Chapter 15: Tony Stark II

A flash went off in his face.

Tony looked up from the Starkpad. He looked dead on at the eye of a camera lens. "Will you please stop it?" he gritted. "It's early in the morning. I don't need hard evidence of what I look like in the early mornings."

Peter lower his camera down. "Sorry," he said. "Want to capture some daily moments in the compound."

"Why? What are you trying to do?" Tony grumbled as he picked up his mug of coffee. "Sell them to the press? Become a paparazzi?"

Peter game him a wry grin. "If you can't beat them, join them, right?"

"Wrong," Tony answered after he took his drink. "You become better."

A gentle hiccup distracted Tony. He looked down in the crook of his occupied arm. Little Maria was asleep, her button nose twitching as her mouth rooted for anything. Her little legs kicked in jagged motion and tiny toes peeked from the blanket she was swaddled in. Hands, fingers fisted, flapped. A sign of possible three things: milk, diaper or some random discomfort that Tony would spend ages trying to ease.

Tony forgot his coffee, moving Maria into a better position. "Oh… what's a matter?" he murmured as his daughter's eyes peeped open before closing in a scrunch. "Hungry? Okay, let's try that."

He went over to the fridge, searching for the milk that Pepper pre-made in case of an emergency. And Tony considered it an emergency. He found the bottle and guided it to his daughter's mouth. Instantly, Maria's mouth snared on it and her little lips began to suck in as much as she could.

"There, there," Tony cooed as he wandered back to the table. "See—Daddy can take care of you."

"Did someone say you couldn't?" Peter asked, lining up for another photo.

"I said it—along with a few thousand others," Tony quipped before he snapped his finger at Peter. "And, what did I say about the camera, huh? No more."

"Come on," Peter argued. His camera still aimed for a picture. "I'm sure M&Ms here would like to have a baby picture with her father."

"So she could burn it later? Sure," Tony returned in wit. "And stop calling her that. She's not candy that you can eat."

"Not my fault that her initials spell that out."

Tony threw Peter a look. "Not my fault either if you were… say… accidentally erased and replaced with… oh, I don't know… Ben Dover sounds like a good name, right?"

Peter furrowed his brows, somewhat doubtful of the threat. "You wouldn't."

"No, but I'll have FRIDAY do it if you keep snapping pictures," Tony warned. "I'm not going to condone this type of behavior."

Peter surrendered the camera, leaving it hanging around his neck. "Fine."

"Don't you have like… homework or something?"

"Already did it," Peter answered, taking an apple from the bowl.

Tony would have questioned it, but Peter's a genius. The online program probably wouldn't be able to adapt to Peter's learning speed. "Okay… well, how about you and I work on your robot? After I switch duties with Pepper that is. I don't think she'll be happy if I brought Maria into the lab."

Peter nodded his agreement. "Yeah. It's best to not get Pepper angry."

Tony smirked at the kid. Oh, he remembered that night. Pepper was thrilled to get Maria to fall asleep. All those hours rocking her to sleep was ruined by a miniature explosion Peter and Shuri caused in the lab. The minor quake startled Maria out of her slumber to a full blast wail, and it caused Pepper to go full rampage. It scared the two kids enough to quit the lab work early that night.

"Yeah, so when Pepper wakes up," Tony said. "You and I will head down, okay?"

Peter happily nodded, perking up. "Yeah, okay," he said, but then fell into a short hesitation. "Actually, I was wondering... can we work with some nanites today?"

"Nanites, eh?" Tony said as moved back toward the table. He took a seat, Maria tucked in the crook of his arm. "Sure. I don't see why not. But, why the change? You think nano-tech is the way to go for your robot?"

"Uh, no... not for Dumbo. He's going to be solar powered," Peter asserted, still stubborn in regards to his craft. "No, I was, um, talking about nanotechnology the other night and I realized that I never actually, well, you know... worked with them before. Kind of want to see how it works."

Tony couldn't argue with that reasoning. He admired the kid's thirst for knowledge and wanted to encourage Peter's growth in that department. "Yeah, okay. I'll show you the Mark L armor," he said. "First armor that uses nano-tech."

Peter blinked. "Wait... I get to work on your armor? Like... your actual Iron Man armor?"

"Yep. Why not? Could use a fresh pair of eyes since my old science bro is still MIA."

