"Okay, Mr Stark, I think I almost have it here," Gwen said, squinting at Peter's computer screen from her seat on the floor of Tony's lab. "It looks like Peter was trying to observe something along this part of the Georgia coastline, but I can't be sure exactly what he was looking at."

"And why not?" Tony snapped. "Sorry," he added quickly. "Um… why not?"

"Well, 'cause there's nothing there," Gwen said. She turned the screen towards Tony, which showed nothing but ocean waves crashing against a rocky shoreline. "According to your JARVIS these are the exact coordinates that Peter transferred to his phone, but unless I'm missing something, I can't see anything there."

Tony huffed in frustration, pressing his palm to his chest as he resumed his pacing. "Can you double-check the location for me, J?"

"It has indeed been double-checked, sir," answered JARVIS. "And triple- and quadruple-checked, before you ask."

"Goddamnit," Tony muttered. "I don't suppose that you have any idea what the hell Pete was looking at?"

"Apparently Master Peter has better eyes than I, sir, so I'm afraid not."

"But his airline ticket was from New York to Savannah, Georgia?"

"That is correct."

"And I don't suppose we can trace his name?" asked Sam. "Peter Stark-Rogers isn't exactly an innocuous name, so if we start asking around maybe we could find someone that he ran into."

"'Cept he didn't use his own name," Tony grumbled. "Kid has about a hundred different role-playing names on his Minecraft forums, so he's probably going through those."

"And it's not like he'd need to talk all that much once he left the airport," said Natasha from her seat next to Gwen. She had graciously loaned Gwen some clothes so at least the poor girl wasn't sitting around in her fancy dress, but it was already after three in the morning and Tony knew she had to be exhausted.

"JARVIS, what time did the flight land?" she asked.

"The flight landed at 103am, Agent Romanoff," JARVIS said.

"And how far are those coordinates from Savannah?" asked Sam.

"Approximately fifty-five miles, Mr Wilson," answered JARVIS.

"Okay, so where'd he go once he got off the plane?" asked Clint. "'Cause that'd be a pretty pricey cab ride, so—"

"Nah, Птер would know better than to give any clues about his location," Bucky said from his perch on the arm of the couch. "If I were him I'd just hitch a ride on a truck or something. There's gotta be tons of 'em out there on the highways during the night."

Tony whirled around, swallowing his sharp retort as soon as his eyes landed on Bucky's face. Bucky looked almost as scared as Tony felt, with his pale cheeks and razor-sharp jaw. Back when they brought Bucky to the Tower after the Project Insight mess, Peter had been the first person to really get through to him, and Tony knew that Bucky's adoration for Peter was pretty much limitless because of it.

And now, with both Steve and Peter missing, Tony knew that Bucky was struggling pretty hard.

"Yeah, that's true," Tony said instead, because when he thought about it, he could picture Peter hitching a ride on the back of a truck or something. Goodness knows Steve had told him enough stories about when he used to do it.

"But there's no goddamn way that I'm okay with just sitting here and waiting for Pete to show up on the camera feed either," Tony added. "So now that we have this location, we should—"

"I'm sorry, Tony, but not exactly," Sam cut in. Tony immediately turned on him, and Sam raised his hands. "Hey, without Steve here I'm supposed to think like the Captain, so… I'm just wondering if we can actually trust this location is all. I mean, how do we know that Peter didn't leave this here just to throw us off?"

"We don't," said Bruce. "But while I can see Peter doing something like that, it would make more sense for him to do that if there was actually something at that location besides ocean."

"So you're thinking the kid saw something that we can't?" asked Clint.

"I'm saying that it's not out of the realm of possibility," Bruce said. He glanced over at Tony, who gave him a nod. "I mean, the very reason that Peter was able to decode the stuff that he decoded was because he could actually see the hidden text in the file, so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think that there's something out there in that water that he can see that someone without his visual enhancements can't."

"Okay, but if that is the case, then we really have no idea of what we'd be heading into," said Sam. "Without a clear view of the target, there's no way we'd know what kind of resistance they've got or even the size of the building. We could be heading straight into an ambush."

"Then we'll fucking head into it!" Tony yelled, the final remnants of his patience finally fraying into nothing but wisps of thread. "I can't believe we're all still sitting here on our asses when we know where he's headed! This is Pete we're talking about!"

There was a pause as everyone took a collective breath, with Gwen finally breaking the silence by clearing her throat.

"And Peter would know that too, Mr Stark, which is the main reason why I think he chose to go by himself," she said. "If what Dr Banner said is true, then it's possible that Peter saw exactly what he'd be facing and decided that it would be safer for him to go alone. You know, kinda like how the Rebel X-wing fighters were able to get past the powerful defences on the Death Star? The Empire didn't think they were a threat because they were small."

Another pause fell across the lab, with Tony unsure if he should be amused that there was apparently someone else out there who loved Star Wars as much as Peter, or disgusted by the fact that Peter's girlfriend just compared him to an ugly fictional spaceship.

"I hate to say it, Tones, but she does kinda have a point," Rhodey said from his spot on the other end of the couch. "If there really is a fortress out there that we can't see but Peter can, then no one's gonna know the best way to get in there than he is, and—"

"Yeah, maybe, but this is Pete, for Christ's sake!" Tony exclaimed. "He's my son! He's not Luke goddamn Skywalker or—or one of your Air Force scouts, Rhodey, he's my fifteen-year-old kid!"

"A kid who can lift a car with one hand, Tony, and you know it," said Rhodey. "And a kid who's even smarter than you, so while I'm not saying that we should just sit around here and do nothing, I think we should be cautious about following him right away because the last thing we want is for HYDRA to see where we're headed and either be waiting there to take Peter out, or move Steve somewhere else and bust the whole damn thing." Rhodey got to his feet, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. "He's your kid, Tony, so you know him best. What do you think he's planning on doing?"

Tony scoffed, shaking his head. He knew that Peter and Steve had spent quite a bit of time discussing strategic planning since Steve excelled at it, so the barely-still-rational part of him had to assume that Peter wasn't completely flying by the seat of his pants.

Or at least, he sure as hell hoped not.

"I guess it does make sense," he finally admitted. "I'd already been thinking that the reason why HYDRA hasn't tried to nail any of the rest of us yet is 'cause we've been so off-track with our searches."

