Sins of the Fathers

by geekymoviemom

Tony Stark would never describe his relationship with his father as anything other than difficult. So what would possess him to agree to become the guardian of some random kid from Queens? Peter Parker lost his parents when he was barely old enough to remember them. But when tragedy strikes again during the Stark Expo, it's none other than Iron Man, his hero, who rescues him.

19. Chapter 19

Here we go! I can't thank you guys enough for all of the kind reviews, favorites, and follows!

And a huge hug to stjohn27, my awesome prereader and sounding board. :)

---

Tony was too stunned to move, too stunned to talk, too stunned to even blink as he stared at the grim and terrified face of his oldest friend. His lungs felt as though they'd been filled with ash, with even the very act of drawing in air taking more effort than Tony could muster. His hands were clenched into fists so tight that they were shaking, his fingernails painfully digging into his palms.

"Tony," Rhodes said carefully, still trying to catch his own breath from his two-block, flat-out sprint. "I know this is a bit of a shock, but—"

"A bit?" Tony spat out, forcing the words past his frozen throat, his chest so tight it felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. "My son—, our whole family's just been taken by a fucking madman to who-knows-where, and it's only a bit—"

"Which is why we need to go. Now!" Rhodes said firmly. He wrapped his hand around Tony's arm, dragging him towards the door. "We need to get the hell outta here right now, before Ross's men show up and grab us too. There's no time to stand around panicking."

"Rhodey—"

"Now, Tony!" Rhodes snapped, shoving Tony out the door of the apartment and towards the stairs to the roof, where a Stark Industries chopper was parked. "I've already contacted Vision. He's standing by up at the Compound until we decide what to do, then he'll meet up with us."

As the chopper took off over the darkened city of Washington D.C., Tony was finally able to snap out of his stupor long enough to engage the retro-reflective panels, enabling the chopper to become invisible to radar. He still needed to thank that Harley kid down in Tennessee for giving him the idea for that particular stealth mode. It definitely had come in handy on more than one occasion.

"What's the heading?" asked Rhodes a few minutes later.

Tony drew in a deep, immensely painful breath, the heated air of the chopper nearly burning his still-frozen lungs. "The Compound. Gotta pick up Vision."

"Vision can fly just fine on his own, Tony," Rhodes protested. "And don't you think the Compound's being watched? We don't have personal stealth modes, at least not the last time I checked!"

"No, not yet," Tony muttered. "And no, I don't think it's still being watched. If Ross thinks he got everyone there's really no reason to stick around, and Vision would've activated the jammers as soon as something went wrong. If there was someone up there watching, all their equipment got fried the moment Vision realized that Sam was picked up. Besides, you got your armor on under that uniform jacket?"

Rhodes shot him a harsh look, one that Peter would've called a "duh?" look. "No. And neither do you, if you haven't noticed."

"Right. Even more reason to head to the Compound," answered Tony. "We both gotta re-arm." He sucked in another harsh breath, biting his bottom lip as he tried not to think of how terrified Peter must be right now. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve…

"Ross probably doesn't know about Peter's abilities yet, Tony," Rhodes said a few minutes later. "And he's just a kid, so—"

"You really think Ross gives a shit?" Tony growled, his stomach clenching at the thought of the slimy, vile Ross even thinking about laying a hand on Peter. "C'mon, Rhodey, you and I both know that man has been obsessed with creating a super soldier army for years now. He even sacrificed one of his best men to it, turned him into the fucking Abomination with barely a second thought. If he doesn't know about Pete already, it's a good bet he's gonna find out real soon."

Rhodes let out a sigh. "At least Peter's with Steve and the others, Tony. You know they'll keep him safe."

"Yeah," Tony whispered. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. "You got any idea where that asshole has taken them?"

"Yeah," Rhodes answered. "I do." Reaching a hand inside the pocket of his uniform jacket, Rhodes pulled out a packet of folded up papers. "I managed to grab this before I raced out the door. It's a copy of the presidential order, with a detailed list of everything that was established by it."

Glancing over at the pile of papers in Rhodey's hand, Tony quickly turned on the chopper's autopilot and grabbed them, scanning down the alarmingly long list of regulations established by the presidential order.

For the purposes of this order, an "enhanced individual" is defined as any person, human or otherwise, with superhuman capabilities. This includes individuals whose powers are an innate function of their biology as well as individuals who utilize highly advanced technology to grant themselves superhuman capabilities.

All enhanced individuals must provide biometric data such as fingerprints and DNA samples.

Those with secret identities must reveal their legal names and true identities.

Those with innate powers must submit to a power analysis, which will categorize their threat level and determine potential health risks.

Those with innate powers must wear tracking bracelets at all times, and are not allowed to travel outside of their city limits without express permission from the State Department.

Enhanced individuals are prohibited from taking any action without express permission from the State Department. This includes police, military, or espionage activities.

Any enhanced individual who uses their powers to break the law—including those who take part in extralegal vigilante activities, or are otherwise deemed by the State Department to be a threat to the safety of the general public—may be detained indefinitely without trial.

The use of technology to bestow individuals with innate superhuman capabilities is strictly regulated, as is the use and distribution of such technology. Any currently existing technology must immediately be turned over to the State Department for inspection and cataloging.

The creation of any self-aware artificial intelligence is expressly prohibited unless completed under the express supervision and control of the State Department.

The Avengers will no longer be a private organization and will only operate under the express supervision of the State Department.

"Holy shit," Tony breathed, shoving the papers back at Rhodey as if they had burned him. "What the hell is this, Rhodey? Last I checked we lived in the United States of America, not the United States of Ross. This isn't democracy. This is… identification… and internment!"

"I'm telling you, Tony, Ross is delusional," Rhodes said, shaking the papers. "He thinks all of this is necessary for the 'greater good'. Unfortunately, after what happened in Lagos with the Wakandan king, he even managed to get the president to go along with him."

"Yeah, I don't think I wanna know what kind of dirt he's got on the president then," Tony grumbled. "I'm surprised Ross didn't run for president himself with all the ass-kissing he's done over the years." Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Oh God, please let Pete be okay!

"Nah," Rhodes scoffed. "Being President would be far too much work for someone like Ross. This way he gets all the power he wants and none of the extra responsibility."

"Okay, so… where's he taken them, Rhodey?" Tony asked, pressing his fist to his chest. "Where's he taken my boy?" He'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. He'll be okay as long as he's with Steve.

Won't he?

Shaking his head, Rhodes rummaged through the mess of papers strewn across his lap, pulling one out from the pile. "This is a requisition form, Tony. I found it along with the presidential order documents. It's a request for food, clothing, weapons, and other similar supplies, and it's enough to last at least a year without having to restock."

"Okay," Tony said impatiently. "For where?"

Rhodes pursed his lips. "It's for the Raft, Tony. And I'd bet money that's where Ross has taken them."

---

Cold, Peter thought as his mind slowly swam back towards consciousness, one painful millimeter at a time. Cold, hard, damp, stale, ow, that hurts, don't do that again. This is just… not good at all!

As he slowly began to regain the feeling in his limbs, partially frozen from the cold and numb from the awkward position of his body, Peter came to the conclusion that he was in fact lying flat on his stomach on a very cold, very hard, grated metal floor. The right side of his head—throbbing in perfect rhythm with the very loud thudding of his heart—itched something crazy, and Peter groaned as he attempted to move his hand up to scratch at the itch.

"Uh, I wouldn't do that yet, kid," an unfamiliar voice suddenly said from down by Peter's feet. Peter immediately froze, his hand comically hovering in midair. "You really should take it slow, you're still pretty out of it."

"Aahh!" Peter cried, opening his eyes in the dim light of the grey metal room just enough to see the outline of an unfamiliar man with brown hair and chin stubble sitting on the floor in the opposite corner, dressed in some kind of blue jumpsuit. Peter grimaced as the throbbing in his head got even worse, and he squeezed his eyes back closed. "Who're you?"