Peter's face split into an elated grin. "Thank you, Mr. Stark! Thank you! Thank you!"

"Oh, okay—calm down, Underoos," Tony advised the kid. "You act like I never take you down to the lab. Ever."

Peter flushed in embarrassment. He settled back down in his seat, but still wore that silly smile. "Sorry... got excited."

"Yeah, fanboying much?" Tony teased the kid, reclining comfortably in the chair. "So... you and Ned talked about nanotechnology the other night? For what?"

The giddiness that manifested on Peter's face melted away. His eyes unceremoniously glanced around, avoiding Tony's suspicious gaze. He thought back, remembering if Happy said anything when he picked the kid up a couple of days ago from Manhattan. While odd that Happy had to pick them up from Manhattan, Tony had no recollection of any disputes or concerns from that night. Nothing from Happy at least, and the brief moment he saw of the kid, Peter looked fine.

Tony was going to regret asking. "You're clearly hiding something," he said to Peter. "Care to tell me what's going on or will I have to wait when it all blows up?"

"It's nothing," Peter claimed, still refusing eye contact. "Just talk."

"You're not in a fight with Ned, are you? Or MJ?"

"What? No!" Peter was offended by the mere question. "No—like I said, it's nothing. It just came up in a discussion we had over dinner."

"Then why the sudden discomfort?" Tony questioned, ducking his head down to catch Peter's eyes. "You can't even look me in the eye, kid."

Right then, Peter lifted his head and gazed directly at him. "I'm fine. Everything is fine."

Tony planned to pressure Peter into revealing what troubled him, but the sound of the elevator arriving distracted him. He quickly made a mental note to talk to Happy about the previous night before he engaged with whoever walked out of the elevator. The doors parted and good, old Captain Rogers and Same Wilson strolled into Tony's apartment.

Rogers spotted Tony with his daughter immediately, a little smile tugging in the corners as he drew closer. "How's the littlest Avenger doing?" he asked, coming over to take a look at Maria. "She looks bigger."

"Watch your mouth," Tony quipped, checking on Maria. Her bright orbs focused solely on him and not Rogers. "That's not what you tell a lady."

Rogers threw him an exasperated look. "You know what I mean," he said. "She looks healthier. Growing."

Sam Wilson, who had yet to see his daughter, took his time. His eyes studied Maria's face before switching to Tony's then back to hers. "I can definitely tell she's yours," he finally said. "At the same time, though, I can't believe it."

Tony huffed. "Well, believe it. She's my kid. And she's going to kick your ass."

"Language, Tony," Rogers groaned, tilting his head in Maria's direction. "Not in front of the little one."

"Oh, she won't remember it."

"Just a good habit to have when she is old enough to remember it."

Fair point, Tony thought as he looked back down at Maria's wide eyes. He wasn't ready for a back-talking child. "Whatever," he said, not wanting Rogers to win. "Look, is there something you need? Because I could have sworn you guys have a kitchen on your own floor. If everyone keeps coming up to this one, what's the point of the others?"

"Well, for starters, you stock this one with the best coffee," said Wilson.

"And the best food too," Peter added his two-cents from the table, finishing off his apple. "We only have Cheerios at my place. Well, used to anyway."

Tony rolled his eyes. "That's not my problem. That's your aunt's. Ask her for more food."

Peter shrugged and picked up an orange next, shedding the layers off in quick motions.

Tony turned back to Rogers and Wilson. "Okay, well, help yourself to some coffee and carry on," he said as he got up. He gently adjusted Maria in his arms as he moved around the table. "As you can see, my arms are full. Too busy to play host."

"We can see, but we didn't come up here just for the coffee," Rogers said, his voice shallow that Tony had to listen carefully. "We need to talk."

"Can it wait?" Tony asked, tired of the constant attention everyone needed from him. "Look—if it's about the Accords, we can talk about that later. The next summit will take place in a month. Plenty of time to discuss, bicker and punch it out later."

"Actually, it's not that at all."

"Then what is it?" Tony hated keeping the guessing game alive when it could be dead with a simple answer.

"It's in regards to our latest... recruiter."

Latest recruiter? Tony stared, dumbfounded by what he meant. He glanced to Peter, wondering if he meant the kid. Peter also looked up, surprised by the news. "Oh—is someone else joining the team? Is it Ant-Man?" Peter guessed. "Or… um, who is that guy… the one in Hell's Kitchen?"

