Chapter 12

"Rollins, I swear to God if you don't answer the goddamned phone and tell me that you have Anthony fucking Stark's head on a pike, you won't see a fucking dime from me!" Obadiah slammed the phone back down into the receiver with a satisfying crunch and gripped the edges of his desk until his knuckles turned white.

He's been trying to get ahold of Rollins and his crew for a full twenty-four hours without success, and Obadiah was a hair's width away from losing his shit completely. He needed proof of death for Anthony if that goddamned lawyer was going to sign over everything to him, which should have already happened. But no, Anthony managed to slip right through those jackass' fingers and disappear from right under their noses. So, now he was in the wind, and Obadiah's chances of inheriting the Stark fortune were dwindling.

Howard Stark had asked one too many questions; he started looking too deeply into SI's finances. He even had the audacity to change his fucking will, leaving his entire estate and empire to the son who disappeared the second he turned eighteen.

He had to go.

It was the only solution. Obadiah had worked too fucking hard, dedicated too much of his life, to let his company fall into the hands of a snot-nosed brat who didn't know the first thing about the business.

But Rollins and his crew fell off the face of the earth, and Obadiah was losing his fucking shit. Where were they? Had Anthony somehow managed to flee the city? What if he went to the police?

No, no, no!

Obadiah slammed his fist against the sturdy mahogany desk, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders when it strained under his weight. It soothed the chaotic, angry energy within him that wanted to break something. He blew out a sigh and turned towards the wall of windows, watching the routinely busy streets below him settle down with the late hour. The rest of the office went home hours ago while Obadiah checked on the shadier aspects of the business. It was always better to avoid prying eyes when he needed to get some real work done.

Considering the amount of stress he managed to build up, maybe he should have had that sexy new secretary stay after hours…she could have—

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt when a sound behind him caught his attention. But before he could spin around to investigate, a heavy wall of muscle slid against his back, and a sharp point pressed to the hollow of his throat, drawing a line of blood. Obadiah stilled in fear while incredulity and fury boiled inside his veins.

What the actual fuck? Who dared to—

"What—?"

"Be silent," a low voice hissed in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "Be still. The Captain has requested your presence, Obadiah Stane."

Obadiah's eyes widened as the bottom of his stomach dropped out from under him

Shit.

XX

The smell of cooked bacon pulled Tony awake without finesse. He'd finally managed to get a few hours of sleep after his surprising late-night pow-wow with Steve. Tony still wasn't sure how he felt about it all, but it seemed like a step in the right direction. He no longer wants to avoid Steve and Bucky like the plague, and though his feelings remain conflicted, Tony is more settled than before.

But bacon—bacon he could do. He shuffled into the kitchen and rubbed the grittiness from his eyes. The massive blonde—Thor, he remembered—who could give Steve a run for his money for the size of his biceps looks incredibly out of place in front of the stove. He hums a familiar tune while wearing a bright red apron with the script 'kiss the cook' stitched on the front. A thinner man with sharper features and ebony black hair, who he assumes is Loki, rests on one of the breakfast nook chairs, reading a book that looks to be in another language.

"Friend Tony!" Thor greeted heartily. Damn, the guy's smile lit up the entire room. "I pray your rest was undisturbed. Please, take a seat. Food will be ready in a few minutes."

Tony nodded wearily, not entirely running on full cylinders this early in the morning, and took the open seat across from Loki. Then, without looking up from his book, the other man slowly pushed his full mug of coffee towards Tony.

"Er…" Tony trailed off, raising a confused eyebrow.

Loki rolled his eyes and closed his book, marking his page with his index finger. "Dark roast with two shots of espresso. I was led to believe that is your preferred drink of choice."

Tony blinked in surprise. "What? How could you possibly know that?"

"I know everything, Stark." He shot back without hesitation.

"Carbonell," Tony corrected with a narrowed gaze, sipping his coffee and groaning low in his throat. Fuck, that was good stuff. "Seriously, how did you know that I liked it this way?"

It was Loki's turn to look at him incredulously. "Our fearless leaders provided a list of information to Thor and myself as we were assigned to your protection detail. I assumed you were aware."

A strange fluttering churned within his stomach. Steve and Bucky remembered how he took his coffee?

Tony had no idea how he should feel about that. Good, though. He felt good; he felt cared for—damn it.

In an attempt to shift attention away from him and Loki's disturbingly knowing gaze, Tony gestures towards the book between the other man's hands. "What are you reading?"