"Yes, and also because public opinion hasn't exactly been swayed in their favour yet," said Sam. "No matter what the news has been saying, I hear stuff when I'm out running and there's still plenty of folks out there who aren't buying what they're trying to sell."

Everyone looked up as George Stacy entered the lab, having spent the last two hours making phone calls to his FBI contacts.

"Station chiefs in both Savannah and Atlanta are on alert, and I've also brought the deputy chief of D.C.'s largest precinct up-to-speed on what's going on, minus a few relevant details, of course," he hastily added when Tony shot him a sharp look. The fact that George Stacy now knew without a doubt that Peter was Spider-Man was making him sick to his stomach, but he was just going to have to get over it. There was no turning back now.

"All right, so—" Tony started.

"Um, I'm really sorry to interrupt, Mr Stark, but I think I might've found something else here," Gwen cut in from her spot on the floor. She turned the computer around, pointing to several lines of code. "It looks like Peter wrote this during school today."

"Yeah? And what is it?" asked Tony. He didn't really feel like tracking down a pair of his glasses at the moment.

"I'm not exactly sure, it's pretty complex," Gwen replied. "But if I had to guess, I'd say it's a communications link between him and…" She paused, squinting at the screen. "Does someone here wear hearing aids?"

"Huh?" Clint said, as if on cue, prompting Natasha to jab an elbow into his leg. "Ow! Why's everyone picking on me all of a sudden?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Hold on, lemme find my…" He fumbled around on the counter, finally finding his discarded glasses so he could read the code for himself.

"Holy shit, he wrote this during school?" he said with wide eyes. "Christ, no wonder…"

"Ah, Tones? Care to fill in the rest of us?" asked Rhodey.

"It looks like Pete wrote a code that links a communications chip directly into Clint's hearing aides," said Tony. "It'd be pretty much untraceable since it doesn't use normal communications frequencies and Clint would be the only one receiving it."

"And Peter's got one of these chips on him?" asked Gwen.

Tony gave a quick nod. "I build them into each of the Avengers' uniforms, so if Pete built himself a suit he probably put one of 'em in there."

"Okay, so why can't we use it to try and talk to him?" Gwen asked.

"'Cause the chips only work one-way," explained Natasha. "We can hear what he's doing, but he wouldn't be able to hear us. It's for security reasons, in order to keep location tabs during scouting missions."

"Okay, so now we at least know that he's planning on communicating with us," said Sam. "Does Peter know Morse Code?"

"Yeah, he does," said Tony. "Steve taught it to him."

"Well, there ya go," said Rhodey. "See? The kid does have a plan."

"I'm still not okay with just sitting here until he turns the thing on though," Tony said firmly. "We need—"

"I agree, which is why I think you and I should take a trip down to D.C.," Rhodey said. "I need to check back in with the Pentagon anyway, and the Stark Industries building is secure enough to keep HYDRA off our backs, isn't it?"

"Should be," Tony said with a short nod.

"Then I suggest you get ready to go, but make it look like official Stark Industries business," said Sam. "Which means taking the SI jet, no visible armour, etc."

"Yeah, okay," said Tony. "I've got a suit stashed in the SI jet anyway, and a spot in there for Rhodey's new suit. We can make it as incognito as possible."

"And I think Clint and Nat should head down to Florida like they originally planned," said Bruce. "Then once Peter activates his chip, Clint can get in contact with us and we can all converge."

"We'll have the Quinjet on standby, so as soon as the signal's received Bruce, Bucky, and I can be on our way," said Sam.

"And Helen too," said Natasha. She shot Tony a worried glance. "Just in case."

Tony's heart gave a painful lurch. He'd so far been able to almost avoid imagining how badly hurt Steve was going to be once they found him, but now—

"Yeah, I doubt those HYDRA accommodations are five-star, so… it'll be good if Helen's there too."

"I'd very much appreciate it if you would allow me to accompany the team from New York, Mr Stark," said Stacy. "I know I'm not a superhero, but my experience as a SWAT team member should at least allow me to hold my own, and it'll be a lot easier to coordinate with the FBI teams from the field than from here."

Tony bit his lip, hesitating. On the one hand having official police and FBI backup was probably the best way to go. But on the other hand this was HYDRA, and they weren't about to take it easy on anyone who they found to be assisting the Avengers.

"I guess as long as Sam's okay with it," he finally said. "And as long as you can listen to him, 'cause he's gonna be in charge until we get Steve back."

"I have no problem with following a proper chain of command, Mr Stark," Stacy said proudly. "As a police officer, I'm pretty well acquainted with it."

"Yeah, it's fine by me," agreed Sam.

"All right then," Rhodey said, clapping a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Then I suggest we let the guests get home and start packing, 'cause Tony and I should leave for D.C. before dawn."

"Oh, but I'm not sure that I've found everything there is to find yet!" Gwen protested. "There might be more stuff hidden in here on what Peter's doing, so—"

"Gwen, honey, Colonel Rhodes is right," Stacy said gently. "You've helped us with so much already, but it's almost four in the morning and we should really be getting home now."

"But—!" Gwen's lower lip shook as she wrapped her arms around Peter's computer, as if it were Peter himself. "I just want to help. Peter, he just hasn't been the same since they took his papa away, and—"

"None of us have been the same, Miss Stacy," Tony said as he knelt down next to the distraught girl, gently retrieving the computer. "But your father is right, you need to be getting home now. Okay?"

Tears welled in Gwen's green eyes, rolling down her cheeks as she nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

Tony stepped back, allowing the girl's father to help her to her feet.

"I'll be waiting for your call, Mr Wilson," Stacy said, nodding in Sam's direction. "And I'll be ready."

"Copy that," Sam said grimly.

"We can see ourselves out, Mr Stark," Stacy said as he offered Tony his hand. "Thank you for your trust."

"Yeah," replied Tony, rather uneasily. And it damn well better not be misplaced.

As soon as the Stacys were gone, Tony sank down onto the chair at his workstation, scrubbing a rough hand down his face. This was not at all how he had expected the evening to go.

Jesus Christ, Pete. Talk about stubborn.

And right on the heels of that particular thought… Wonder where he gets that from?

"We should get packing, Tones," Rhodey said softly a few heartbeats later. "Pretend like it's one of your old Stark Industries business trips, yeah?"