"No," Rogers answered to Peter's guesses. "No, it's a guy we came across not too long ago. A bit of a loud mouth."

Tony's blood stilled. His fingers slipped, the bottle tipped. Maria lost her hold and whimpered, arms flailing in distraught. "Oh, sorry, squirt," he said, trying to put the bottle's teat to her mouth. But, Maria kept crying. "Shit—I mean, okay. Hold on… kid!"

Peter dropped his orange upon Tony's call. "Yeah?"

Tony slipped between Rogers and Sam, moving to Peter as the kid rose up from his chair. "Here, take her for a minute," Tony said, slipping his baby daughter into Peter's arms. He then passed the bottle to him. "Feed her until she stops and then burp her. Don't forget to put a rag on your shoulder when you burp her. I'm going to talk to Cap here for a moment."

Peter looked baffled by the sudden responsibility, but he didn't complain. He accepted Maria, swaying his arms and cooing at her to settle down before he tried to give her the bottle's teat.

"Hey… hey… I got you," Peter murmured, cuddling the baby to his chest. "Hey! Yeah… it's your big brother. Well, in a non-biological way. More like an honorary title, you know? Maybe not. You're like a few weeks old. You wouldn't know. But, I got you. Hey—hey… it's okay. Stop crying. I guess you don't understand—"

"Peter!" Tony snapped for Peter's attention. "Just rock and soothe. That'll stop her from crying. Not… babbling."

Peter rapidly nodded. "Right, right. Yeah. Sorry, I'll, um…"

He started to rock his arms, swaying his whole body to quiet Maria. As Tony left to another floor with Rogers and Wilson, Maria's cries soften and Peter's voice turned into a quiet song.

The three Avengers went down a few floors, to a more secured room so that Peter wouldn't overhear them. Tony tapped in the key code that granted them access to the room. Tony ushered them and sealed it shut behind them. Now, it was the three of them. Alone and undisturbed.

Tony crossed his arms. "All right, first—we need a better code word than recruiter in front of the kid," he said, jabbing his thumb to the sealed door. "I don't want him to go pestering me about it."

"How about Red, then?" Rogers suggested.

"Red?"

"He's dressed in all red," Rogers pointed out. "I can't think of another nickname."

Fair enough, Tony conceded to the nickname. Not great, but it would do for the moment. "Okay, fine," he said. "Now, what's the major problem? What happened?"

Rogers went into a quick debrief. After that crazy night meeting Deadpool, the team dug further into the history of Deadpool's background. They investigated the Parker's assassination, trying to find any connection to Deadpool or any other associated terrorist that might have blown it up. Their leads ended with nothing. No trail. No evidence. Nothing. Even Clint's angry call didn't help them. Granted, he didn't call to assist in their investigation. He called because he received another fruit basket from Deadpool that thanked him for the introduction to the Avengers.

In either case, nothing they found led them any closer to their murderer. Until now.

Rogers received an early call from Agent Ross about a possible suspect down in Brooklyn. Rogers and Wilson joined Agent Ross in the raid. Unnerved at not being invited, Tony let it slide as he listened to Rogers tell the story.

They raided some loft building in Flatbush and found the suspect. Only the man was dead. His body mangled into acute angles and, from what Rogers awkwardly described, "Looked like a sword went right up his bottom."

"Asshole, for a better term," Wilson chipped in.

Tony did not need more details. "Okay—so the guy's dead," he said. "I'm guessing… Deadpool did it."

"Based off the murder, I would assume so," Rogers replied. "But the murder isn't what we wanted to talk about. We found something in the loft that we believe is to be a link to this whole Deadpool debacle."

Tony arched his eyebrows in a comical manner. "Are you kidding? You're calling it a 'debacle'? It's a bit more than that."

"Anyway," Rogers continued, ignoring Tony's jab, "we found this near the body,"

He pulled out a clear plastic bag from his pocket. He held it up to Tony's face. Tony tipped his head back, squinting at the object inside the evidence bag. It was a business card. For a school. Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls.

"Um, okay," Tony said, wrangling a questionable look to Rogers and Wilson. "How is a school for spirited, anti-establishment women a link into this whole debacle?"

"Funny you say that, because actually it's not a school," Wilson responded. "It's a local watering hole down in the Lower East Side."