"It is of no importance."

Tony snorted. "Come on, try me. I want to know."

Loki's eyes were going to get stuck in the back of his head if he kept rolling them like that. "Fine, if you're going to be insufferable, it's a Norwegian manual regarding the mechanics of a fairly advanced safe that is popular among business owners."

"Really? You don't strike me as a safebreaker."

Damn, if looks could kill, Tony might combust on the spot. "And you don't strike me as a weapons designer."

Tony winced. "Touché. So, how did you get into all of this? I know your brother," he jerked his chin towards Thor, who was plating their breakfast, "was on Steve and Bucky's Special Forces Team."

Thor's booming laugh almost had Tony vaulting out of his chair in surprise. "If you can believe it, Friend Tony, my dear brother was worried about me after hearing of the explosion that supposedly took our lives."

"I was not," Loki hissed, a tight scowl on his face. "I simply thought the entire situation seemed suspect, so I investigated myself. It led me here, to The Avengers' compound and my idiot brother."

"Wow," Tony mused, fighting back a grin. "I wish I had family who cared about me enough to disregard official reports and search for me."

Loki hummed as Thor placed the meals in front of each of them. After they thanked him for breakfast, Loki's gaze found Tony's again. "Do you not have friends like this back in California? I believe the Captain and the Soldier would hold you in that regard as well."

"Uh, yeah, I do," Tony admitted with a hint of confusion. "But—"

"Family does not end in blood, Friend Stark," Thor told him seriously after shoveling half of his meal into his mouth. "The bonds we make with our brethren abide with us for life."

Tony swallowed thickly, using his fork to push around his eggs. "I guess I did know that, intellectually…"

"But it's different knowing it in your heart," Loki finished for him, returning to his book when his plate was clean.

Tony was quiet for the rest of the morning.

XX

In general, Clint would say he's excellent at reading people.

His survival depended on it growing up in the circus. If he and his brother, Barney, couldn't successfully pick a Mark out of the crowd, then they didn't eat. This ability translated well for his role within the army as a communications specialist. He had an uncanny gift for pinpointing the enemy simply by the way they walked, dressed, or ordered coffee.

But, somehow, all of his instinctual prowess went to shit the second he laid eyes on Tony fucking Stark. Maybe it was the sheer bewilderment at hearing someone had broken the perimeter of Building 616. Nobody had the balls to step foot near the place since The Captain and The Winter Soldier declared it off-limits after the war with Hydra. Considering what they did to the last person who pissed them off, people generally did what they said, no questions asked.

So, getting the alert that Building 616 was compromised had Clint assuming the worst. His mind automatically went to the threat of a new gang in town trying to hit them where it hurt, or maybe even a demolition crew planting explosives to send a message to The Avengers. What he didn't expect was a shorter, wide-eyed, dark-haired stranger completely alone and practically soaked to the bone standing in the middle of the warehouse like he owned the place. Clint's frustration at being wrong and off-footed might have come across as aggressive, and his rising incredulity when the man got the jump on him and Sam didn't help with that.

But, he paid the price for laying a hand on Tony Stark. The Winter Soldier made sure of that. He definitely wouldn't be doing that again. Shit. It wasn't that Clint had forgotten that Barnes could pack one hell of a punch, but there's a difference between knowing your enemy is rightfully petrified of your friend and having that all-consuming rage directed towards you.

Plus, after hearing about Tony's background and all of the shit he went through growing up under the Stark household, Clint's heart went out to the guy. Neither of them had the easiest childhood, but they both fought tooth and nail to make the best of their circumstances and come out on top despite their families.

So, all in all, after busting Tony's lip and bruising his face, Clint felt like he had a bit of making up to do.

Once The Avengers managed to round up Obadiah Stane, Jack Rollins, Damon Keller, and James Davis, Clint checked in with Nat and Sam before sneaking off to the Stark Manor. Bruce and Scott confirmed the grounds were empty, so Clint didn't have any trouble slipping past the security systems. It took some trial and error, but he finally found the room Tony had chosen to stay in before Rollins and his crew came after him. Clint gathered the rest of Tony's things for him before making his way into the closet. Ah, there it was.

XX

After breakfast with Thor and Loki, Peter dragged Tony to the living room to continue their Star Wars marathon with Episode V. Although he promised to stay awake for the entire movie this time, Peter conked out around the forty-five-minute mark. Tony rolled his eyes with a certain level of fondness and couldn't stop himself from pushing the fringes of Peter's hair back when he burrowed closer into Tony's side.