"Yeah," Tony whispered with a rather mechanical nod. "Yeah, okay."

"And I'm gonna head down and start on some contingency plans," said Sam. "Nat, you and Clint gonna head out in the morning?"

"Isn't it already morning, technically?" Clint said, not even bothering to stifle a deep yawn. "Damn, why's this stuff always have to happen in the middle of the night?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, giving Clint another sharp elbow to the leg before getting to her feet. "C'mon, Hawkeye. Wheels up at 0500, and I still have to bleach my hair."

"Aww, why the hell for?" Clint whined as Natasha started dragging him from the lab. "I like the red so much better…"

Tony let out a heavy sigh as he watched most of the team shuffle towards the elevator. The fate of his husband was now resting squarely on the shoulders of his fifteen-year-old son, and his deaf archer teammate.

But given everything that was stacked against them, Tony knew those were pretty much the best odds he could hope for.

Hold on, honey. Pete's coming for you, and I'll be right behind him.

Peter shivered, burrowing even further down into his hoodie as he checked his phone and huffing in frustration when he saw that he still had around fifteen miles to go.

Aren't we there yet?

If he had been thinking more clearly when he got to the truck stop, he would've tried to find a truck whose doors were unlocked so he could've hidden in the back of the cab or something. But instead he had just jumped onto the first truck that he saw leaving in the right direction, and therefore was now stuck—both literally and figuratively—in the small space between the cab and the crate.

And even though he was fairly secure, and that Georgia was a lot warmer than New York, he was still pretty damn cold even with his suit's built-in heater.

He reached into his backpack for yet another snack, trying to both distract himself and keep his strength up at the same time. He had loaded up on as many packaged cookies, Little Debbie cupcakes, and bottles of Powerade as he could fit into his backpack with all of the other stuff he'd crammed inside, and had already gone through over half of it, knowing full well that the chances to eat again once he got to the prison would be few and far between.

According to the location coordinates, Papa's prison was situated out on an island a short distance away from another island called Jekyll Island, which Peter thought both strangely ironic and more than a little freaky. Getting out to Jekyll Island would be easy since there were regular boat rides there from the mainland. Once he was there, however, things were going to get a lot more interesting, since he was absolutely certain that Dad's portable repulsors had never been intended to be used by a person.

Peter had barely finished chewing the final bite of his cupcake when his phone beeped, indicating that it was time for him to jump off the truck. Tightening his backpack straps, Peter pulled his hood up over his head, sucked in a deep breath, and jumped, rolling as he hit the spongy grassy median to avoid injury just like Papa had taught him. He shot to his feet before he even came to a complete stop, running across the highway and heading for the nearest boat launch. It was still very early in the morning, around 4am, and there wouldn't be any boats leaving for Jekyll Island for about three more hours, so Peter was hoping to find a public bathroom or some other small building where he could curl up and catch a bit of sleep before the first boat left. Once he arrived on Jekyll Island, Peter was hoping against hope that the forecasted early morning fog would be thick enough to hide his presence as he flew towards the island prison building.

Flew.

Yeah. That was going to be interesting. Using the portable repulsors to fly had sounded kinda fun when he'd first thought of it, but now that he was getting close to actually doing it, he was more than a little nervous.

But the alternative; swimming out to the prison through the choppy-as-hell, freezing cold Atlantic Ocean was absolutely not something Peter wanted to attempt, and at the moment didn't even consider as an option.

Yeah, that's still a big-ass nope, Peter thought. The repulsors are gonna work.

After arriving at one of the big, fancy piers, Peter broke the lock on a public restroom door and slipped inside, sinking down into the corner by the empty trash bin. He grimaced as he tipped his head back against the tiled wall; the room smelled like a bad combination of boys' locker room and strong disinfectant, but at least he was out of the damp, muggy air and could rest for a bit. He had been going almost nonstop for over two days already, and was pretty much fried.

At least it's for a good cause, Peter thought as he drifted off, only to be awakened three seconds later—or so it seemed—by his phone alarm, the sun barely visible through the fog in the distance. It was time to catch his boat.

Thankfully, both the ticket seller and most of the early-morning commuters on the ferry seemed to be just as tired as Peter felt, so no one paid him too much attention as he purchased his ticket and boarded the ferry, taking a seat inside so as to stay out of the dense, chilly fog. The fog was just as thick as he'd hoped, and so would hopefully provide him with enough cover to fly out to the prison as long as it didn't burn away before he got to Jekyll Island.

Which it didn't. So far, things seemed to be going according to plan.

Following the crowd off the ferry, Peter shuffled towards a row of novelty shops, ducking down behind the largest one and heading for the rocky shoreline. There he stripped out of his clothes, quickly downing the last of his Powerade before pulling out his web shooters and the repulsors. Then he buried the backpack underneath a couple of heavy rocks and pulled on his mask, allowing the adjustable eye frames to widen so he could get a visual on the prison.

"There it is," Peter whispered as his gaze landed on the gloomy dark grey building, barely visible through the thick mist hanging in the air. The Iron Legion wannabes were still flying their sentry routes around the perimeter, so Peter took a couple of minutes to memorise their pattern and calculate an approximate distance so he could program the repulsors to shut down at the right time. It wouldn't do him any good to blow the entire thing by crashing into the side of the building because he'd miscalculated the flight time.

The flight time finished and double-checked, Peter climbed down to the very edge of the rock line and got to work on the repulsors, securing them to his feet and left hand and making one final check of his flight program before stashing his phone into his belt and attaching the fourth repulsor to his right hand. Then he looked out across the fog-drenched water, sucking in a deep, shaky breath.

"All right, here goes nothing," he murmured. "JARVIS, can you please activate the repulsors?"

A second later the repulsors fired, immediately sending Peter shooting backwards towards the bank of sharp rocks. He managed to adjust the course just before he would've smashed against them, but then shot straight up over the top of the row of buildings.

"No, no, that's not it!" he cried as he locked his knees and elbows, trying to angle his upper body downward. He managed to get himself parallel to the water barely before he would've broken the top of the fog line, activating his parachute as a sort of makeshift flight stabiliser.

"How in the hell does Dad make this look so easy?" he wondered as he finally leveled out, his head and shoulders getting plastered with thick droplets of fog as he flew towards the prison. His mishaps had messed with the timing that he'd initially calculated, so he made a quick adjustment to his angle of flight, slightly changing his landing site in order to stay hidden from the flying suit sentries.