"Not surprising," Tony remarked. "How else would a teenager survive that hellish hole?"

"Not funny, Stark," Rogers said.

"It's a little humorous," Tony maintained. "Okay, so… what? You think this Deadpool is killing the local patrons at this bar?"

"It's a lead, Stark. Agent Ross says we should check it out, considering that the dead man had the card."

"So? I have seven different punch cards in my wallet right now. Doesn't mean Joe's Coffee has anything to do with my death if I so happen to die," Tony remarked. "Why does Big E think it is something to look into? Why not have the regular police handle it?"

Rogers and Wilson shared a look. "Because… they found all of this as well," Rogers said, taking out his phone and turning it around to give to Tony.

Tony checked out what was on the phone. A gallery with pictures of the murder scene. Tony winced at the images he swiped through. The man didn't die cleanly or respectfully at all. But then, Tony saw what Roger was referring to. A backroom filled with weapons ranging from guns, grenades and bombs. Not something an average Joe kept to protect his property or loved ones.

Tony returned the phone back to Rogers. "Okay… so, gun enthusiast killed by a sword. Ironic," he said, pacing a bit. "Do we have a name of the dead fellow?"

"Not yet," Wilson answered. "But, based on what he kept locked behind those doors, I'm gonna say he isn't a very nice guy."

"Probably a mercenary himself," Rogers added, "which is why Agent Ross thinks we should check out the bar. Might find something useful. Who knows? Someone might even know Deadpool."

Tony doubted. Deadpool wasn't a man to have a lot of followers nor acquaintances based on his instability. If he killed this man, then it was possible that more answers may be found at the bar. And with answers, the quicker they could stop Norman Osborn.

"All right! Fine—whatever," Tony said. "If Big E wants us to check it out, then we will. What time were you thinking because I was thinking eleven? Wait—is Big E coming, because if he is, we have to do eight. He gets cranky if he doesn't go to bed early."

Rogers shot him another exasperate look. "Come on, Tony. Stop giving him a hard time. He's doing his job," he said. "But, if you must know, he can't make it. Busy with processing the Parker's belongings to return to them. So, it's just going to be us."

"Great," Tony deadpanned. "Eleven it is then. Let me just go and tell Pepper before she believes she has a chance to have an early night's rest."

Tony looked up at the sign, reading it over again. Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls. Odd name for a bar. But, maybe the name's purpose was to keep certain clientele out of its hovel. In any case, Tony was going to enter, order a beer and then demand answers. Rogers and company may do as they please. He didn't give a damn.

They entered the stairwell. Tony checked that his Iron gauntlet was situated perfectly in case he needed to go into interrogation mode. He looked over his shoulder to Cap and Wilson. "All right boys," he said to them. They were both dressed in their identical leather jackets that was almost reminiscent of a 90s boy band. "Try to blend in."

"Could say the same thing to you," Wilson threw back as they descended into the bar, gesturing to the fine suit Tony wore.

Tony shrugged, not overly concern if he fit in the atmosphere or not. As he expected, they came across a rough, wooden door that threatened to splinter his fingers at a single touch. The hinges squeaked at the disturbance, but their warning was silenced by a wall of rambunctious drunks. Conversations swirled among the dimly lit room, a hue of blueish-green coating the entire atmosphere. A pool table sat in the middle of dirtied tables and unstable chairs. A stagnant stench of cigarettes, mixed with another mephitic odor, wafted about the room that Tony believed he would need to burn his suit along with the first layer of skin to get the smell off him.

No one noticed them at first. Too busy dealing with one another to take notice who entered their domain. Most of the patrons were not the type to been seen mingling with Avengers. Gruff, buff and ugly with bald heads and long beards made them an unappealing company to surround oneself. They looked more like biker gangs than drunks who lived off of welfare checks and workers' compensation.

Tony, Rogers and Wilson meandered to the bar, where the bartender, who now took notice of their presence stood at attention. His big, curly hair spiraled in a puffy mess at the sides, black-rimmed glasses pressed against his face as he wiped his hand on his yellow, plaid shirt. If anything, the bartender looked the least intimidating person in the vicinity.

He walked up to them, the rag in his hand thrown over his shoulder. "I'm just going to say it," he began. "You guys walked into the wrong bar. This isn't the place for you, so I suggest you walk out quietly like you came in."