"It's okay, kid," the man's voice said. "I'm not gonna hurt you." Peter felt the man's large hand take his own, placing it gently back down onto the floor next to his itchy head. "You got a pretty nasty cut there on the side of your head, but it's already healed up a bunch since they brought you in here, so I think you're gonna be okay. Just… don't try and move too much yet."

Peter nodded, or at least nodded as well as he could while lying flat on his face. Just the small movement of his hand and arm had caused his stomach to start doing somersaults, so he wasn't really in a hurry to try again anyway. Not yet at least.

"Who're you?" Peter asked again, trying to sound more calm than he felt. "Where's my dad? Where're Steve and Natasha and Sam and—"

"Shh," the man said. "Just try and stay quiet for a bit, okay?" He gently patted Peter's back, and the kind, comforting gesture reminded Peter so much of his father that tears welled up in his eyes and started rolling down the side of his face.

"Oh no," the man said, stilling his hand. "Now see, I didn't mean to make ya cry, kid. I didn't mean that at all. Oh no. I'm so sorry! Um…"

"No, it's okay," Peter rasped, sniffing. He raised his hand, smearing the tears across his cheek. "It's okay. Who are you?"

"My name's Scott," the man replied. He patted Peter's back again. "Scott Lang. And you are?"

"Peter," replied Peter. "Peter Parker Stark."

"Oh… shit," Scott whispered, withdrawing his hand. "Uhh… as in, the Starks? Like, those really rich people who own that huge… ah… warehouse up there in upstate New York? As in, the Iron Man Starks?"

"Warehouse?" Peter muttered. "No, it's not a warehouse. That's the Comp—, oohh." Flattening his palm on the floor, Peter pushed his head up just enough so that he could get a better look at the man's face. "You're the one who broke into the Compound? Who wrecked Sam's Falcon pack?"

"Um… yeah," Scott replied sheepishly, swallowing hard. "Yeah, that was me. Yep, it sure was."

"That really wasn't nice!" exclaimed Peter, a lot louder than he'd intended as a sharp bolt of pain shot through the side of his head, right across where it was itching. He immediately clapped his palm over the spot, pressing against it. "Ow! This hurts!"

"Hey, I thought I told you not to move too much," Scott said. "You've got a bruise on your head there that's the exact shape of the butt end of a rifle, and you were bleeding pretty bad when they brought you in here. The bleeding has stopped now and the cut's scabbed over pretty good, but the bruise is still there."

Grunting, Peter squeezed his eyes closed as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position against the freezing metal wall, wrapping his arms around his knees. "That really wasn't nice, Mr. Lang!" Peter repeated, a bit softer this time. "You could've hurt Sam, and stealing is wrong!"

"Please, call me Scott. And I know, I know!" Scott said, holding up his hands. "Look, I didn't mean to hurt anyone, especially one of the Avengers. It's just that… Hank said that we really needed that Signal Decoy, otherwise we wouldn't've been able to take down the Yellow Jacket, and he actually was right, we really did need it, but you're right too, I should've just asked for it instead of trying to steal it, but then again, Hank said you should never trust a Stark, but then again, he probably didn't mean you, and… you're really a Stark?"

"Uh huh," Peter replied, his head spinning. "Tony Stark is my dad."

"Oh shit," Scott said, shaking his head. "Um… look, Hank's intelligence on that warehouse—"

"Compound," interrupted Peter.

"On the Compound was a bit out of date," Scott continued. "I didn't know that was your… house… until I got there and ran into—"

"Sam?" asked Peter.

"Yeah, him. Look, I'm really sorry. If it's any consolation, the tech I borrowed—"

"Stole," corrected Peter.

"Yeah, okay, stole, helped stop a really, really evil bad guy, so… think you might be able to forgive me?"

"Well, it actually belonged to my dad, so you'll probably have to ask him," Peter said. "But… yeah, I can. Just don't do it again, okay? You should've just asked. My dad's nice, he would've helped you."

"Yeah," said Scott, huffing out a breath. "I promise I will next time, okay? And that'll be the last time I listen to Hank Pym."

"Wait a minute," Peter said, grunting as he raised his head. "I've heard of a Mr. Pym. My dad told me his dad got into a bad argument with him once."

"Yeah. From what I understand, Hank had a pretty bad falling out with one of the Starks a long time ago."

"That must've been with my dad's dad," said Peter. "My dad didn't like his dad very much; he wasn't very nice to him."

"Oh. Well, again, I'm sorry."

They were quiet for a few minutes, which Peter welcomed since his head still felt like it was trying to split open down the middle. What the hell did he do that would've provoked someone into hitting him upside the head with the butt of a rifle?

"Do you know where my dad is?" Peter asked. "Or Steve, or Sam, or Natasha, or—"

"If I had to guess, I'd say they've got all of them locked up in one of these cells," answered Scott. "But they've had the lights dimmed down so low ever since I woke up in here, I can't be sure."

A frightened noise squeaked its way out of Peter's throat, and he tightened his arms around his legs, dropping his forehead down to his knees. He was starting to shiver from sitting on the freezing cold floor, which only made the throbbing in his head more intense.

"Hey, kid," Scott said, sliding across the floor over to Peter. "It's gonna be okay."

"How can you know that?" Peter whispered. "Why are we even here? What do these mean people want with us?"

Before Scott could answer, the area outside of their cell was suddenly flooded with lights, so bright they were nearly blinding. Peter yelped in pain and surprise, burying his face into his hands as Scott wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Hey, hey, it's okay, kid. What's your name again?"

"The light—, it hurts!" Peter cried, scrubbing his palms against his eyes. "Too bright, too bright! I'm not used to it so bright!"

To Peter's relief, the lights dimmed down some almost as soon as they'd turned on, and a few seconds later Peter raised his head, his eyes widening as he saw what appeared to be several other cells arranged in a circle, all occupied by members of his family, all dressed in the same funny blue jumpsuits. Steve, Sam, and Mr. Barton were in the three cells across the circle from Peter and Scott, with Natasha and Wanda in the cell to Mr. Barton's left. All of them were unconscious except for Steve and Wanda, who was wrapped up in some kind of straitjacket-type thingy that didn't look very comfortable at all. Peter gulped, flattening his hands against the glass wall as Steve locked eyes with him, gesturing wildly.

"Are you all right?" Steve mouthed to him.

"Uh huh," Peter answered, even though he knew Steve probably couldn't hear him.

Steve pressed his palm against the side of his own head, then pointed to Peter, holding his palms up in question. Peter's heart broke a little at the horrible look of guilt clouding Steve's face.

"I'm okay," he said, nodding carefully so as not to induce another round of nausea. "I'm okay, Steve. It wasn't your fault."

Any further attempt at communication was halted by the appearance of a group of five men and women who appeared to be soldiers, all with rifles strapped to their backs and carrying an unconscious Pietro Maximoff, his legs bound together at the ankles and thighs with thick metal cuffs. Peter's heart skipped a beat as he watched the soldiers step over to the cell directly to his left, unlock it with something that looked like a long, baton-type thingy, and toss Pietro inside, the hard thud of his body slamming against the shared wall of the cells causing Peter to jump. Across the circle Peter could see Wanda screaming behind her glass, and he gasped as he watched her attempt to stand up, only to be violently shocked back into a sitting position by the collar wrapped around her neck.

"Geez," Scott said, trying to keep his voice light, even though Peter could tell he was just as frightened as Peter. "These guys sure are friendly, aren't they?"