Tony decided to follow Peter's lead and try for a nap back in the room he came to think of as his own. He must have been closer to exhausted than he initially believed because Tony passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. As expected, he awoke with a throbbing beneath his sternum, which took several minutes of deep, calming breaths and a warm shower to bring his heartbeat back to a normal rhythm.

The nightmares weren't getting any better despite his increased comfort level within The Avengers' compound, and Tony had to admit to himself that they might not until they handle the issue surrounding Obadiah. Loki had discreetly delivered the files Steve mentioned before Peter pulled him away, and Tony thought he'd done a decent enough job of distracting himself throughout the day. However, now that he was alone, prickling anger that had built steadily surged to the forefront of his mind.

How could Obadiah have done something like this? Selling SI weapons to terrorists under the table was unthinkable, but actually putting out a hit on Howard and Maria? They were his closest friends for over thirty years! What kind of man could justify a decision like that?

Tony never truly let himself be swept away by Obadiah's strategically placed compliments or pointed barbs due to Howard's near-constant berating, and for the first time in his life, Tony's grateful for it. If he'd been more susceptible to a male authority figure, Tony could have fallen under Obadiah's thumb, and his betrayal would have struck him just as bad as Steve and Buck's perceived deception, if not worse.

But what if Obadiah had managed to twist his way of thinking? What if he had convinced Tony to continue making weapons? Everyone of importance at Stark Industries knew that Tony was the true genius in the family and that his designs were ten times more destructive than Howard's ever were. How many more people would be dead if Tony had become the Merchant of Death?

His thoughts were interrupted by a series of knocks at his door. Tony padded over to find none other than Clint Barton standing before him, holding a garment bag in his hands and a familiar duffle slung over his shoulder. Tony blinked at him, then leaned against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. "What's up, Legolas?"

He assumed the nickname would rankle the archer's feathers, but Barton simply shot him an amused grin and passed the bags over. "Here."

Tony took both items with a small amount of hesitation, a crease forming between his brows. "What is it?"

"I would think you of all people would recognize your own suit."

"But…" Tony frowned, looking between the bag and Barton. "Why?"

Barton shrugged, though the tips of lips twisted upwards. "I thought you might appreciate putting on your armor before facing the assholes who tried to kill you. Cap's getting them set up in the basement."

Tony's eyebrows shut up towards his hairline. "He found Stane?"

"And the filth he hired to take out you and your family." The archer reached out to nudge his shoulder, a gesture that felt strangely comforting. "We got them, Tony. No one can hurt you now."

Tony swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat and willed the wetness away from his eyes. It was almost over; he could go home soon. Finally, he could leave this nightmare behind him.

That's what he wanted, right?

Instead of focusing on that, Tony instead latched on to something Barton said. "My armor?"

"You're the CEO of a clean energy company, aren't you?" He asked with a tilt of his head. "I figure guys like you put a certain amount of effort into their look. You don't want to be considered weak around the bigwigs, so you touch up the bags under your eyes, shine your cufflinks, and tailor your suits to prove to those who might doubt you that you can handle yourself and the work that you do. I didn't think you would want to face Stane in the sweatpants you brought with you."

To say that Tony was shocked at the archer's thoughtfulness would be an understatement. Yeah, they had definitely gotten off on the wrong foot back at the warehouse. He didn't realize the other man's hostility had wavered after his attitude back in the conference room. But if Barton could put his first impression aside and try to get along with Tony by doing something so thoughtful, then Tony could too.

"Be careful, Barton, or I might actually start to like you," Tony smirked.

The archer grinned again, sticking his hands into his pockets and spinning on his heel. Then, he looked over his shoulder and called out, "I don't know if the world will survive it."

XX

Steve nodded towards Natasha, who eyed him for a moment before stepping forward and opening the basement door for him. He pushed past the threshold with calculated steps and watched four sets of eyes snap to him. With The Winter Soldier hovering over his shoulder, he understood what they looked like, what they represented, feeling a swell of self-satisfaction when fear flooded their expressions.

He remained quiet, pausing to roll up the sleeves of his shirt carefully, never taking his eyes off Obadiah Stane, who sat front and center between the half-circle Sam, Natasha, and Clint forced Rollins, Keller, and Davis in. They were all strapped to metal chairs with their hands chained behind their backs; gags shoved into their mouths. It had been entertaining watching them struggle at first, but it didn't take long for them to realize how hilariously outmatched they were. Finally, the hoarse "Avengers" Rollins breathed out like a curse, brought their struggles to an abrupt halt—they knew resisting was futile.