Tony cocked an eyebrow. The bartender may not look buff, but he sure was a confident prick. "Yeah, no can do," he said, pulling out the business card from the murder scene. He flipped it up so the bartender would notice it. "You see, we found this on a guy we were investigating. He's dead by the way. Bones snapped in millions of pieces and had a sword shoved right up his ass."

The bartender didn't even blink. No reaction at all. Almost like it was plausible occurrence. "Who died?"

Tony took out his Starkphone and uploaded the image of the dead man. "This guy," he said and the bartender took a quick look. "No, go ahead. Take a good, long, hard look at it. That man's dead."

The bartender muttered under his breath. He turned away from Tony, looking over the whole bar. "All right! Big announcement!"

Everyone immediately went silent, looking up at the bartender with cautious concern.

"I've just been informed that Palmer is dead, so," the bartender pointed to man near the corner, "come and get your money, you shithead. Come on up, Griggs. Collect your fuckin' sixty-five."

Cheers and moans were shared as a man who had a round pot-belly plowed his way to the counter. His jolly attitude served him well as he reached the bar and snared the sixty-five dollars from the bartender's hand.

"Yeah, yeah, go congradu-fucking-lations," the bartender jibed as he jumped up on the bar with chalk in his hand. He crossed off a name on a massive chart above the rows of alcohol beverages.

Tony's mouth fell. "Son of a bitch."

The chalkboard was covered in a list of names and money amounts. Bets were accepted and written in chalk up on the board in finality. Some were already crossed off, others blurred to the point it almost looked erased. But, what came clear to Tony was the all caps letter of the chart's title: DEADPOOL.

The bartender dropped down and returned to Tony, Captain Rogers and Wilson. He wiped the chalk dust on his rag. "Like I said," he said. "This really isn't your scene."

Tony blinked from the chalkboard to the bartender. "It is now," he said, shooting up to his feet and releasing his gauntlet. It came to life, the blue light whirling and shining brighter than ever as he took careful aim at the bartender.

The clatter of noise instantly went silent again, followed by a sum of clicks that Tony recognized as guns.

Tony heard Wilson low whistle at the party behind him and Rogers muttering next to him, "Tony, don't do anything stupid…"

The entire time, the bartender didn't even flinch. "You're not going to get anything out of me and I doubt you can stop all of them in time from firing their weapons."

"Really? Have you never seen us fight? Like on TV?" Tony queried. He faced a far worst situation than the one he was currently in. Even Rogers took on a group of armed men in small quarters victorious. "This is nothing and if you really don't want to make a mess, I think it's best you answer some questions."

The bartender pulled his shoulders back, taking a full measure of Tony's Iron gauntlet into full consideration. "Doing nothing illegal here," he claimed. "Just a few alcoholics wanting a few nonjudgmental time to themselves."

"You're betting on who dies first," Wilson said, gesturing to the chalkboard. "That's illegal and perverted."

"Betting isn't illegal," the bartender said. "Just highly frowned upon."

"Still an immoral way to pass the time," Rogers remarked at the way they turned death into profit and enjoyment.

"Thanks for the lesson, padre. But, as you can see, this ain't a Catholic school anymore," the bartender gestured to the armed patrons and liquors. "Now—I'll ask you to leave nicely for the third time or else I'll have my good friends here show you our kind of hospitality."

Tony glanced over his shoulder. He sighed. "Very well," he said and turned to Captain Rogers and Wilson. "Close your ears and eyes."

"Tony? What are you—"

Tony spun on his heels and shot his Iron Gauntlet to the paying patrons. A blinding light, followed by a rasp shattered the room. Then a loud, collective thud ricocheted along the walls back to the bar. Tony dropped his arm, the gauntlet dimming in disuse.

The patron were no more. They laid haphazardly on the floor, too stupefied to move. Satisfied with the result, Tony turned to face the bartender again, who stood alone, pressed up against the rows of liquor.

Tony pulled out a stool and took a seat. "Now that we took care of that," he said, "why don't you pour us a round of drinks and we can get this conversation rolling."

The bartender bristled. "I don't have anything to say! I don't know anything!" he yelled at them. "You ruined my business! No one will come here now that the Avengers are involved."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have started a death wish list," Rogers remarked, taking his own seat beside Tony.