"What did they do to Pietro?" Peter asked in a quavering voice, watching with increasing terror as the soldiers proceeded across the circle over to Steve's cell. "Oh no! No, please don't take Steve away! Please, don't take Steve away!" Peter slapped his palms against the thick glass, his heart thudding madly as one of the soldiers unlocked Steve's cell and immediately slammed the shiny metal butt of his rifle right against Steve's face, causing blood to splatter from his nose and onto the grey metal floor.

"No!" screamed Peter. "No, don't hurt him! Please don't hurt Steve! Please don't hurt him!" He slammed his hands against the glass again, so hard his palms started to tingle, but the soldiers ignored him as they pulled Steve out into the circle, punching him hard in the abdomen before hauling him away. Peter felt a pair of hands wrap around his shoulders, attempting to pull him away from the glass but he twisted away from their grasp, straining to get a final glimpse of Steve as he was dragged around the corner and out of Peter's sight. The lights dimmed back down as soon as they were gone, curtaining the entire complex back into its eerie darkness.

"They're gonna hurt Steve!" Peter cried, finally collapsing back against Scott. "Why're they gonna hurt Steve? Why? I wanna go home! Why are we here? Where's my dad? Where is he?"

"I don't know, kid," Scott said, his voice grim. He wrapped his arms tightly around Peter, careful to avoid the side of his head. "I don't have any answers. I sure wish I did. I was on my way home from my daughter's soccer game when something hit me on the back of my head, and the next thing I knew I was in here. I don't know anything that's happened outside of that."

Peter sniffled, swiping his nose across his sleeve. "You have a daughter?"

"Yeah," answered Scott with a slight smile. "Her name's Cassie, she's eight years old and she's the cutest, sweetest, most adorable little thing you've ever seen. Not that I'm biased, of course."

"Mmm," Peter whimpered. "I bet she's worried about you."

Scott's shoulders sagged, his smile disappearing. "Yeah, she probably is. She's pretty tough though, and I've had to be away from her before, so… she'll be okay. You seem pretty tough there too, kid."

"My name's Peter."

"Oh yeah. Sorry. How old are you, Peter?"

"Fourteen."

"And do you have any idea why you're here? Other than the obvious fact that you live with the Avengers and your father is Iron Man?"

"No," Peter whispered. "Steve and Natasha were bringing me home from my friend's house when our car was attacked at a stoplight. Steve told me to hide down on the floor, behind the seat, but when I saw one of the bad guys trying to hit him, I grabbed onto his arm and stopped him." Peter winced, bringing his fingers up to the side of his head. "That must've been when I got hit by the rifle. I don't remember anything after that."

"You were able to stop one of those guys from hitting Captain America?" Scott asked. "That's pretty impressive! How strong are you?"

"Um… well… I'm about as strong as Steve," Peter said sheepishly. "I mean, I've beaten him in arm-wrestling matches, so…"

"Wow!" exclaimed Scott. "That's incredible! I didn't think anyone was stronger than Captain America!"

"It just happened," Peter said. The rush of adrenaline from watching Steve be taken away was wearing off fast, and Peter was already shivering. "About three weeks ago. I was… bit by a spider."

"And… that made you stronger than Captain America?" Scott asked, tilting his head in confusion. "Um… how?"

"It's kinda a long story," Peter mumbled through chattering teeth. "And I don't really wanna talk about it right now." He dropped his forehead down to his knees, fighting back more tears. What were those mean people doing to Steve right now? And where was Dad? How come he wasn't here?

"I want my dad," Peter whispered a few minutes later.

"I know you do, kid," Scott whispered back. He patted Peter's back. "But if he's not here, and it doesn't seem like he is, then I'll bet he'll be trying to get here as soon as he can. We just gotta be patient."

"But I don't wanna be patient!" Peter cried. "They're just gonna keep hurting everyone! Why are they hurting us?"

"I wish I knew, Peter," answered Scott with a heavy sigh. "I wish I knew."

---

"We're about five minutes out, Vision," Tony said over the secured radio channel. "Stand by."

"Yes, sir," answered Vision. "The Compound is secure and I have seen no evidence of any spy or surveillance activity since we went dark."

"Copy that," replied Tony. He tapped Rhodey on the shoulder, holding up his hand to indicate the five minute warning. Rhodey had been on the line with one of his Air Force colleagues for the last thirty minutes, trying to find out some more information on where Bucky Barnes was being held.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Rhodes said over his radio. "Yeah. Thank you, Colonel. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this intel."

"And you're absolutely sure you can trust this guy?" Tony asked once Rhodey had hung up.

"Not everyone in the military is as messed up as Ross," Rhodes answered. "And I didn't tell him everything, just enough to get the intel we needed."

"And that is… what, exactly?" asked Tony, touching down the still-invisible chopper onto the landing pad at the Compound and cutting the engines.

"All the evidence points to Barnes being held in Minsk, in some secret military prison," said Rhodes. He grabbed onto Tony's arm. "Tony, even with Vision's help, I'm still not convinced we can do this. If Belarus was involved with the Winter Soldier program back in the day, they'll probably know pretty well how to contain him."

Tony shot Rhodes a hard glare, pushing his hand away as he opened the chopper's door, hurrying across the landing pad towards the Compound's entrance. "We're not discussing this again, Rhodey. There's no way we can move on the Raft with just the three of us, so we need Barnes' help. It's just that simple."

"And I'm telling you that it might be suicide, Tony!" protested Rhodes. "Even if we ignore the fact that we might not even be able to find him in the first place, or even break into this prison where they're holding him, you told Steve yourself that Barnes might not even be in his right mind. What makes you think he's gonna wanna help us do anything?"

"Barnes did pull Cap from the river down in D.C. after the Insight carriers went down," said Tony. "Steve would've drowned otherwise, I couldn't've gotten there in time to save him."

"All right, but that still doesn't mean he's gonna wanna help us," Rhodes said. "Pulling one drowning guy from a river is a lot different than breaking into one of the most secure prisons on the planet. Tony, the Raft is a fortress, designed for the worst of the worst!"

"Where they're holding my son!" Tony shouted, nearly choking as he turned on his best friend, sticking his finger in Rhodes' face. "My son is in that goddamn submerged ocean prison, Rhodey, along with the entire rest of our team, of our family. So you can make damn sure that I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get them out!"

Rhodes held up his hands, his jaw twitching. "All right, Tony. I'm still your friend. We just gotta make sure that we're not playing right into Ross's hands with all of this, 'cause if we do that the only one who'll gain anything is him."

Tony inhaled a deep, shaky breath. "Even more reason for trying to get Barnes. Ross might be expecting me to show up at the Raft, but I highly doubt that he'll be expecting Barnes."

Arriving in the armament room located on the bottom floor of the Compound, Tony stepped over to his newest suit, hitting the button on his phone to unlock the storage locker. Directly next to it stood his latest upgrade of the War Machine armor, complete with several new features that Peter had helped Tony design. Tony averted his eyes, trying to avoid looking at the other lockers in the room, lockers filled with the extra uniforms and equipment used by the other team members. Steve's newly repaired suit, still waiting for him to test drive during one of their weekend training sessions. Steve never went too many places without his shield, especially when he was responsible for Peter, so he likely had that on him when they were taken, which meant that it was now in Ross's hands. And Tony still hadn't figured out a way to make a decent replacement for it without getting his hands on more vibranium.

Sam's spare Falcon pack was there too, fresh from a new upgrade after that fiasco with the bug man. Barton's arrowheads, the pistols that Natasha favored for some still unknown reason along with her extra stingers, even the rows of the Maximoff boy's running shoes. Almost against his will, those damn twins had started to worm their way into Tony's good graces, and now he might never see them again. Never see any of them again. Tony's heart started to flutter in his chest as if it were doing flips, stealing his breath and nearly causing him to double over. Never… he couldn't not ever see Peter again, he couldn't—, if that fucker Ross were to—, No, God, please, not now!

