"No."

Peter's eyes grew big and pleading, and Tony wondered how long it would be before he managed to develop an immunity to them.

"Please?"

"They're not really designed to be worn all the time, buddy," Tony pointed out. "It'll rub the skin off of you, or give you a rash, and believe me, it's going to hurt."

"Just to the compound?" Peter begged, shamelessly. "I want to show Natasha."

Pepper snorted, unable to control herself – which was saying something for a woman who negotiated billion dollar deals regularly. Both of them looked over at her, and she raised her hand, apologetically, her eyes watering with suppressed amusement.

"Sorry."

Peter turned his head back up to his father, his knuckles absently tapping a rhythm against the oversized bulge in his pants where he was wearing the cup that they'd purchased at the sporting goods store. Along with two footballs, some cleats, an athletic supporter, and several other items that the clerk had suggested he might need. The only thing they didn't buy, really, was the uniform and the pads and helmet. All of those would be supplied, according to the pamphlet.

"Please?"

Tony rolled his eyes, but he gave in – somewhat.

"You can take it with us, tomorrow," he conceded. "But you don't wear it the rest of tonight, and you don't wear it until we actually get there. To avoid any excess chafing."

"Okay." His hand went into his jeans and he pulled out the cup, forcing another snort from Pepper, who then buried her face in her hands to avoid looking at either of them. "I'm going to go call Ned."

The boy ran off, and Tony gave his wife of four months a slightly exasperated look.

"You weren't much help."

She wiped her eyes, smiling, now.

"I'm sorry." Pepper moved to give him room to sit on the sofa with her. "I'm surprised he didn't negotiate to wear it to bed."

"They aren't that comfortable," he assured her. "It's the novelty of the thing, now, but it'll wear off."

"You hope."

"I hope."

OOOOOOO

The hotel was a seedy rundown place that was filled with dangerous people and desperate people. Druggies, and hookers, and dealers were the main tenants – some renting a room for a few hours, others using the hotel as a base of operations for whatever business they were dealing, and as such having longer leases. They were all looking for a mark in one form or another, and all them were constantly watching their backs.

The newest tenant chose the place, not because it was cheap, but because of the lax security. He had plenty of money and could always get more, but by nature he always avoided leaving any kind of trail for someone who might be looking for him to follow.

No one was looking for him, now, though, Bucky knew as he walked down the hallway of the third floor of the hotel. A tough-looking young man with a face tattoo watched him from where he lounged against a door, clearly sizing him up to determine if he was a potential threat, or a potential victim. Bucky glanced at him and dismissed him without a further thought, and the young man leaned back and away from him as the other man walked by, clearly sensing that the newcomer wasn't someone to confront. Barnes found his room and opened it, looking around the small, dirty space, and walking in, checking automatically for all exits, and potential weapons or threats.

Not that he was expecting trouble, but it was a habit of untold years, now, and not one that was going to go away anytime soon. He walked over to the bed, which was covered in a stained (but clean – maybe?) bedspread, and sat down, hearing the bedsprings creak as he did. No one was looking for him, because they were all gone, as far as he knew. All of the ones who had held his reins were, anyway. The ones who had kept him prisoner in his own mind, forcing him to do their bidding, turning him into a monster that he never wanted to be.

Romanoff had done it, he knew. There had been word of Tony Stark's adopted son holding unusual abilities and Hydra had, of course, been interested. A super soldier without the serum? And a young one at that? Young enough to raise to be the soldier they wanted without the need for the mind control and the chemicals? Perfect. Operatives had already been in place and they'd been activated with the command to bring the boy to the homeland.

Barnes snorted, shaking his head and thinking back on his brief conversation with Peter Stark.

They'd failed and he was glad. Romanoff and Barton had killed the operatives – the moles that had been years in the making. Then, almost certainly with the help of Tony Stark and his incredible information network, Romanoff had gone to Europe and had systematically destroyed the upper echelon of Hydra. Bucky hadn't been there; he'd been in Central America, but he'd heard, and at night, sometimes, he dreamed happy dreams about the screams of the men who had imprisoned him dying agonizing deaths at the hands of Romanoff and the SHIELD people who had gone with her.

Being away like he'd been had also left him free to not return. The handlers hadn't trusted their underlings, and when they'd died, their control over him had died with them. He was a free man, now, and had wept when he'd realized it. Not that he knew what to do with himself, but he knew where he needed to go. He had one friend, maybe, in the entire world. But he didn't know how to approach Steve Rogers. Didn't know what the other man would say. As far as he knew Steve didn't even know that he was alive – and maybe he wouldn't believe Bucky if he approached him and told him who he was.

He'd considered that as he'd worked his way north; first sneaking into the country that he'd fought for in his youth, and then working his way north from the southern border. Rogers was in the Avengers compound, and while Bucky was pretty sure he could get in, he wasn't so certain that sneaking into the place and confronting Steve in that manner was the way to do it. Methodical, Bucky had considered approaching Romanoff, herself, but had quickly decided not to go that route. The woman was dangerous. And she had every reason to hold a grudge against him, he knew.

He needed a softer target. Someone that he could convince. Tony Stark was his first choice, once he made that decision. The man had a lot of clout with SHIELD and the Avengers, and he wasn't constantly under guard. Bucky had decided that he'd stake out Stark for a while, learn the man's patterns and then maybe figure out a diplomatic way to approach him and tell him what he wanted. Of course, he might tell him to pack sand, but if nothing else, he would send word to Rogers that someone had been asking about him, and maybe Steve would come out of the compound long enough for Bucky to make an appearance.

He'd given himself a few days to study the layout of Stark's defenses, at home and at work, and had seen the man with the little boy who he knew to be Peter. He'd snuck onto the grounds of the house, just to see if he could, and had found himself in the trees the same time that Peter had come into them, upset and not even noticing him, and Bucky hadn't been able to help himself when he'd suddenly been face to face with the little boy. Peter had been a nice enough kid, and Barnes had felt himself aching when he'd mentioned that Steve had gone camping with Peter and his friends.

What he wouldn't give to be able to do something like that. Just for the joy of doing it.

He sighed, and leaned back, laying on the uncomfortably soft bed and looking up at the stained ceiling.

Maybe Stark wasn't the best approach, after all, he decided. Maybe Peter was his way to get in touch with Steve.

He'd have to think about his next step.