The bartender rolled his eyes. "It's called a Deadpool list, idiot," he retorted. "And it's been a tradition of this establishment for years. Even before I became the head bartender."

"Ah! You see," Tony clapped his hands. "Now, we are getting somewhere."

"Who is on this… deadpool list?" Wilson threw out a question, peering up on the board. "You bet on people who enter this bar or something?"

The bartender huffed, crossing his arms in protest.

Tony sighed, unbelievable that this man had the nerve to be a douche. "Look—we are trying to stop a psychopath from killing again," he said. "We don't give a damn about what you do down here. We only want to stop a very bad man from doing very bad things. Capiche?"

The bartender's eyebrows arched. "Oh, yeah, I know why you're here," he remarked. "And I'm telling you it's a fuckin' waste of time."

Wilson leaned into the bar. "You do?" he questioned the man's authenticity.

The bartender nodded. "Uh—yeah! You're chasing after the wrong guy," he asserted. "Deadpool didn't kill Spidey's parents. He didn't even exists back then."

That screeched the conversation to a halt. Tony stared, his bowels churning in distress. His intellectual brain scrambled to make sense what he heard. How did this cheap imitation of Curly Sue know that private, tidbit of information? Temporarily incapacitated, Tony struggled to voice his battering thoughts.

So, Wilson spoke for him. "How do you know about that?" he demanded.

The bartender shrugged.

That wasn't good enough. The paralysis wore off. Tony stood up from his stool. Two hands pressed on top of the bar. "All right, this is going to go two ways. You either willingly cooperate with us or," Tony waved his gauntlet in front of the bartender's face, "we try another alternative."

"Tony!" Rogers's voice admonished and a hand tugged on Tony's shoulder. "Tony—settled down! There's no need to go Iron Man on him."

"He's being a grade A douche," Tony retorted, scowling at the bartender. "That's enough for me."

"Tony—let me handle this," Rogers ordered, pushing Tony aside to stand in front of the bartender, who looked a tad paler.

Tony flipped Rogers the bird, but the good, old Captain was looking at the bartender and not Tony's crude gesture.

"Hello. I don't think we properly introduced ourselves," Rogers began and he stuck out his hand. "I'm Steve Rogers. This is Tony and Sam. You?"

The bartender didn't shake Rogers's hand. "They call me Weasel."

Tony pressed his lips tight, trying to damn the laughter erupting in his throat. Weasel? He's shitting them. What kind of a name was that? Tony only hoped that he lived up to that horrible name.

Rogers apparently sensed his belly-ache laughter as he elbowed him in the ribs to contain himself. "You're friends with this Deadpool, aren't you?" Rogers continued as Tony recovered. "Don't need to answer that. I get it. You're trying to protect him. Look—as Stark said earlier, we only want to stop this bad guy from hurting someone we care about. You have to understand that, right? Peter is a child. We don't want him to get hurt and we're willing to follow any and all trails that will help us prevent anything bad from happening to him. Okay? If you can help us with that, then… we'll be out of your hair, so to speak."

"I told you everything I know already," Weasel smugly answered. "I have nothing else for you."

"Okay!" Tony interjected, elbowing his way back to his old seat. "Back to my original plan considering yours failed, Cap." Tony lit up his gauntlet to the bartender. "Okay, here is how it's going to go. You tell us everything that this Deadpool has and then I won't burn off all those gold curls from your head, Goldilocks."

"Tony!" Rogers spat. "That's not how—"

"Okay," Weasel said.

Tony, Rogers and Wilson stopped and stared. "Come again?" Tony asked, not believing that he heard the man's quick submission.

"Yeah, look, I don't have a great pain tolerance. I stubbed my toe just yesterday and I was out for the entire day. Had to get Patch to do my shift," Weasel admitted. "So… just… hold on to your dicks."

Weasel the bartender went to the other end of the bar. He pulled out a hefty binder, carrying it over to the group. He dropped it on top of the counter with a loud thud, flipping it open to reveal pages upon pages of records on an ongoing deadpool list.

"I don't want any problems for my friend," Weasel spoke again as he shuffled through the binder. "As I said, he didn't do anything to the kid's parents. Nor the kid. He wasn't around during that time. But here—" He spun the binder around to show them a list. It was marked 2007. "This is the list of all the people associated with the deadpool in 2007. The time of the plane crash."