"We have to try, Rhodey. That's all there is to it," Tony said firmly, shaking his head to try and clear it as he stepped into his armor. Barring those times when he had needed his arm gauntlets to help with Peter during one of his nightmares, it'd been far too long since he'd suited up, and Tony couldn't deny that it felt damn good, even given the circumstances. "There's just no other way. We're all that Pete and the others have right now, and time's not exactly on our side here. As far as I see it, we don't have any other choice."

"The Compound is secure," Vision suddenly said, floating directly through the armored wall of the room. "But as time is of the essence, we should not be wasting it with petty arguments."

"See?" Tony said to Rhodes. "Even Vision thinks I'm right."

"That is not quite accurate, sir," answered Vision. "But as I am unable to come up with an alternative course of action at this given time, I suppose I must agree with you by default."

"Yeah, whatever," Rhodes grumbled, holding out his arms as the War Machine suit wrapped around him. "I s'pose if I'm gonna get myself killed, it might as well be with you two yahoos."

"That's the spirit," Tony quipped as they headed back up the stairs and towards the hangar, where the Quinjet was parked. "You remembered to fuel the jet, didn't ya, Vision?"

"I am appalled that you even find it necessary to ask me that, sir," answered Vision.

"Yeah, okay," grumbled Tony. "A 'yes' would've worked just fine there. Too bad Thor's not around for one of his linguistics lessons."

"You want me to take a shift at the stick, Tony?" Rhodey asked as they boarded the jet. Rhodes and Tony both stepped out of their armor, making their way towards the cockpit.

"Nah, thanks. Why don't you try and sleep a bit," Tony answered, kneading the back of his neck as he settled into the pilot's seat, trying to rub some of his tension away. He was tired, and under normal circumstances he would've gladly turned the stick over to Rhodey for a few hours so he could try and rest. But these were hardly normal circumstances, and Tony knew there was no way he'd be able to rest. If he didn't keep his mind occupied with flying the jet, there's no telling how many dark places it would wander away to on the way to Belarus, and Tony absolutely needed to keep his cool as much as possible. There was no way they were going to be able to break into this prison and find Barnes without all three of them being at their absolute best.

Hold on, Pete, Tony thought as the jet took off into the night, headed east over the water. We're coming for you, buddy, just hold on.

---

"Hey, Peter," Scott said gently from the corner. "You should come and eat something here. There's no telling how often they're gonna feed us, and—"

"I'm not hungry," Peter interrupted, barely looking in Scott's direction. He tightened the thin blanket around his shoulders, tossed in along with the stale biscuits and lukewarm watery soup the soldiers had slid into their cell a couple of hours ago.

"C'mon, kid," said Scott. "You're a teenage boy, you gotta be hungry. I remember being hungry all the time when I was a teenager. And no comments are necessary on how long ago that might've been, if you don't mind."

The corners of Peter's mouth twitched, almost against his will. He knew Scott was only trying to help him feel better, but that wasn't going to happen until Peter saw Steve again. The soldiers still hadn't brought him back, and while Peter's eyes had adjusted to the low light well enough to see that Natasha, Sam, and Mr. Barton had finally woken up, he still couldn't hear anything going on outside of he and Scott's cell. There must've been a dampening field blocking out the sound since they knew Steve had enhanced hearing. Peter wasn't quite sure if his own hearing was as enhanced as Steve's, but he had a feeling it was, and he still couldn't hear a thing.

"Peter," Scott said, a little more firmly this time. "Don't make me use my dad voice with you. I'm still pretty out of practice, and it might be awkward anyway since we just met only a few hours ago."

"It's not gonna work, Scott," Peter said stubbornly. "I won't be able to eat until they bring—"

"Come over here right now and eat something, young man!" Scott commanded, bringing his hand down against the grated metal floor and causing Peter to jump. "Right now, or I'll tell your father you were disobeying a grownup when he gets here."

"But—!"

"Right now, Peter," said Scott, raising his eyebrows. "It was bad enough that you were unconscious when they brought you in here. I don't need you passing out on me from hunger." He held out one of the biscuits towards Peter. "Please, kid. Starving yourself is not gonna help anything."

"Fine!" Peter grumbled, taking the biscuit from Scott's hand and tearing off a piece, shoving it into his mouth. It was grainy, gritty, and cold, nothing like the biscuits that Steve often made, and Peter shuddered as he swallowed it, even as his stomach started growling in anticipation of more.

"There," Scott said once Peter had choked down the entire thing and half of the soup. "See? That wasn't so hard."

"Hmph," Peter mumbled, wiping his mouth. He looked over towards Natasha's cell, his throat tightening as he saw her spoon-feeding Wanda some of the soup. Mr. Barton was sitting on the floor of his cell, breaking off small pieces of a biscuit and popping them into his mouth, his eyes trained on the cell next to Peter, probably waiting for Pietro to wake up. Sam was lying down on the low cot in his room, his blanket pulled up over his head. Peter could tell by the tightness in his shoulders that he was worried sick about Steve, just like Peter.

As his eyes swept across the circle to Steve's empty room, Peter bit his lip, trying not to think about what those soldiers might be doing to him right now and yet unable to think of anything else. Those soldiers had obviously hurt Pietro, and Pietro wasn't as strong as Steve as far as Peter knew. He was just really fast on his feet.

The sudden blinding flash of light caused Peter to cry out, and he slapped his hand over his eyes just in time for the lights to dim back down. Blinking, Peter stood up, craning his neck towards where Steve had been taken away, and his heart jumped into his throat as the five soldiers entered the circle, two of them dragging an unconscious Steve Rogers by his arms. Steve's entire face was covered in bleeding cuts and bruises and both hands were bloodied, as if he'd been forced to repeatedly punch a cement block or something. What did they do to him?

"Steve!" Peter cried as the soldiers unlocked Steve's cell and tossed him inside, cringing as Steve's strong body thudded hard against the wall he shared with Sam. Sam, already on his feet from the blinding lights, slammed his palms against the wall, yelling something that Peter couldn't make out.

"Is he dead?" whimpered Peter, the gnawing ache in his chest growing deeper and deeper as he watched Sam continue to pound on their shared wall, trying to get Steve to respond. "Oh God, please don't let him be dead! He's not dead, is he?"

"Peter," Scott said, wrapping his hands around Peter's shoulders. "It's gonna be okay, kid. I'm sure Cap's just knocked out, and—"

But Scott's voice cut off as the soldiers finished locking Steve's cell and proceeded across the circle, aiming directly for Peter. Almost immediately Peter's lungs seized in his chest and he shrank back from the wall, bumping into Scott, who wrapped his arms around him just as Peter's knees buckled. "It's okay, Peter. It's gonna be okay. You're just a kid; they aren't coming for you."

"No!" Peter managed to squeak past his tightening throat as the heavy metal door was unlocked and two of the soldiers stepped inside. "Please, no!"

"You!" one soldier said, pointing the tip of his rifle directly at Peter's chest while the other grabbed onto Peter's shoulder, yanking him away from Scott's grasp. "You must submit to a power analysis."

"Oh, come on!" Scott protested. "He's just a kid!" The first soldier immediately turned, butting Scott hard in the abdomen with the end of his rifle, causing him to yelp.

"No!" Peter cried as Scott doubled over, struggling against the ironclad grip of the soldier trying to drag him out of the cell. He could feel the bruises forming on his shoulder from the soldier's fingers digging into his skin. "No, please don't hurt him! I'll go with you if you don't hurt him!"

"He's just a kid!" Scott wheezed, clutching his stomach. "You're really gonna hurt a kid?"

"All Enhanced must submit to a power analysis," barked the soldier as he pulled Peter out of the cell. Peter could see Sam out of the corner of his eye, banging against the glass wall with his fists. Two cells down, Natasha and Wanda were huddled together in the corner, Wanda's face buried in Natasha's shoulder as Natasha patted her back. "It is a requirement."