About fifteen or twenty seconds later his phone beeped, indicating that JARVIS was cutting power to his foot repulsors because he was only ten seconds out.

"Okay, please let this work!" Peter muttered as he silently counted the seconds in his head, ducking his head and rolling just in time to avoid crashing into the sand covering the shore of the island. He rolled to a stop, quickly shaking the repulsors from his limbs before they could burn through his suit.

He had made it, and was still in one piece. So far things seemed to be going well.

The whoosh of an approaching sentry suit caused Peter to whip around, his heart giving a jump when he realised there were no decent places for him to hide except for the sand.

"Oh, shit!" Peter cried as he dropped down, curling his fingers into the damp sand and spreading it over his body up to his neck. He held his breath as the machine flew overhead, letting it out in little puffs when its course didn't alter even a millimetre.

"Whew! That was way too close!"

Based on the calculations that he'd completed when he first discovered the prison, Peter knew he had only about forty-five seconds before another suit was due to zoom by. He quickly got to his feet, and was still brushing sand from his chest and arms when he froze, the all-too-familiar ice bolt racing down his spine.

Oh no! Peter thought as he whipped around to search for the potential perpetrator, and saw nothing except sand.

What the hell?

But not even a second later the sand literally began to levitate right in front of his eyes, swirling in a clockwise fashion as it rose off the ground, not too unlike the tendrils of fire had at the theatre.

"Oh my God!" Peter cried, his belly swooping in horror as the sand grains melded together to form what appeared to be an actual person made out of sand. Now there's a sandman?

"Where do all these guys come from?" he yelped.

And just as quickly, "No, no, no! On second thought, I don't think I wanna know!"

Before the sandman was even fully formed he let out an earth-shattering roar, sending another freezing-cold bolt down Peter's spine just before he swung his massive fist right at Peter's head. Peter ducked just in time, jumping out of the way and launching a web at the sandman's arm, which ended up going right through it.

"Oh hell, not this again!" Peter said as the monster swung again, this time aiming for Peter's abdomen. Peter jumped back barely avoiding the blow and launching another web even as he realised that it would probably be useless.

Which it was.

Unsure of what to do, Peter hesitated just long enough for the monster's next punch to land squarely on his jaw, sending him flying at least ten metres to crash against the outside wall of the prison, right next to a sign that read Seagate Penitentiary.

'Gates marking the sea', Peter thought, shaking his head to try and clear it. Whoever thought HYDRA could be so poetic.

Scrambling to his feet in the loose sand, Peter ran back towards the monster, aiming his right fist directly for his abdomen, his jaw dropping behind his mask when his hand went right through him.

"Okay, now that's just not fair!" Peter cried as the monster swung again, this time landing an uppercut that slammed Peter flat against the sand, knocking all the air from his lungs in one fell swoop.

Gasping and choking, Peter could only watch as the monster stepped forward and planted his massive foot directly on top of his chest, leaning down with such an evil look in his eyes that Peter's heart skittered.

"Longing!" the monster roared, his sand-laden foot pressing even harder as Peter attempted to squirm out from underneath it. "Rusted! Furnace! Daybreak! Seventeen—"

"Sorry dude, but those don't work on me anymore!" Peter said, finally managing to work his fingers underneath the sandman's foot, grunting as he tried to lift it off of him. Another sentry would be coming any second now, and—

With a loud thwip, Peter launched a web in the direction of the oncoming sentry suit, gripping it tight as it yanked him up out of the sand and into the air. The monster immediately lunged for Peter, grabbing onto his ankle as Peter struggled to hold onto the web rope with his sand-slicked hands.

"Get! Off! Of! Me!" Peter cried as his free leg flailed wildly, finally connecting directly with the sand monster's head and sending him flying out towards the water, his bellowing roar as he splashed into the ocean echoing across the foggy island. Peter winced as the water literally tore the man apart, guilt piercing his heart.

That guy was probably just another HYDRA slave, Peter thought, his guilt quickly replaced by panic as he realised he was still stuck to the flying sentry suit and was rapidly approaching the opposite side of the prison. He released the web, dropping down onto the damp sand with a muffled cry and breathing a slight sigh of relief when no further sand monsters appeared.

Just like all of the other elemental monsters, the sandman seemed to be a one-off.

Clutching his side, Peter crawled up to the prison and dropped down to the ground next to it, tipping his head back as he sucked in air. It was highly likely that whoever was in charge of the place had already been alerted to his presence, so he knew that whatever he was going to do next had to be done quickly if he hoped to get Papa out of there before reinforcements arrived.

"C'mon, Peter," he whispered. "C'mon, you can do this!"

Gritting his teeth, Peter pushed himself up to his feet, scanning along the outside wall for a door or a window he could sneak through and letting out a small "whoo!" when he spotted one about ten metres up from the ground. He launched another web, aiming it just below the window and immediately flattening himself against the wall as yet another sentry suit flew by. As soon as it was gone he planted his feet, bracing himself against the wall as he attempted to pry open the window, which was far thicker and stronger than it had initially looked.

"C'mon, Spider-Man, c'mon Spider-Man!" he grunted, his muscles straining against the thick glass and solid steel of the window, finally working it open enough to squeeze through just as another sentry suit passed behind him.

Once inside the prison—which was as dark and dank on the inside as it had been on the outside—Peter clung to the wall, breathing in deep breaths as he scanned his immediate area, his ears picking up the sound of a vicious fight just out of his line of sight. He seemed to be near the ceiling of a massive room, almost as huge as a hockey arena and with the fighting noises off to his left, one of whom sounded an awful lot like—

"Dad?" Peter exclaimed, immediately biting down hard on his lip and cursing himself for being so loud. But the sound of his father's repulsors and flight stabilisers was unmistakable, causing goosebumps to pebble down his arms.

Oh God, did they really—?

And then Peter's heart skipped a beat, his head snapping back in shock as he heard his dad's voice.

"Stand down, you HYDRA piece of shit!" he said, strong but mechanical, almost as if he was being controlled by something.

"Tony, please!" Papa cried, the pure agony in his voice causing tears to well in Peter's eyes as something metal crashed against something else metal that sounded a lot like Papa's shield. "You know me! You know there's no way that I'd ever—!"