Tony looked over the names, reading them quickly to remember them all. He saw A. Palmer's name penciled into the lined paper. The same man whose name was scratched off on the chalkboard. Tony glimpsed back up to the chalkboard, looking at their names and then back to the records.

A cold eureka moment imploded in his mind. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, looking back to Weasel. "These aren't random people."

"No, they are not," Weasel coolly answered.

Tony looked to Rogers and Wilson. Both remained clueless to the obvious evidence before them.

"They're all mercenaries," Tony explained, pointing to the chalkboard and the records. "Every single name is a mercenary. That's the deadpool list! To see which mercenary dies first on the job." Tony checked back with the bartender. "Am I right?"

"You're the genius," Weasel dryly stated.

Tony scowled at the man's lazy contribution. "Yeah, I am," he returned. "You see, Rogers? A little bit of persuasion goes a long way."

Rogers returned with a pointed look. "So does kindness and compassion," he rebutted as he poured over the 2007 list of names. "Do you know which type of mercenary each one was? I'm aware that not all mercenaries are associated with murder."

"I wasn't working in this joint in 2007, so I can't really say," Weasel answered, monotone. "All I know is that Deadpool asked for this very same list and I gave it to him."

"Without asking questions on what he might do?" Rogers followed up. "That's a bit careless."

Weasel shrugged. "He can take care of himself," was all that Weasel offered as an excuse, not realizing Rogers was referring to Deadpool as being the dangerous one. "And, honestly, if he's asking for the list of names, then those guys were probably motherfuckers that need to be handled."

"You sure have a great loyalty program here," mumbled Wilson. "So… one of these guys may have been involved with the little Spidey's parents' assassination?"

"Appears so," Rogers said in a long, drawn out sigh. "Stark? Do you need a copy?"

Tony already took care of it. "FRIDAY has it already," he muttered, fixing his jacket sleeves. "Let's go. I feel like I'm already getting hepatitis C just standing here." Tony reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a few hundred dollar bills. He smacked them on the table. "There you go. A round for when they come around and payment for any more drinks they buy afterwards."

"Oh, and one more thing," Tony pulled out a twenty dollar bill and laid it on top, "That one is for you."

Weasel grumbled and snatched the money away before Tony could even reconsider taking it all back. "Asshole."

Tony mimicked Weasel's shrug. "I've been called worse," he said. "See you never, Goldilocks."

Tony headed to the door as he heard the murmurs of concussed patrons stirring from the floor. He heard Captain America apologize to the bartender and thanked him before following Tony out of the bar. They got back to the night's cold embrace, trudging back to Tony's car.

"You didn't have to be an antagonistic prick," Wilson first stated when they all got into the vehicle. "He helped us out."

"Only after he dragged us around with that smartass mouth of his," Tony said, speeding away from the bar. "We got what we needed. What's the worry?"

"Um, did you forget that his friend is a man called Deadpool and that he defeated you, Cap, Black Panther and Agent Ross in one go?"

"Um, correction, he didn't defeat us," Tony argued on his behalf, not Captain America's. "We captured him… he just ripped his hands off and got away."

Wilson gestured with his palms upward. "And do I need to say more?"

"Relax, that lunatic wouldn't even think about attacking us," Tony dismissed Wilson's concern. "No—he's too busy trying to find whoever screwed him over. Which also happens to be the same guy we're looking for."

"Sam's right, Tony," Rogers added to the conversation. "You didn't need to treat him so poorly."

"If I didn't, we wouldn't have gotten the list," Tony maintained. "Look—we tried it your way. It didn't work. We tried it my way and it did. I paid the guy like a thousand dollars. It'll cover the cost for tonight, tomorrow and tomorrow night. He's fine."

"Still didn't need to act like an ass," Wilson commented.

"Well, I didn't ask for your opinion, did I?" Tony said, switching lanes to get back to the compound as quick as possible. "In any case, we need to stark looking up all these names. Find out who's alive. Dead. Who did what? All of that in the database? Hey, FRIDAY?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Search through the names of the list I scanned for you," Tony ordered. "Look up recent job locations, residential addresses, associations—really, anything that might be useful in regards to figuring out which one killed Peter's parents."

"Yes, sir."

Tony picked up speed. "When we get back, we should have some kind of an answer."