With a loud clang, the door to the cell was slammed closed, cutting off Scott's raspy protests. Peter choked as he inhaled, his chest so tight it felt like it was being crushed as one soldier poked him in the back with his rifle, forcing him out of the circle and into a square-shaped, dimly lit room with a ceiling at least thirty feet high. The walls were the same dark grey metal of the cells, and there was a small, rectangular shaped window towards the top on the left side. Peter could just barely make out the shadowy silhouette of a man's head and torso in the window.

"Well, well, well," the man's gravelly voice suddenly boomed from several speakers embedded in the ceiling. "I must say, this is quite the pleasant surprise, Mr. Stark. You have no idea how pleased I was to find out about your new abilities."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Peter declared, trying desperately to keep his voice from quivering.

An evil, maniacal laugh rang out from the speakers, causing Peter to tremble even more. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a terrible liar, kid? You definitely didn't learn that skill from that asshole father of yours."

"Don't you talk like that about my father!" Peter screamed through his aching throat. He clutched his neck with both hands, pressing gingerly against his Adam's apple. "He's gonna come here, and he's gonna find us, and then he's gonna kick your ass! So you just watch out!"

But the man only laughed again, and Peter cried out as the soldier next to him poked him hard in the ribs with his rifle. "As per the terms of the new Enhanced Registration Act, all humans with innate enhanced abilities must submit to a power analysis," the man said, as if he were reading from a script. "Now then, Mr. Stark. Since I was informed that you were able to block the blow of one of my soldiers during the collection of Captain Rogers, I would very much like to see this for myself."

"Huh?" Peter asked, barely able to get the word out before one of the soldiers drew back his fist, aiming a punch directly at Peter's head. Peter's right hand immediately shot out and grabbed the man's wrist, twisting his arm and pinning it behind the man's back.

Whoa! Did I really just do that?

"Impressive!" the man in the window said, clapping his hands. "Again!"

This time it was the soldier on Peter's left who drew back his fist, and again, Peter managed to block the blow with seemingly very little effort, twisting the man's arm behind his back before he even realized what he was doing. Peter jumped back, releasing the soldier's arm, shaking his head as he examined his palms in amazement.

It was almost as if he could sense the blows coming, before they even happened. Dad had always told Peter that he had pretty fast reflexes, and he even remembered Uncle Ben mentioning it a time or two when he was little. But this seemed almost inhumanly fast.

"Again!" the man in the window called, over and over as Peter ducked and dodged and blocked the attempted punches of the two soldiers for what seemed like hours. It wasn't until Peter heard the hair-raising, unmistakable 'pop' that indicated he'd twisted the soldier's arm right out of its socket that Window Man called for a break. Peter's heart was racing, his entire body trembling as he watched the soldier reach across his body and pop his own dislocated shoulder back into place with hardly even a whimper of pain.

Who the hell are these guys?

"All right! I do appreciate that enjoyable performance, Mr. Stark," Window Man said, shuffling some papers. "Now then, moving on. I believe it is time for you to start throwing the punches. You may begin now."

"What?" Peter asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Sweat was streaming down his face in thick, sticky rivulets, stinging his eyes and nose, and his entire body was shaking so violently he was surprised he could still stand upright. "I'm not gonna punch anyone."

"As terms of the new Enhanced Registration Act, all humans with innate enhanced abilities must submit to a power analysis," Window Man repeated. "Now, you're a pretty intelligent kid from what I understand, Mr. Stark. So I'm sure you won't require me to explain what I just said in more detail. Is that correct?"

"I'm not gonna punch anyone!" Peter shouted, gasping at the tearing pain in his chest and throat. "I won't do it!"

Window Man only shook his head. "You people think you're so righteous," he spat out. "Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Agent Romanoff, that damn birdman. You people think you can just go in wherever you damn well please and provide your own brand of justice, without even thinking about the consequences of your actions. Without even thinking about the repercussions of your arrogance. Without even thinking about how innately dangerous you people are. The absolute lack of concern for the enormous amount of destruction you people leave in your wake is… well… let's just say that it is something I'm no longer willing to tolerate. New York, Washington D.C., Sokovia, Lagos; these are only the biggest examples of the many incidents I could mention if given the time. The Avengers are nothing more than a group of enhanced vigilantes who think they can take the law into their own hands, and to hell with the rest of us. And that, Mr. Stark, is going to stop! Right now!"

"No!" Peter yelled, clenching his fists, acutely aware of the two soldiers circling around him, as if they were waiting for him to pounce. "That's not true! The Avengers have made the world a safer place! They aren't arrogant, they're—"

"Really, kid?" Window Man scoffed. "You're really calling Tony Stark not arrogant? Boy, you are delusional! Tony Stark is one of the the most arrogant, egotistical, holier-than-thou people I've ever seen, and the rest of the Avengers are no better!"

"That's not true!" screamed Peter. "My father is not egotistical! He's not! And neither are any of the others! The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place, and that's what they've done! My dad flew a missile through a wormhole, he risked his life to save New York, and that's only one example! He is in no way arrogant!"

"The Avengers can no longer operate without supervision!" yelled Window Man. "It is unacceptable!"

"Who says?" Peter demanded.

"I say!" Window Man screamed, slamming his palm down onto his desk. "All of you, all you… Enhanced, you're all under my control now! The Avengers is no longer a private organization, so you'll go where I tell you to go, and you'll do what I tell you to do." Window Man leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands. "Now, Mr. Stark, I require a demonstration of your ability to punch."

"No," Peter said stubbornly, crossing his arms. "I refuse. I won't do it."

Window Man's eyes narrowed, and he jerked his head, only a split-second before Peter felt the hair on his arms stand straight up. He managed to turn just in time to block another punch thrown at him by one of the soldiers.

"You will comply, Mr. Stark," Window Man barked as Peter dodged yet another blow, flipping backwards out of the way. "If we have to keep you in here until you're too exhausted to fight back, you will comply."

"Then you'll just have to keep me in here!" Peter grunted, such intense exhaustion already seeping into his limbs that he wanted to cry, but knowing if he stopped there'd be no telling what the soldiers would do to the others. Even Steve, for all of his methods of dealing with bullies diplomatically, without resorting to violence, had told Peter that it was okay for him to defend himself if the situation ever arose where he needed to. And, remembering how horrible Steve looked when the soldiers dragged him back inside, Peter knew it was only a matter of time before he reached that point.

Please, Dad! Peter thought, flipping out of the reach of yet another blow, swaying as he landed, barely able to catch his breath before sensing the fist aiming directly for the back of his head. Please hurry!

---

"Okay, Tony," Rhodes said as the Quinjet touched down about a mile away from Barnes' supposed location. He and Tony both stood up from the chairs, quickly stepping into their armor. "What's the plan?"

"Uhh," Tony stammered, gulping. This was always the point during their missions where Cap would step in and tell everyone what they were going to do, explain the brilliant, tactically sound plan that he'd come up with, designed to keep everyone as safe as possible with as few casualties as possible while still accomplishing the objectives for the mission.

Except this time, Cap wasn't here. He was a big part of the reason why Tony was even here in the first place.

"Uhh," Tony said again, wracking his exhausted brain. He had half a mind to just storm the place, blasting away with his newly upgraded weapons and hoping that he and Rhodey, along with Vision's pretty remarkable skills—that mind stone sure came in damn handy in a fight—would be enough to get the job done.

"So, you don't have a plan?" Rhodes asked. "We just flew all the way out here, landing in a potentially hostile country to break a goddamn super soldier out of a secret prison, and you don't have a plan?"

"Pardon me if I'm a bit fucking distracted by the fact that my son's been kidnapped by a lunatic!" Tony snapped, glaring bullets at Rhodes. "Just… give me a second!"