But Papa was cut off by another repulsor shot, followed a second later by the sound of a hard impact, like he'd been slammed against the floor or a wall.

"Papa!" Peter whimpered, quickly cut off by the clank, clank, clank of heavy metal footsteps against the concrete floor.

"Stand down!" Dad ordered. "Final warning!"

No, no, no, that can't be Dad, Peter thought as he gave his head a quick shake. It can't be! I just saw him only—

How many hours had passed since he had last seen his father? It'd been when Dad had dropped Peter and Gwen off at their restaurant for dinner before the dance, so only about twelve hours, give or take a few minutes. Was that really long enough for HYDRA to grab him and transport him down here? And if so, where was the rest of the team? Were they all here too?

Oh God, please, no!

There was a short pause, followed by some shuffling noises interspersed with muffled grunts of pain before Papa spoke again, clear and true even as he sounded like his heart was breaking.

"I can do this all day."

"No!" Peter squeaked, once again chomping down hard on his bottom lip. He had witnessed his dads arguing plenty of times, as they both could be stubborn as hell when they wanted to be. But the thought of them actually coming to blows, of physically fighting each other as they would fight against an enemy…

It was too much for Peter to even wrap his mind around. He had never, ever seen two people who loved each other more than his dads.

It just can't be possible!

Can it?

"You can't beat him hand to hand!" another male voice suddenly said, gruff and mechanical and so eerily familiar that a shiver raced down Peter's spine, joining the chorus of the nearly continuous ripple warnings from his Spider Sense.

"Duly noted!" said Dad. "STANE, analyse his fight pattern!"

"Stane?" Peter whispered, the very name hitting him like a suckerpunch to the gut. "But why in the hell would—I can't believe—Dad would never—!"

"Pattern locked," the voice stated, one that Peter thought he'd never have to hear ever again for as long as he lived. It can't be! There's no way!

"Then let's kick his ass!" Dad stated, his armoured fist slamming against whatever shield Papa was carrying, the ear-splitting sound reverberating throughout the massive prison.

There was no way in hell, Hel, Hades, or any other version of a horrible mythical underworld where Dad would ever name one of his UIs after the man who had manipulated him, tormented him, and then tried to not only kill him, but also Peter and Papa more than once. There was just no possible way.

Then it's not Dad, a little voice whispered inside Peter's head. It's only someone pretending to be Dad so they can confuse Papa.

That explanation made a lot more sense, but somehow didn't help Peter feel any better. Papa had been missing for almost a month, and if this was what HYDRA had been doing to him all that time, then—

Oh my God!

His hands trembling against the stone wall where he crouched, Peter sucked in as deep a breath as he could. Papa was trying to hide it, as he always did, but Peter had sparred with Papa enough times to recognise when he was reaching his limit, and from what Peter could tell, Papa was already so far beyond his limit that Peter was shocked he was still conscious.

He needed to get Papa out of there, and as soon as possible.

"JARVIS, can you please activate my locator chip?" he whispered. "Broadcast it only to Uncle Clint's hearing aides, okay?"

"Signal activated, Master Peter," replied JARVIS, just as quietly. "Do you require any further assistance?"

"Not sure you can do much else for me at the moment, but I'll keep you updated." Peter had already programmed the chip to send out a Morse Code S.O.S. signal with his current coordinates if his phone happened to get damaged or destroyed, but he was really hoping that he would get the chance to include some info about what kind of opposition the team would be facing once they got there before that.

I just hope Dad's not too mad at me, he thought, trying to rustle up his waning courage. That'll be my third phone this year!

Pursing his lips, Peter adjusted the mask covering his face and squeezed his eyes closed, preparing to jump from the wall.

Uncommon valor was a common occurrence, and I've gotta have it.

Hold on Papa, I'm coming for you.

"Sir, there's an incoming call from Agent Barton," JARVIS said. "And it is marked as urgent."

"Is the line secure, J?" Tony asked as he set down the pair of glasses he'd been working with and rubbed at his temples. He'd managed to keep the headache that'd been plaguing him ever since the night before to a dull minimum since he and Rhodey arrived in D.C., but it was still there, just simmering beneath the surface, and no amount of coffee seemed to be able to quash it.

There was a series of about five beeps, all varying in pitch and tone before JARVIS spoke up again.

"Line is secure, sir."

"Barton?" Tony said as Clint's face appeared on his monitor, looking as grumpy as ever. "Tell me you've got good news?"

"Don't know if it's good or not, Tony, but I've at least got a location," Clint replied. "About three klicks away from Jekyll Island off the Georgia coast."

"Yeah, okay," Tony said quickly. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Does that location correspond with what Miss Stacy found on Pete's computer?"

"It would appear to correspond, sir," JARVIS said after a short pause. "However, I am still unable to visualise anything located at those coordinates."

"Yeah, well, apparently Pete could visualise it," Tony muttered. He scrubbed a palm down his face, his heart already thudding a staccato beat against his ribcage. "All right. What's yours and Nat's ETA?"

"Nat and I can be there in about three hours if we drive, which'll probably look the least suspicious," Clint said. "The Quinjet will be faster, and we probably shouldn't all head directly there or someone'll figure it out before we want 'em to."

"Copy that," agreed Tony. "You call Sam yet?"

"Not yet. Thought you'd wanna know first."

"Yeah, I appreciate that," Tony said softly. "J, can you get Sam on the line please?"

Three seconds later Sam Wilson appeared next to Clint, looking like he'd just returned from a hard run.

"Clint got a hit?"

"Yep," answered Tony. "Georgia coast, just like the girl found."

Sam huffed out a sharp breath, nodding. "All right. Clint, you and Nat should take off ASAP, but make a couple stops on the way, don't be too direct. I'll get in touch with Stacy and make sure he's still game, then we'll all converge in Savannah once you and Rhodey get there. You got that drone firing range extended yet?""

"Not yet, but JARVIS is working on it," Tony said. "If nothing else, we'll at least have one of the drones targeting those coordinates by the time we get there."

"Well, one's better than none," said Sam. "And what about actually seeing where we're going?"

"I'm almost done with that too," replied Tony. "I'm reverse-engineering the coding I used when I built Peter's glasses. Once that's done I'll upload it to JARVIS so it'll be available in mine and Rhodey's HUDs."