They sat around the conference table, reading FRIDAY's results on all the information she gathered in regards to the names Tony scanned of the 2007 deadpool sheet. A handful were already dead according to their legal death certificate. Others incarcerated and a few random ones took no part in any violent endings. They were simple intimidators.

Everett drove up, much to Tony's chagrin. Rogers notified him and now, Everett stood by the door, arms crossed and lips pinched as he read FRIDAY's report on the list.

Everett hummed. "Well, this definitely narrows the playing field," he said, reviewing the screen FRIDAY displayed for them. "The questions remains is who did it and who will Deadpool go after next."

"Who cares about Deadpool?" Tony didn't get the fascination with the crazy mercenary. "Let's focus on the real culprit."

"We can't exactly let Deadpool run free, Tony," Rogers said from his seated position at the table. "He already killed one man."

"Deserved it if his records are accurate."

Rogers released a weary sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. "We aren't executioners, Tony. We can't support a person who goes around killing others, despite the fact they may be criminals. That's not who we are."

"And we aren't positive that Deadpool won't go after Peter anyway," Everett claimed. "He could be eliminating the competition or doing an audition—"

"Audition to kill someone?" Tony heard ridiculous things in his life, but that sounded absurd. Audition to kill someone by killing another. What was this mad world they lived in?

Everett didn't even favor him with a glance. "You would be surprise."

"We should do a fifty mile radius cover," Rogers advised. "Check on all those in the vicinity. Keep tabs. I'll have Nat check-in to help."

"And what if this Deadpool guy shows up?" questioned Wilson.

"Don't engage alone," Everett warned. "Call for back-up." Everett checked his watch. "Shit—I have to run. Need to be in DC." Everett deposited his coffee cup in the trash and pulled on his jacket. "Keep me posted. I'll let you know if I learn anything new as well."

Everett left as quickly as he came. Rogers asked FRIDAY to turn the screen off and room returned to a morning glow from the rising sun. Tony had his head in his hands, thinking over the criminals in his mind when FRIDAY dinged him.

"Sir? A reminder that you promise to show Peter your nano-technology suit this morning."

Tony massaged his eyebrows. He remembered promising Peter another go at the nano-technology after the yesterday's brief introduction. "Thanks FRIDAY," he said, stiffly getting up from his seat. The lack of slumber didn't do so well for his joints. "Cap—don't have fun without me. Keep me in the know. Before Big E."

He left the conference room and made his way back to his lab. Peter was already there, eager and stoked to work on the nano-technology again. The boy learned quick, already having a good grasp on the foundation and mechanics. As they tinkered and played with Tony's suit, with Peter babbling excitedly along, Tony did his best to stay focus on the present, but he couldn't keep the fear of losing Peter to an assassin.

Like the way he lost his parents.

"Are you okay, Mr. Stark?"

Tony lowered the screwdriver. "Yeah. Of course," he dismissed Peter's concern. "And did you seriously call me my by dad's name?"

"Sorry, I meant, Tony," Peter corrected himself. "Are you sure? You look a bit… out of it."

Tony released a weighty sigh. "Just tired. Didn't get any sleep last night."

"Oh, well, if you want to go to bed or take a nap, we don't have to do this right now," Peter said, trying to accommodate Tony's schedule.

"No, no, no," Tony said, swatting Peter's suggestions aside. "I'm fine. Besides, I rather being working here with you than take a silly nap. I can do that later. Right now, I want to spend time with you."

Peter dropped his chin. "You don't have to. Really."

"I want to," Tony asserted, waiting until Peter lifted his head up again so that he could look him directly in the eyes. "I enjoy our time together. It's nice to have another person in the building to geek about robots and physics.

"So, honestly, don't feel bad," Tony gave him a warm smile, "I'm enjoying my time."

For a moment, Peter said nothing. But then, "Thank you."

And like that, they both grabbed their tools and continued their respective work. A few minutes later, they returned to their normal bickering, wisecracking repartee. Peter enthusiastically watched Tony's demonstrations and mini lessons about nano-technology, coming up with his own theories or designs until Pepper knocked on the door reminding Tony to not starve Peter.

They called it a day in the lab, both heading out to join the others and for Tony to spend some family time with Pepper and Maria. When he took his daughter in his arms, his only thought was the single promise he made to himself about keeping Maria and Peter safe from all dangers that threatened their lives.

A promise he must keep if he wanted Peter to live to his seventeenth birthday.