Rhodes raised his hands in surrender, backing away as Vision floated up towards the cockpit. "I've counted four guards on the main entrance, three on the back," he said. "I would therefore suggest the back as an entry point."

"Yeah, okay," Tony murmured. "That makes sense. Rhodey's got that new little handy-dandy sonic pulse that we can use to get the guards out of the way, then Vision can phase through the wall and unlock the door from the inside."

"All right," agreed Rhodes with a nod. "I like it so far. What happens once we get inside?"

Tony shrugged, already impatient with all the talking. "We'll just have to play it as we see it." Walking towards the back of the jet, he closed his helmet over his head, motioning for Rhodes and Vision to follow. "C'mon, let's get this over with!"

"Dammit, Tony!" Rhodes muttered under his breath, even as he followed Tony off the jet and into the frozen woods surrounding the prison, which appeared to be nothing more than a one-story, concrete bunker. Must have most of it underground, Tony thought. Makes sense, given the fact that we're in the fucking frozen tundra.

Approaching the North entrance, which Vision had marked as the back, Tony eyes caught sight of the three guards. Nodding in Rhodey's direction, Tony stepped back as Rhodes raised his right arm, activating his sonic pulse. The pulse was loud but immediately effective, rendering the three guards disorientated enough for the three men to get behind them, quickly applying sleeper holds before Vision phased through the wall to unlock the door.

"See?" Tony said once they were inside. "That wasn't so bad."

"Sure," Rhodes replied, and Tony could just picture that one-eyebrow look that he often shot at Tony. "Not so bad. We only just announced our presence to the entire country, but hey, we made it inside!"

"I believe we should head in this direction," Vision said, pointing down a wide, dim hallway. "I'm reading a heat signature."

"Only one?" Tony asked, raising his right arm. "FRIDAY, verify only one heat signature?"

"Only one that I can see, boss," replied FRIDAY.

Tony scowled inside his helmet. "That seems a bit odd, doesn't it? Thought this place was supposed to be heavily guarded."

"It is indeed odd," answered Vision. "But perhaps its remote location lends itself to requiring less human lives as guards."

"Hmm," said Tony. "Maybe. I'm all for not having to blast anyone else today. Let's do this."

As they made their way down the dark corridor, lit only by the blue repulsor beams on Tony's and Rhodey's hands, Tony's left arm began to ache and his heart began to stutter, signs he'd come to recognize as impending trouble or panic. Something still wasn't right about all of this; it was almost as if he could feel it.

"FRIDAY, still only one heat signature?"

"Still only the one, boss," FRIDAY said. "Perhaps… wait, no, now I'm picking up a second, boss, it's right behind you!"

"Vision!" Tony yelped, turning just in time to see Vision raise his right arm, slamming it against the chest of what appeared to be a man dressed in a black suit, wearing a helmet topped with pointed tips. The man dropped to the ground like a rock but immediately sprang right back up, raising his gloved hands, the fingers tipped with sharp, silver claws.

"What the hell?" shouted Tony, stepping back behind Vision, who'd locked his fingers around the cat-man's throat, raising him slightly off the ground. "Who the hell are you?"

The cat-man grunted, clawing desperately at Vision's solid hand wrapped around his neck. "I am T'Challa, of Wakanda," he gasped in an accented voice, African, but not quite the same as any African accent Tony had heard before. "Barnes killed my father, I've come for my revenge!"

"You're the Wakandan prince?" Tony demanded. "What the hell're you hassling us for?" He nodded towards Vision, who lowered T'Challa back to the ground, still keeping his hand around the prince's neck.

"Barnes killed my father," T'Challa repeated. "I have come for my revenge. It is my right!"

"What, so you just followed us here and decided to step on our toes to get what you want?" asked Tony. "That doesn't seem very prince-like to me! Besides, even you have to admit the evidence against Barnes being responsible for that second bomb in Lagos is sketchy at best."

T'Challa twitched, his hands still scrabbling against Vision's immovable grip. "It is my right to avenge my father! Barnes is mine!"

"Tony, we don't have time for this!" Rhodes hissed from behind him. "This is already taking far longer than it should!"

"Look," Tony snapped, stepping forward as his helmet folded back behind his head, instantly flooding his nostrils with the damp, dank scent of the prison. "I hate to tell you this, but if anyone here has a right to Barnes it's me, because he really did kill my father. He killed my mother too, as a matter of fact, and I even have evidence to prove it. But right now there are other things, far more important things to worry about than revenge. My son—, and all the rest of the Avengers have been taken captive by a renegade government official, and we need Barnes' help to get them back." Tony inhaled a sharp breath, moving so close to T'Challa that their noses were practically touching. "Now, we really could use your help too, Your Highness. From what I've heard, you're a pretty decent guy to have around during a crisis. So, whaddya say. Will ya help us?"

"I have no desire to get involved in yet another problem created by the Avengers," T'Challa stated. "Barnes was responsible for the bomb that killed my father. I am here for him and nothing more."

"Tony!" Rhodes barked. "This is not helping!"

"And I'm telling you we cannot help my son without Barnes' help!" Tony cried. "My son is only fourteen years old, and some lunatic has taken him, along with the rest of my team, just because he thinks he can. Just because he thinks he has the right to decide what's best for a group of people only because they're a bit different from the rest of us. Now, I know all you folks out there in Wakanda don't like to get too involved with the rest of the world, but even you have to admit that forcibly taking a child from his parent is not acceptable! My son is counting on me to help him, but I can't do it alone. We can't do it alone. And I can't imagine that your father, who sent humanitarian workers into another country to try and help, would turn up his nose at a request like this."

T'Challa was quiet for several seconds, unmoving as his masked eyes stared into Tony's. Finally, he nodded. "Very well," he said. "I will help you rescue your son, and the others. But I cannot guarantee that I will not demand retribution when all this is over."

"Yeah, well, you'll probably have to take that particular issue up with Captain America," muttered Tony. "So, are we good here? Can Vision take his hand away without you trying to claw me or something?"

"He can," T'Challa responded.

Tony nodded towards Vision, who withdrew his hand slowly, keeping his eyes trained on T'Challa.

"Thank you," T'Challa said. He adjusted the helmet covering his head, splaying out and curling his clawed fingers. "I am ready."

"This way," Rhodes said, pointing down the corridor with his armored hand. Keeping one wary eye on T'Challa—Tony still wasn't quite convinced he wasn't going to try and bolt—they continued on until they rounded a corner and came upon a solitary barred cell. Bucky Barnes sat in the corner, his dark hair long and stringy, his metal arm reflecting back the light from Tony and Rhodey's repulsor beams. Tony's mouth went dry at the sight of him; he looked beaten down, defeated, tired. Not at all like the mindless, brutal assassin he'd always pictured, the man who'd killed Tony's parents—and likely Peter's parents, for that matter—without hardly a second thought.

"You're Bucky Barnes?" Tony asked as his helmet folded back. He cleared his throat. "The Winter Soldier?"

"Who's asking?" said Barnes in a low voice.

Tony stepped forward, nearly touching the solid iron bars of the cell, electrified to protect against Barnes' metal super-arm. "You know who I am."

Barnes' eyes flicked across Tony, Rhodey, Vision, and T'Challa before returning to Tony. Tony could tell T'Challa was chomping at the bit to get at him. He needed to work fast.

"You're Tony Stark," Barnes finally said. "The Iron Man."

"Yeah, that's right," replied Tony.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Breathing in a deep breath, Tony released it slowly, clenching his armored hands into fists. "We need your help."

The slightest of smiles crept across Barnes' lips. "Why?"

"It's a matter of life and death, or there's no way in hell that I'd be here right now," answered Tony. "For a lot of people. Including Steve Rogers."

The mention of Steve's name awoke something in Bucky, and he jumped to his feet, stepping closer to the electrified bars. "Steve?"