It was.

Steve rose to his full height, flexing his fists, veins dancing prominently across his forearms. He kept his expression neutral, although there was no hiding his contempt. These men were responsible for harming what belonged to him, and they would soon find out that none of them would be leaving this room alive.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked softly. There was no need to raise his voice; they were petrified of him.

Keller and Davis nodded shakily while Stane and Rollins didn't make a move. When Steve flicked his index finger, The Winter Soldier, without hesitation, stepped forward to yank the gag out of Keller's mouth.

"You're—you're him," he shuddered, the chains rattling behind him. "The Captain."

Steve hummed in agreement, sweeping his gaze across the room. "And do you know what that means? That I've allowed you to see my face?"

Keller swallowed, his throat working with the movement. He cast his eyes down and squeezed them tight, whispering, "That you'll kill us."

Stane objected to that with a loud, muffled growl. He went ignored.

"Exactly. But before I do that, I want to make sure that each of you understands why you have to die tonight; Why I can't allow you to live."

Steve jerked his chin, and The Soldier placed the gag back in Keller's mouth. He took up a slow, leisurely pace around the room, the hairs on the back of his neck rising to attention when every eye landed on him. "See, you dared to lay a hand on someone important to me. Invaluable." Steve grit his teeth and let the familiar indignation boil beneath his sternum. "Thirteen years ago, Obadiah Stane and Howard Stark hired you to bring back Tony Stark. You found him in room 601 of the William Vale Hotel, dragging him out from under the bed by his feet and putting your hands on him," he hissed out, overly pleased to see the three men shrink back in horror.

Obadiah Stane simply watched him, somehow convinced that he would make it out of this basement alive.

It was one of the countless mistakes he made.

"You convinced him that his friends had given him up," Steve continued, his voice dropping to a register even he didn't recognize. He saw The Winter Soldier responding out of the corner of his eye, a menacing shadow falling across his covered face. "You made him believe that he was alone in this world, that he had nobody." He pushed right into Rollins' space, not allowing him to flinch back as he placed both hands on the metal bars surrounding the hitman. "You were wrong. He has me. He has The Avengers. We belong to him, just as he belongs to us."

He took a deep breath in to center himself and stepped back, discreetly gesturing for The Soldier to move into place beside Keller. He'd be the first to go. "And then you continued to accept work from this greedy warmonger," flicking his wrist towards Stane, "even after moving against the future heir of The Howling Commandos. When he told you to murder Howard and Maria Stark, you made their deaths look like a car accident. When he ordered you to find the lost heir of the Stark fortune, the same boy you traumatized so many years ago, you tried to break into his house and kill him in his sleep. But no," Steve snarled, his voice lowering to a whisper after a tirade of yelling. "He was smarter than you. He was better than you. He slipped out right under your noses and found me. Tony fucking Stark is under the protection of The Avengers. He's under the protection of The Captain and The Winter Soldier."

At the mention of his alias, The Soldier's metal hand flew out and wrapped around Keller's throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until the man's lips turned blue and his eyes bulged out of his head.

Steve stepped forward and snatched the gags out of the other three men's mouths, wanting to hear them beg and plead for mercy. "From what the Black Widow tells me, Keller has a wife of ten years. I wonder who will be the one to inform her of her husband's passing. They won't even be able to identify him without dental records by the time we're done with him; I can promise you that." He turned to glare at Davis. "What about your two kids? Will your ex-wife explain to your daughter that her father won't be able to walk her down the aisle in six months?

"And you, Rollins, you never settled down. Never found someone who could stand to live with you for more than a few weeks because even a stranger could tell you weren't worth loving." When Rollins' eyes closed against the verbal assault, Steve caught his chin and jerked it towards Keller's slowly twitching form. "Watch your friend die. Watch what your choices have brought you. Watch what is coming for you."

Keller choked out his last breath, his flailing limbs finally coming to a halt. Davis and Stane looked between them in horror while Rollins trembled before him, gazing up with wide, frightened eyes. "You're a monster," he shivered.

"No," Steve denied darkly. "I'm so much worse."

XX

Tony adjusted his cufflinks one last time before stepping in front of the mirror. He had to admit—he looked damn good. The tailored suit hugged the curves of his body while the sharp collar and tie combination accentuated his slender neck and stubble. Barton—Clint—was right. The metaphorical armor he donned brought forth a confidence he almost forgot was second nature to him.