"Building artificial Spider Vision," Sam said, impressed. "Bummer that you and Rhodey'll be the only ones that'll be able to use it though."

Tony gave a shrug. "Best I can do on short notice, and it's gonna be rough as hell. We won't be able to see much more than some fuzzy outlines, but it'll at least be better than nothing."

"Then it'll have to do," said Sam. "Let's move out."

"Copy that," said Clint. "We'll see ya soon."

"Tony," Sam said as soon as Clint had clicked off. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Tony said automatically, rolling his eyes when Sam gave him one of Peter's duh looks. "Well, what're you thinking, Sam? My husband's been held captive by a bunch of raving Nazi lunatics for almost a month, and now my son's got it into his head that he's the only one who can save him. How in the hell do you think I'm doing?"

"About as well as I think you should be doing," Sam said evenly. "I just want to make sure that you know that you're not alone here, okay?"

"Yeah, Sam, I know that." Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly squeezing his eyes closed. "I honestly don't know what the hell I would do without this team," he said softly. "If it was just me, I'd've already tried to—but I don't—I just don't know if—"

"And that right there is the main reason why we're all here," Sam said. "Because we are a team, and we don't leave our teammates behind, no matter what. Whatever it takes, right?"

Tony gave a firm nod. "Damn right."

"All right. You still okay with letting George Stacy tag along?"

"Long as he doesn't get in the way."

"I'll make sure that he doesn't," said Sam. "I'll send a signal once we're in the air."

"Copy that," Tony said. "Rhodey and I will take off as soon as JARVIS is done upgrading the drone."

"Copy that," Sam said with a nod. "And good luck."

"Yeah. You too. We'll see ya soon."

As soon as the screen went blank Tony pressed his palm to his chest, where Steve's dog tags rested against his heart. Steve had given him the dog tags before he and Nat left on the mission that ended up snowballing into Project Insight, telling him that they symbolised a departing soldier's desire to be reunited with his sweetheart.

And now the cool metal tags resting against Tony's skin were a constant reminder of his desire to be reunited with his soldier.

And I will, he thought fiercely. 'Cause I'm sure as hell not gonna accept any alternative.

"JARVIS, how much longer for the firing range upgrade on that drone?"

"It will take approximately forty-five minutes to achieve limited firing capability, sir," JARVIS said. "I'm afraid that I cannot give you an estimate for full capabilities at this time."

"Okay, so how limited is limited?"

"The drone will be able to fire no more than three times at that range before burning out," replied JARVIS. "If I had more time, perhaps I could—"

"But we don't," Tony cut in. "So just… do what you can, yeah?"

"Very good, sir."

"Thanks," Tony said softly. He sighed as he reached down into his shirt, pulling the tags out and pressing them to his lips, trying to imagine that he was kissing Steve instead.

Hold on, honey. We're coming for you.

Yet another slam of metal against metal followed immediately by a booming crashing noise, and Peter leaped from his high perch on the wall, landing gracefully on the hard concrete floor. Racing towards the raucous sounds of the fight, he arrived just in time to grab onto the fake Iron Man's arm and keep him from firing his repulsor at Papa, who was doubled over and clutching his side.

"Sorry, asshole!" Peter yelled as he swung Fake Man over his head, crashing the armour to the floor. "But I don't think imitation is the best form of flattery here!"

There was a loud growl as Fake Man got to its feet, its armour scratched and dented where it'd hit the floor.

"Who the hell are you?" it asked in the most evil, bone-chilling version of Dad's voice that Peter could possibly imagine, only amplifying the nearly-continuous shivers bolting down Peter's back.

"I'm Spider-Man," Peter said proudly as he grabbed onto Fake Man's arm again, raising the armoured suit over his head and launching it towards the far wall about thirty metres away. He let out a soft, "Hmph," behind his mask as the armour crashed against the solid stone, shattering into a bunch of pieces that scattered across the floor with very satisfying rattles.

But Peter's elation was short-lived as he heard Papa let out an agonising groan just before spitting an entire mouthful of blood across the floor. He raced over to him, practically tearing the cowl from his head bearing the hateful HYDRA crest before carefully cradling him in his arms.

"It's okay now, Papa, I've got you," Peter said, tears stinging his eyes as Papa attempted to open his, nearly swollen shut and so bruised they were almost black. The uniform he was wearing had the HYDRA symbol stretched across the chestplate, but it was so covered in blood and dust that it was barely recognisable.

"P-peter?" Papa gasped, his right eye opening just enough for him to look up towards Peter's face. But instead of relaxing a bit Papa immediately tensed, his cheeks going pale beneath their multitude of bruises and his hands shaking in fright. "Who—who're you? What've you done with my son? Oh God, what've you done to my son?"

"No, no, no, Papa, it's me! It's Peter!" Peter quickly tore the mask from his head so Papa could see his face, hoping the sight of him would help Papa to calm down. "See? It's me!"

Papa's haunted blue eyes stared up at Peter for several heartbeats as he tried to swallow, no doubt trying to reconcile the garbage HYDRA had been feeding him all this time with the reality that Peter was there, right in front of him.

"Peter," Papa finally choked out, tears welling in his eyes. He reached a shaking hand up to cup Peter's cheek. "It's really you? You're not—you're not just another HYDRA trick?"

"No, Papa, it's really me," Peter managed past the huge lump in his throat. He had tried not to imagine how badly Papa would be hurt by the time he found him, but this… this was so much worse than he'd dared to conjure up in his worst nightmare. His hair and beard were overgrown and matted with sweat and dried blood, there wasn't a single millimetre of his exposed skin that wasn't covered with a bruise or scrape, and judging by the stiff way Papa was lying in his arms, he likely had a multitude of broken bones as well.

"I've come to get you out of this place."

"Get—get me out?" Papa stammered. "But—but—I thought—" He planted his palm against the floor, grimacing as he pushed himself up into a semi-sitting position, his head tilting as he tried to focus in on Peter's face. "Peter, what in the world are you doing here? Is Dad with you?"

Peter frowned, choosing to ignore the question about Dad. "I told you. I'm here to get you out of here." He quickly scanned their surroundings, searching for anything that resembled an exit and hoping that he wouldn't have to heft Papa up the wall to the window he'd snuck through to get in.

"Do you think you can walk?"

"If I have to," Papa said. "But I still don't—" He paused, shaking his head. "I'm not quite sure what's real and what's not anymore."