"Yeah," Tony said as his chest tightened. "And my son. They've been… taken, and we need your help to get them back."

Barnes' lower lip started to shake, and he tilted his head, eyeing Tony suspiciously. "Don't you wanna know—?"

"If you're in possession of all of your marbles?" Tony interrupted. "I'll admit, the answer is yes. But since we don't really have a lot of time to stand around chit-chatting, I'm willing to defer the answer to that question just so long as you agree to come with us and help us. Oh, and that you don't try to take any of us out, that's a definite requirement."

"You're here to get me out?" asked Barnes, frowning.

Tony huffed in frustration. "Wasn't that just what I was saying?" He glanced at Rhodey, holding up his hands. "Was I not clear? Yes, Sergeant Barnes, we need your help! Look, like I said, we're on a clock here! You come with us, you help us save my son and Rogers and the rest of the team, I'll put in a good word for you with the authorities. It's that simple."

But Barnes only stared at him, his eyes wide. "You called me Sergeant Barnes," he said softly.

"Well, yeah," Tony said impatiently. "That's your name, isn't it? James Buchanan Barnes, US Army Sergeant? Howling Commandos?"

"It hasn't been for a long, long time," Barnes murmured. His hands came up, hovering near the bars. "Why do you want to help me? After everything I've done?"

"Because there's a man who's taken my friends, my family, hostage," Tony croaked. "And we can't rescue them on our own. Even with your help, it's gonna be a gamble, but I need to try, we need to try. My son—, he's counting on us. They're all counting on us."

Barnes' upper lip curled into a sneer as his eyes raked across the four men standing in front of him. "I killed your mother," he spat out. "And your father. Why would you want to help me?"

Tony squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to think about how terrifying his mother's last moments must have been at the metal hand of the assassin standing in front of him. "I know you did. HYDRA, they had control of your mind. Do they still?"

"No," Barnes replied, his sneer deepening. "I don't do that anymore."

"Then come with us and prove it," Tony pleaded. He hated the way he was practically begging for this… criminal's help, but there was no other choice. "Because there's plenty of people out there who think you did, and there's no way they're gonna hear you out, not with your history. We're giving you a chance, Barnes. A chance to prove your innocence."

"Can we get this wrapped up?" asked Rhodes. "I'm detecting more heat signatures heading our way, and I'd really rather not wait for them to get here."

"The Colonel is correct," added Vision. "I suggest we begin making our way towards the exit."

Beads of sweat broke out along Tony's hairline, despite the frigid temperature of the bunker, and the knot in his throat tightened even more. It was getting harder and harder for him to swallow down his rising panic with every second that ticked by. "So what's your answer, Barnes? Are you coming with us?"

Barnes' eyebrows knitted together, his metal handing curling into a fist. "Yeah," he said. "I'm in."

"All right," Tony replied, grateful beyond belief for his armor helping to keep him upright. "Then let's get the hell outta here. Vision?" Tony stepped back, allowing Vision to take his place near the bars. "Um, you might wanna step back a bit there, Barnes."

With a short blast from the stone embedded in his forehead, Vision quickly burned through three of the bars, just enough for Barnes to squeeze out of the cell. Tony grabbed his right arm as soon as he was free, pulling him towards the exit. "C'mon, we need to run."

It was none too soon. The five men had barely taken three steps when the sound of rifle shots pierced the freezing air, along with the sound of soldiers shouting in their Belarus version of Russian. Vision took up the six position as they began to run, floating backwards so as to provide cover for the rest of them as Tony led the way, pulling Barnes along, T'Challa and Rhodey hot on their heels.

"FRIDAY, fire up the jet!" Tony commanded as the exit came into view. "And get some countermeasures ready, we're taking shots!"

"Ready, boss," FRIDAY replied. "I would suggest that you hurry though. There are more police arriving."

"Copy that!" Tony grunted, pushing open the door and shoving Barnes ahead of him, trying to keep his head covered with his gauntlet as they raced towards the jet. Behind him he could hear Rhodey's repulsors firing, interspersed with the rippling sound of machine gun bullets.

"C'mon!" Tony yelled as he and Barnes clambered onto the jet. T'Challa was next, and Tony jumped as a bullet hit the prince's suit just as he jumped onboard, bouncing off as harmlessly as if it'd been hit by one of Peter's Lego pieces. Tony would definitely have to ask T'Challa some detailed questions about his cat suit when they had the chance.

"Get us outta here, FRIDAY!" Tony yelled, racing into the pilot's seat. He vaguely noticed T'Challa tinkering with what looked like a beaded bracelet around his wrist, but was too distracted by the continued gun blasts to ask him what he was doing. The jet lifted off as the ramp was still closing, with Tony breathing out a small sigh of relief as they finally gained enough altitude to get away.

"Let's not do that again anytime soon, yeah?" Rhodes said, plopping down into the co-pilot's seat. "I'm getting too old for this shit, Tony."

"I have a feeling the Raft's gonna be even worse, Rhodey," Tony said grimly. He set the course for the presumed location of the submersible prison, about fifty miles off the coast of New York.

"How're you planning on finding this place?" Rhodes asked a few minutes later. "You know it's undetectable by any known military or civilian aircraft."

"This isn't just any civilian aircraft," Tony muttered. "Pete, Bruce, and I worked on the navigation systems for all the jets a long time ago. We got a few tricks up our sleeve that should help us."

"Hmm," answered Rhodes. "Sure would be nice to have Bruce around right about now."

"Yeah, he and Thor both," lamented Tony. "But as top-of-the-line as our communications systems are, I still haven't figured out how to break the light-year barrier, so no way to get ahold of them unless they contact us first. And from what Bruce said the last time we spoke, that's not likely. I don't even think they're on Asgard right now."

"Bummer," said Rhodes. "I've always wanted to visit Asgard."

"So has Pete," Tony replied. "I thought I could take him there when he turned sixteen or something, if Thor allowed it. I think he'd like that."

"Geez. Yeah, I'd think so. Guess he's outgrown Disneyland, then?"

"No," Tony said, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles. "He still loves Disneyland. But I think he'd like Asgard too." Tony's eyes grew misty, and he squeezed them closed, tightening his grip on the controls. "We gotta get him back first though, Rhodey. I gotta get my boy back. There's no telling what Ross'll do to him, and—"

"Let's not think like that, Tony," Rhodes said gently. "Don't forget, Peter's pretty damn strong on his own now. He's gonna be okay."

Tony pursed his lips, trying to keep them from shaking. "I hope so, Rhodey. I hope so."

Pete'll be okay as long as he's with Steve. Please, let Pete be okay. Let them all be okay.

---

"How many times to I have to tell you, Mr. Stark?" Window Man taunted. "You are going to have to demonstrate a punch before we'll let you out of here."

"No!" Peter cried through his panting breaths, clutching his throbbing right shoulder with a bruised hand. He was so exhausted he was surprised he could still stand, but the soldiers hadn't let up at all. They'd been relentless in their attacks, only pausing for a moment to tag-team out of the room after Peter managed to dislocate the shoulder of one of them again. "I won't do it!"

Window Man shook his head. "Punch him," he ordered the soldier facing Peter. Peter immediately blocked the woman's fist, twisting it behind her back barely in time to block the fist of the second soldier coming from Peter's other side. With both of his hands temporarily occupied, the woman quickly turned and reared back her free hand, hitting Peter square in the nose.

"Aahh!" Peter cried, releasing his grips on the soldiers' arms and stumbling backwards, cradling his broken, bleeding nose in his cupped hands. The intense, searing pain caused his swollen and bruised eyes to water, which only made his senses, already overwhelmed with fear and fatigue, even more activated. His eyesight became even more jumbled, with the grey walls of the room warping into something resembling a honeycomb, and the faces of the soldiers blurred, so much so that Peter barely even detected the second fist before it managed to hit the left side of his face, knocking him down to the floor.

