just lost a really brutal fight, but he couldn't remember throwing a single punch. His entire aching body was covered with various cuts, scrapes, and bruises, his head felt like it'd been filled with quicksand, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to eat or drink.

Actually, he couldn't seem to remember anything that had happened since he'd been tossed into that cell. There were flashes sometimes, flickering images of being attacked and trying to fight back alternating with overwhelming feelings of terror and helplessness, but the constant pain in his body and the worry over his husband and son were enough to make even those brief moments of clarity fade almost as soon as they appeared.

"Somehow I doubt it," he managed to croak past his parched throat. He blinked his swollen eyes, his jaw tightening even more as he recognised the man as Justin Hammer.

"Oh now, Captain, or may I call you, Steven?" said Hammer. "I actually think that's more appropriate given the current charges levied against you, don't you?"

Steve breathed in a shaky breath, his hands clenching into painful fists at his sides. Only his ma had ever called him Steven on a regular basis, and to hear this vile, treasonous, scum of a man use that name—

Which was likely the very reason why he did it.

Don't give them what they want.

"That charge was just the excuse you people used to get me," Steve said, his injured ribs protesting his vehemence. "Now, what the hell do you want?"

Hammer clicked his tongue as he shook his head. "Now, now, Steven, where are those legendary Depression-era manners that I've heard so much about, hmm? I have to say, you are really disappointing me!"

Steve didn't even justify that statement with a reply, choosing to simply glare at the man until he shifted on his feet.

"Well, I suppose that we can always work on your manners later," Hammer finally said. "Because you see, today is a very important day. The latest prototype of our new design is finally ready for testing, and I'm so excited that I can hardly contain myself! To see one of my own prototypes going up against the legendary Steven Grant Rogers, well, let me just say, I had to take a moment to collect myself before coming in here."

"I highly doubt that any design of yours is actually yours," Steve said. "Since we found evidence that you've been stealing from Tony's company for years."

"Tony? Who's Tony?" said Hammer. "Oh, do you mean Anthony? As in Stark? As in Stark Industries? Well, if that's indeed who you're referring to, as far as I'm aware Anthony Stark doesn't even run Stark Industries anymore, isn't that true?" Hammer heaved a heavy sigh, his lips pursed in indignation. "And I'll bet that poor Howard is rolling over in his grave as we speak because of it. To turn the company that he built with his own sweat and tears over to someone who's not even in the family, and essentially stealing it from his own grandson, no less? I mean, that poor kid! If that'd been my father, I would've been absolutely furious! Just livid!"

"Don't you dare mention my husband or my son around me," Steve spat out, his injured ribs protesting his vehemence. "They are both a million times better men that you'll ever hope to be, so you just keep their names out of your filthy mouth, Mister Hammer."

Hammer's head snapped back in surprise, his eyes going wide as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Well, I guess you're not much for pleasantries today, are you, Steven? Well, okay, I'll try not to take it too personally. We can just get started then, since you seem like you're just raring to go." He glanced down the hallway, nodding at someone out of Steve's eyeline. "You can come on down, sweetheart, I guess we're ready for you."

Light footsteps sounded on the concrete floor and a young woman with long red hair appeared, stopping next to Hammer. Her face was completely blank, her eyes staring straight ahead like a doll, and for some reason she looked very, very familiar.

Wanda, Steve thought, pulling the name from the far edges of his pain-muddled mind. Her name is Wanda.

Steve knew that the HYDRA agents were tampering with his memory—probably with the very same drug that Obadiah Stane had used on Peter in Afghanistan—which was why he couldn't remember how he managed to get so badly injured. He only knew that he had been forced to repeatedly fight against something strong, manoeuvrable, and metal, and more than once if his barely-healed crushed left foot was any indication, but other than that it was only a blur of swinging fists, landed blows, and a whole lot of noise.

"Now, Steven, you do at least know that it's polite to stand up when a lady enters the room, right?" said Hammer. He stepped forward, slamming against the window with his palm and sending more shockwaves of pain down Steve's spine. "So on your feet, sir!"

With an effort that could only be described as monumental, Steve pulled himself up to his feet, favouring his injured foot as he tried to stand as straight as possible. It was then that he happened to notice that he was dressed in some sort of uniform, complete with boots, fingerless gloves, and a cowl resting on the floor against the wall. Obviously modelled after his own Captain America uniforms, it was dark blue, battered and battle-worn, with a massive HYDRA crest across the chestplate and smaller crests on the outside of his arms, where his Avengers 'A' should've been.

The sight of that hateful symbol stretched across his own chest would've been enough to make him vomit, if he'd actually had anything in his stomach.

"What did you do to me?" Steve whispered, barely catching himself on the wall before he tipped over. Panic welled inside him as he clawed at his sleeve with his fingers, trying to scratch away the vile symbol. "I will never become one of you!"

Hammer just rolled his eyes, jerking his head towards Wanda. "This is getting pretty boring, don't you think? So do you mind giving him a zap so we can get started, my dear?"

A flash of red light suddenly lit up the cell, and Steve felt his hand forcibly move back to his side and his heels snap to attention, the rest of his body pinned in place by some kind of invisible energy force.