"It's okay, Papa. We'll be able to fix you up again once we get out of here," Peter said softly as he helped Papa to his feet, draping his arm across his shoulders. He was heavily favouring his left foot, which looked so crushed and misshapen inside the boot he was wearing that it no doubt hurt like absolute hell.

"Dad and the rest of the team should be on their way," Peter whispered after they had taken a tentative step. "So—"

"Should be?" Papa said, hissing in pain when his left toe dragged across the floor. "You mean they're not here yet?"

Peter rolled his eyes. I should've known…

"Well, no," he said slowly. "But they are on their way, so—"

"Peter," Papa said sternly, or as sternly as he could with his ragged, pain-laced voice. "You shouldn't be here by yourself."

"Yeah, okay, but can we talk more about this once we get out of here?" Peter said. "'Cause I don't really think that—"

Just then a light flashed, so hot and blindingly red to Peter's eyes that he cried out, releasing Papa and curling into himself as he tried to escape from the burn of it.

"Oh God, it hurts!" Peter cried, fumbling as he tried to slip his mask back on. "Please, make it stop!"

"No!" Papa shrieked from somewhere behind him, sounding very far away. "No, please, don't hurt him! He's only a boy!"

"Papa!" Peter yelled, turning in shock as the prison suddenly disappeared and he found himself standing alone in what looked like a very old graveyard. "Papa? What's happening to me?"

"There's no one else here, Peter," an unfamiliar voice said, causing Peter to whip around. "It's just you."

"Who're you?" Peter shrieked as he took one step back and nearly tripped over a gravestone, almost crumbled into ruin. His heart leapt into his throat as he read the name etched into the stone, the grave so overrun with weeds and tall grasses that he felt like they were suffocating him.

Anthony Edward Stark, beloved husband and father.

A noise somewhere between a choke and a gasp worked its way up from Peter's lungs, only to get lodged in his throat. No! he

screamed inside his mind. No, it can't be true!

And right next to it sat another grave, its gravestone in even worse shape, the name barely visible.

Steven Grant Rogers.

No! This can't be real!

"Who are you?" Peter called, finally finding his voice again. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real! "Show yourself!"

"No, I don't think so," the voice responded, this time from the opposite direction. "You shouldn't be here, Peter. You're just a silly little kid, don't you know that you should never go off on your own?"

"But—!" Peter started, startled again when an image of Auntie Nat suddenly appeared, her broken, lifeless body lying twisted at the foot of a huge cliff while a hooded Dementor-like figure hovered near the top.

"No!" he yelped as he twisted around again, this time seeing Uncle Clint attacking people in what could only be called a murderous rage, no doubt mad with grief over losing Auntie Nat.

"Oh God, please!" Peter screamed, clapping his hands over his ears. "Please, make it stop!"

"Peter!" another voice suddenly cried, the panicked shriek raising all of the hair on the back of Peter's neck. "Peter, help me!"

"Gwen?" Peter said in disbelief, jumping back in horror as he saw her clinging desperately to the edge of a ledge. "Gwen, what're you doing here?"

But Gwen only shook her head, crying out again when her hands slipped. "Peter! Please, help me!"

"Gwen! Hold—hold on, I'll get you! Just don't let go, okay?"

Gwen gave a nod, her pretty green eyes wide with fear.

She trusts me, Peter thought as he fought through the neck-high grasses over to where she was hanging. I'm gonna—I'm gonna—

Finally free of the grass, Peter lurched forward, shooting a web just as Gwen's hands slipped free from the railing. He cried out as the web caught her around the waist, just a split-second too late to prevent her head from snapping against the rock-hard floor.

Peter froze for a second, unable to move as he stared at Gwen's crumpled body, his heart so lodged in his throat that he couldn't breathe.

She—she trusted me! She trusted me to catch her, and I—I didn't!

"Gwen!" he cried, or rather squeaked, still unable to draw in air as he slid down the web rope to her, cradling her to his chest, her eyes staring blankly ahead.

She was dead.

I didn't catch her.

I failed!

"Please, stop!" another voice cried, barely audible through the blood rushing past Peter's ears. "Leave him alone, he's only a boy!"

But there was no stopping it. There was nothing to stop the shattering of Peter's heart as if it had been made of porcelain instead of flesh and blood. There was nothing to stop the fact that his actions had managed to kill not only his dads, but his beloved Auntie and Gwen as well.

This is all my fault!

"I'm so sorry, Gwen," he sobbed as he cupped Gwen's cheek, a single tear dropping to land on her silky blonde hair. "I'm so sorry I didn't catch you!"

I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry that I disobeyed you. And now—

Choking and gasping, Peter clutched Gwen's body to his chest, rocking back and forth as tears flowed down his cheeks.

What the hell was I thinking? I should've—I should've never—

This was all just one massive mistake.

And now, he was paying for it.

"Goddamnit!" Tony growled as yet another simulation with his new HUD interface dissolved into a mess of pixels in front of his eyes. "JARVIS, we absolutely need this interface to work! What the hell am I missing?"

There was a short pause while the UI pondered the question. "I believe the interface is working, sir. It is simply a problem of your eyes being unable to process the imagery the interface is sending you."

"Oh," Tony said, annoyed that he hadn't thought of that since it made perfect sense. "Well, shit. How in the hell am I supposed to work around that?"

"If you give me a few moments, sir, I believe I can create a sort of work-around," JARVIS said. "However, I do not believe it will be very comfortable for you and Colonel Rhodes to utilise the interface for longer than a few seconds."

"We just need enough time to do a quick recon of the area," Tony said. "And Rhodey and I can take turns using it if we have to. All we need is to see the size of the building and what we're gonna be up against."

"Very good, sir. Please stand by."

Tony impatiently tapped his fingers on the counter as JARVIS ran the simulation, his heart fluttering as a blurred and grainy image suddenly appeared on his monitor. He instinctively squinted, trying to bring the image into better focus, which only made it worse.

"You are going to have to go against your natural visual instincts here, sir," JARVIS said. "In fact, it would actually be best to blink as little as possible when using this interface."

"Yeah, okay," Tony muttered. He huffed out a deep breath, trying to relax his tight shoulders. "Go ahead and try again."