Suddenly, the conflicted feelings he's slowly accumulated regarding Steve and Bucky grind to a halt, as if finding himself in his armor produced a certain clarity that settled the chaos surrounding his heart and mind. Steve and Bucky didn't betray and abandon him thirteen years ago. They never forgot about him, and they never let him go, just as he never fully let them go either.

He fell in love with Steve so many years ago, despite knowing who he was and what he could do. Tony understood Steve's role in The Commandos and who he would become when he got older. Although he led The Avengers now rather than his old gang, Steve was still extraordinarily violent and exceedingly dangerous. Tony felt like he should have more of an issue with that than he did, but all he wants are his friends back. He wants Steve back.

Tony finally found peace in his violence, and he wasn't planning on letting either him or Bucky go again.

Clint is there, waiting for him outside his room. He'd changed too, though, into a black stealth suit that held his mask around his throat. The Avengers all had face coverings when appearing before enemies, the best way to conceal their identities. "The Captain and The Winter Soldier are waiting for you in the basement. They've taken care of the three men hired to kill you, but they've left Stane for you to confront. If you want to, that is."

Tony nodded, feeling his mouth tug into a scowl. "Bring me to him." That bastard killed his mom. Yes, he hated his father, but that didn't give Stane the right to fuck with SI and put out a hit on the Stark family. He wanted to look Stane in the eye and ask him why.

They were silent as they made their way through the compound and down the three sets of stairs. White stone darkened with a thin layer of moss the lower they went. Shadows clung to Clint in front of him until they twirled their way around Tony's ankles, welcoming him into the fold. When they arrived on the bottom level, The Avengers waited for them there. Nathasha, Bruce, Thor, Sam, Scott, and Loki all greeted him silently with thin smiles and slight nods of their heads.

"They're waiting for you," Natasha told him softly.

Tony takes that as permission and steps through the threshold of the door she opens for him. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he isn't surprised to see the pale, unmoving bodies of Rollins, Keller, and Davis, all chained to metal chairs. Obadiah Stane sits in the middle with wide, panicked eyes and a scarlet flush across his bald head.

His gaze, along with Steve and Bucky's, snapped to him the moment he entered the room. Steve's was guarded and slightly feral, while Bucky's lacked the spark and life Tony remembered from just twenty-four hours ago.

"Anthony," Stane breathed. "Please, please, you have to tell them to let me go. They've got it all wrong—please!"

Tony adjusted his suit jacket and slipped a hand into his pocket. "Do they?"

Stane sputtered indignantly. "Of course they do! I'm—I'm your godfather, Anthony. We're family. I would never—"

"You're lying," Tony seethed. "You sold my father's weapons to terrorists. You took me away from two people who loved me; made me feel like I was worthless—like I had nothing. Then you had the audacity to kill my parents, to threaten me!" He growled, stepping forward, inwardly pleased when the man flinched backwards.

Tony's eyes slid over to Bucky, The Winter Soldier, and held his gaze. "I want him up in flames. Make it happen."

He received a ghost of a smile in return.

The Soldier disappeared out of the room while Steve slowly closed the distance between them, hovering near his shoulder while Stane sputtered obscenities and pleas for mercy. "Are you sure about this, Tony?"

"Have you ever known me not to be sure, Cap?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. If Steve started doubting him now—

But no, Steve simply nodded with a twitch of his lips and straightened to his full height, a show of unwavering support. A few moments later, The Soldier returned with a liquid canister and silver lighter. He waited for Tony's nod of approval before completely drenching Obadiah Stane with lighter fluid, the distinct stench scrunching up Tony's nose.

"No, no, Anthony, please—"

Tony cracked his neck, first to one side and then the other. "When they first brought you in, I'm sure you were confused. Who would move against someone like you? I bet you thought you were untouchable." Tony held out his palm towards Bucky, waiting for him to drop the lighter into it. "But you were wrong. I would assume meeting The Captain and The Winter Soldier was the first time you've felt fear in a long time. Maybe years. But you were wrong to be afraid of them, Obadiah. It's not them you should be scared of," Tony leaned in close, tilting his head and grinning at the terror reflected back in his godfather's eyes. "It's me."

He watched Stane for another moment before stepping back, the smile still dancing along his lips. "After all, I always did like playing with fire."

And then he dropped the living flame.

XX