"Oh, that's so much better, thank you!" exclaimed Hammer with a flourish, almost as though he was speaking to an audience. "Now then, as I stated, we're ready for Steven here to begin the test with the latest prototype, oh, and you're just going to love it! Mr Beck just finished putting the final touches on it only this morning, so why don't we get him into position, all right?"

Wanda gave a nod, twisting her arm as the window of Steve's cell disintegrated and he began to move against his will, led into a huge square area that was as big as a baseball stadium, with a ceiling at least five stories high.

How could HYDRA hide a building as big as this? I would've found it!

"All right, can we bring out the prototype, please?" Hammer called from a balcony somewhere behind Steve, his voice echoing against the concrete walls and ceiling. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together like an excited toddler. "Oh, this is gonna be so good, I just know it!"

There was a loud groaning noise of a metal gate rising, followed by the clank, clank, clank of heavy metal footsteps that were perfectly in time with the beat of Steve's pounding heart. Steve's belly gave a hard swoop as the all-too-familiar sound of the Iron Man armour grew closer, struggling against the invisible force that pinned him in place.

Oh God, no! Steve thought desperately. He tried to pinch himself, to prove that he was just trapped in one of his nightmares, but he was too frozen with dread to even move.

Please, no! Please, don't let it be—!

And then he was there, standing in front of Steve, his polished red and gold armour shining brightly even in the dim light of the bunker. HYDRA had altered his suit design, making it bulkier with more obvious weaponry, similar to James' War Machine armour, and the mask was shaped into the most menacing frown that Steve had ever seen, but Steve still knew it was him. There was no way that Hammer would go through his whole song and dance routine if it wasn't.

Steve stumbled backwards, trying to scream, but with no air in his lungs it only came out as a sort of choked gasp as he stared at his husband, his beloved fella, the man he had sworn to love, honour, and protect as long as he should live.

And he had failed.

And now—now HYDRA had him, and who knows what they'd been doing to him all this time. And where was Peter? Was he still safe, or did—

Oh God, no!

Did HYDRA have Peter too? Or did Tony manage to get him to safety before he was captured?

Steve's entire body was shaking, his chest screaming for air that was burning hot and ice cold at the same time as he tried to figure a way out of this waking nightmare. There were so many bits and pieces that just didn't add up, and now—

And now, he didn't know what to do. The Wanda girl seemed to have some kind of manipulative powers over both mind and body, and while Steve had a feeling that she was just as much a prisoner of HYDRA as he was, his first priority had to be freeing Tony.

But other than his cell and this massive arena-like area, he had no idea what the rest of the bunker looked like, or how much resistance he'd be facing if he were to break free.

He squeezed his eyes closed, breathing in deeply through his nose before turning to Hammer, squaring his shoulders.

"No!" he said in the best rendition of his Captain's voice that he could muster. "I won't—I won't do it! I won't fight him, so you may as well let him go!"

"Um… well, I'm pretty sure that we didn't give you a choice in the matter, here, Steven," Hammer replied with a humourless chuckle. "So, ah, you may as well get started, please, 'cause this isn't the only thing on my rather packed agenda today, so we need to be moving things along now."

Steve pursed his lips, shaking his head. "No! I won't do it! You can't make me—!"

He was cut off by a repulsor shot that flashed so close to his face that it singed the overgrown whiskers covering his chin. He cried out, raising his hands in surrender as he took a step forward.

"Tony! Sweetheart, please, you don't have to do this!" he pleaded. "They've got you under some kind of mind-control, let me help—!"

He was cut off by another blast, this time straight to his chest, throwing him backwards at least twenty metres and landing him flat on his back, unable to breathe.

"Ah, I'm pretty sure that there's not supposed to be this much talking during a fight, Steven!" Hammer shouted from his perch two stories up. "I didn't just sink over half of my fortune into this prototype for you to just lie around and let him beat you to a pulp! I mean, if you keep on refusing to fight, I suppose that we could just go and grab that kid of yours to do the job for me, so I guess it's really up to you."

Fear seized Steve so strongly that he felt as if he were drowning again, that all of his blood was being replaced by frigid water and his lungs were transforming into massive blocks of ice. Tears stung his eyes, burning hot against his freezing cold flesh as he struggled to breathe in.

"Even you wouldn't be that cruel," he said, low and tight.

"Who, me? Nah," said Hammer. "But while I'm not personally invested in the idea of forcing a superpowered kid to fight against his own father, unfortunately I can't really say the same for the rest of my colleagues, so… it's probably best that we don't tempt them, don't you think?"

Oh God, they know about Peter. HYDRA knows about Peter.

There was another flash of red light, and Steve felt himself being forced back up to his feet only to be immediately shot in the abdomen. He doubled over, choking and gasping for breath, his heart audibly cracking in two as he realised that in order to protect his son, he was actually going to have to fight his own husband.

Slowly, Steve looked up at the masked face of the man he loved more than life itself, begging with his eyes to not force him to do what they were being forced to do.

"Tony, please!" he begged. "I love you, don't let them do this to us!"

But Tony only raised his arms, his repulsors aimed directly at Steve's heart.

"You just started a war!"

Happy New Year to all of my awesome readers! I hope 2020 is a safe and happy year for you all! :)

I can't wait to see what you think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a review!