JARVIS ran the simulation again, the grainy image reappearing. Against his instincts Tony forced himself to keep from blinking, trying to gather as much information as he could before his scratchy and exhausted eyes gave up the ghost.

Jesus Christ, Tony thought as he finally blinked, his heart fluttering when the image vanished. No wonder Pete's always getting headaches.

"Yeah, that's better," he said. "Think you can clean it up some more before we have to use it?"

"Unlikely, sir, without Master Peter's assistance," JARVIS answered.

"Damn." Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing the three tons of intense fatigue that had taken up residence across his shoulders, fatigue that hadn't budged since HYDRA ripped Steve away from him.

"All right. Go ahead and run one more diagnostic and then get it uploaded, yeah? Both mine and Rhodey's suits."

"Very good, sir."

Rolling his shoulders, Tony drained the last of the coffee in his cup, looking up as Rhodey walked into the lab, his expression grim.

"Sam just called. Nat and Clint are about an hour out of Savannah, so he wants us to take off within the next thirty minutes. We're gonna meet up with the Quinjet at a small regional airport about fifteen minutes outside of Savannah. Once everyone's there, you and I will do a couple of reconnaissance runs using the new interface to hopefully see what we're up against, and then—"

"Then we storm the prison," Tony finished.

Rhodey gave a short nod. "Yeah. Exactly."

"All right," Tony said, pursing his lips. "Then let's do it."

Peter woke with a start, his lolled head snapping up and slamming against the concrete wall he was propped against, sending spikes of pain ricocheting throughout his entire body.

"Ow!" he said, the word ripping through his sore throat like a piece of jagged glass. He attempted to move his hand to rub at the bump, but his arm felt as heavy as a lead brick, and after two weak attempts Peter gave up, squeezing his eyes closed and willing the bright stars behind them to go away.

Where the hell am I? he thought, because thinking was a tiny bit less painful than speaking, at least for the moment. His head was pounding, and all four of his limbs felt like they had been filled with wet sand, heavy and useless.

Slowly, Peter blinked his eyes open. It took him several heartbeats to focus them enough to even get a brief look at his surroundings, which he then regretted almost as soon as he succeeded. He was alone, sitting in what appeared to be a concrete cell with a single glass wall, with a constant, high-pitched piercing noise in the background that was at just the right tone to continually activate his Spider Sense. The constant bolts of ice racing down Peter's spine only served to add to his overall feeling of dread and shame, the two emotions locked in a constant duel for control inside his head.

Well, that didn't exactly go as planned, he thought, almost chuckling at the ridiculousness of it. Guess I didn't think this through as well as I thought.

And then, not even a second later, Oh my God, is Papa dead?

"No!" Peter gasped, ducking his head against his knees in a futile attempt to block out the memories suddenly flooding his mind. A graveyard with Dad and Papa's gravestones crumbling into dust. Auntie Nat's broken, lifeless body. Uncle Clint losing control.

And being just a second too late to save Gwen.

"Oh God," Peter whispered, his fingertips digging into his throbbing head. "What have I done?"

There was a loud clank from down a hall somewhere, followed by the groaning sound of a door opening and then two sets of footsteps, one heavy and one lighter. Peter slowly raised his head as the footsteps came to a halt outside of his cell, the outlines of a man dressed in a fancy suit and a young woman with long red hair visible through the glass window.

"Well, well, well. Who would've thought that the infamous vigilante known as Spider-Man would make his way down here?" the man said, far too jovially for Peter's taste. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together like a child who had just been presented with a shiny new toy.

Which, Peter realised a few seconds later, was probably exactly what the absolute weasel that was Justin Hammer was thinking.

"Go to hell, traitor," Peter spat out, cringing at how pathetic he sounded to his own ears.

"Oh now, now, is that any way to speak to your authority figure, Peter Stark-Rogers?" Hammer said, or rather, sneered. "I would've thought your fathers would've taught you better than that. Because you see, the more proper way to have answered would have been, 'good morning'. Or rather, 'good afternoon', if you want to be more specific. And, if I do say so, I think I have the right to be a little sore after you completely trashed my billion-dollar prototype! I mean, was that really necessary?"

"My dads taught me to respect authority that deserves respect. And that Nazis are the lowest form of evil imaginable," Peter retorted, noticing that the red-haired girl gave a very obvious flinch at the word Nazi, almost like it physically pained her. "I guess we should've figured it out sooner that it'd be you who would choose to sink that low."

"Yes, well, we prefer not to use that particular term around here," Hammer said, glancing rather nervously at the girl. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You know, since it kinda has a negative connotation to it." Then he clapped his hands again, causing both Peter and the girl to jump. "But anyway, I'm not here to argue semantics with a smart-ass teenager, of all people. What I'm here for is to—"

But he was cut off by a massive crashing sound, followed immediately by three repulsor blasts and several gunshots. Hammer jumped back with a frightened, "Whoa!" just as Peter pulled himself to his feet, stumbling towards the window of his cell and pounding his palm against it.

"Daddy!" he cried. "Daddy, I'm here! I'm in here!"

"Barton, you and Romanoff take Stacy's team and search for Steve!" came the commanding voice of Uncle Sam, muffled through the thick glass—which obviously wasn't glass, now that Peter thought about it—of his cell. "And Tony, you and Rhodey work on picking off the rest of those flyers."

"Copy that!" said Dad from somewhere Peter couldn't quite see, and he almost collapsed with relief. Dad was here. They were all gonna be okay now.

Or at least, he thought so. But in the three or so seconds that it took for him to step back from the window, somehow an entire army of the same kind of sentry suits that had been circling the perimeter of the prison had assembled in the corridor outside of Peter's cell, with Justin Hammer standing at the forefront, looking on like a proud father.

"Oh God," Peter gasped, his belly giving a violent swoop as he realised on second thought that no, they were not the same kind of sentry suits that had been circling the prison's perimeter. Instead, the suits now standing at attention in front of Peter's window had all been outfitted with Chitauri tech stolen from the Department of Damage Control, which Peter feared meant that they were pretty much indestructible.

And if that was the case, then he, Papa, Dad, and the entire rest of the Avengers' team—his entire family—had just walked right into the biggest stone, steel, and concrete trap they had ever seen in their lives, and one that was completely invisible to the outside eye.

HYDRA had just succeeded in their biggest magic trick to date.

They had made the Avengers disappear.

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