"Fight back!" Window Man shouted. "Fight back! Show me what you've got! Punch them!"

"No!" screamed Peter, hot, salty tears streaming from his eyes, his nose throbbing with the racing beats of his heart, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue tying his stomach into knots. He propped himself up on one elbow, spitting out blood as he gasped for breath. "I won't do it!"

"Again!" Window Man called, and again the woman soldier pulled back her fist, hitting Peter under his chin and flinging him backwards.

"They're going to keep hitting you until you either fight back or concede," Window Man stated. "And if you concede, I'll have no choice but to begin on one of the non-Enhanced people. What do you think, Mr. Stark? Should I begin with Mr. Wilson, Mr. Lang, Ms. Romanoff, or Mr. Barton?"

"No! Please, don't hurt them!" sobbed Peter, bracing himself up on his shaky arms, still spitting out blood. "Why do you want to hurt everyone?"

"As I have stated multiple times, Mr. Stark. All humans with innate enhanced abilities must submit to a power analysis. So if you are unable to submit to a power analysis to my satisfaction, I'm afraid I must begin on the non-Enhanced."

Peter shook his head, blood droplets from his broken nose flinging off to the side as his arms began to buckle from trying to hold himself up. These soldiers working for Window Man were obviously enhanced themselves somehow, and Peter knew if they could do this much damage to Steve and himself, then they'd likely seriously injure or even kill one of Peter's non-Enhanced family members. Sam, Natasha, Mr. Barton, and Scott, they were only enhanced with their special equipment, otherwise they were just regular people. Highly trained and still-dangerous people, but regular people nonetheless. There was no way they'd survive being tested like this.

"No," Peter croaked. "Please, don't hurt them. They're my family. They're all my family. I don't—, I don't wanna see them get hurt."

"Well, isn't that noble of you," sneered Window Man. "If you don't want the see your… family get hurt, then you know what has to be done. Now, get your ass up off the floor, and throw a goddamn punch!"

With a final, heaving breath, Peter pushed himself up to a standing position, gingerly wiping the blood away from his upper lip. His honeycomb vision was still there, but he could sense the movements of the two soldiers as they inched closer, waiting to pounce. Peter braced himself, bending his knees slightly and raising his arms, his hands curling into loose fists.

"Now!" yelled Window Man, just as the hair on the back of Peter's neck stood on end. He reared to his right side just in time to block the woman's fist as she aimed for his head, shoving her backwards as the man came forward, pulling back his arm, preparing to strike. Peter swung his fist, aiming directly for the man's face.

The sickening, nauseating sound of the man's nose and cheekbone breaking was something that Peter knew he would never forget. As if in slow motion, Peter watched in horror as the man's feet flew out from underneath him and he fell, slamming the back of his head against the hard, metal floor. Peter immediately stumbled backwards, shaking his head in horror at the unconscious, beaten man in front of him.

"No!" he rasped, blinking his swollen eyes, the air in his lungs turning to ice crystals as he stared down at his offending fist, shaking it out. Oh God, did I kill him?

"Very good, Mr. Stark!" Window Man exclaimed. "Now that's more like it! Again!"

Again? "No!" Peter called, choking on blood still pooling in his mouth, watching the fallen soldier for any signs of life. "No, I won't do it again!"

The soldier on the floor groaned then, and Peter nearly collapsed onto the floor in relief. He hadn't killed that soldier, but that was likely only because he was Enhanced too. If the soldier had been just a regular man, Peter's punch could've killed him.

"Again!" called Window Man. "Again, Mr. Stark!"

"No!" yelled Peter, wincing at the pain shooting throughout his face from his broken nose. Glancing frantically around the room, he searched for something, anything he could do to escape. But the only things he could see were the walls and the window; there was nothing else in the room.

The wall, Peter thought all of a sudden. I can climb up the wall.

Peter wasn't quite sure what made him think that he could try and climb up a wall, but then again, he didn't even have to think about trying it. It was almost as if he just knew he could do it. Glancing over his shoulder at the woman soldier, who was hanging back, apparently waiting for orders, Peter took off for the nearest wall—to the right of the high rectangular window—and began to climb. His fingers and toes adhered to the flat, smooth metal surface just as easily as if he were crawling along the floor, and he continued on until he reached the ceiling, easily thirty feet up from the floor.

"No," he said again, turning carefully to face the window. "I won't do it."

Window Man pursed his thick lips, his expression a strange combination of confusion and amusement. "Very well, Mr. Stark. Then we'll just wait. I can be a very patient man when I'm required to be, and I highly doubt you'll be able to maintain that position for too long given your current condition. So, once you're ready to come down, we'll continue. Until then, consider this a recess. And it's gonna be the only one you'll get, so you better enjoy it."

With that, Window Man pushed himself away from his table and stood up, flexing his arms. As he turned, presumably to walk away, the light behind him suddenly illuminated his face, giving Peter a clear view of him for the first time. Peter gasped in shock as he recognized who it was, none other than the Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross.

---

"We're about five klicks out, boss," FRIDAY said. "I'm sending the jamming signal now."

"Copy that, FRI," Tony murmured, his heart already starting to thud against his ribcage, hoping the jamming signal would be strong enough for what they needed to accomplish. In order for the Quinjet to land on the Raft, they first had to signal the prison to emerge from the water and open the landing platform, located at the top of the circular building. But in order to do that without sending an alarm blaring throughout the entire place, alerting every single guard and soldier stationed there to the jet's presence, they'd have to somehow signal the prison to emerge from the water, while at the same time make it appear to everyone actually there that the prison was still submerged.

"Is it working?" Rhodey asked a moment later, squinting as he peered through the cockpit windows at the rough, bluish-grey ocean. "I can't see anything out there except water, Tony."

Just then a blinking green light appeared on the screen above the throttle, indicating that the Raft was emerging and the landing platform was opening. "Looks like it," Tony said grimly. "But now comes the hard part. You got that sonic pulse ready?"

"Yeah."

"We're gonna need it," said Tony, touching the jet down on the Raft's landing platform. "There's no telling how many people Ross's got with him, but I'm betting it's gonna be more than a handful."

"I am ready," T'Challa said, startling Tony as he came up behind him.

"As am I," said Vision.

"All right," Tony said firmly as his helmet closed over his face. "Then let's go. Rhodey?"

Raising his arm that carried the sonic pulse, Rhodey nodded. "Ready."

"That will not knock them out," said T'Challa, just as Tony was ready to lower the ramp. "The sonic pulse will only stun them."

"Well, yeah, that's the point," said Tony impatiently. "But at least it stuns them enough to not fight back too much while we take care of 'em."

T'Challa tilted his head, and Tony's upper lip curled picturing the smirk on his face, hiding beneath his black helmet. "Is your goal to not cause permanent injury to these men?"

"Yeah, that's the theory," Tony answered. "We're not killers, we just wanna keep them out of our way."

"If that is the case, then I have something that will knock them out completely and silently," T'Challa said. He raised his arm, fingering the thick beaded bracelet around his wrist. "It is one of my sister's designs."

"Sister, huh?" Tony muttered. "So what do they call you down there in Wakanda? I hope it's something better than Cat Man."

"I am the Black Panther," answered T'Challa. "The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle passed from warrior to warrior. The mantle was passed down to me by my father when he felt he could no longer carry it. As he is now dead, I also wear the mantle of king."

"Yeah," Tony said slowly. "Black Panther definitely sounds better than Cat Man. Okay then, let's try your stuff out."

"There is no need to try, Mr. Stark," T'Challa said firmly. "My sister does not make mistakes; I already know it will work. You may open the ramp."

Rolling his eyes, Tony pressed the button for the ramp, stepping back to allow T'Challa to take the lead. Before the ramp was even halfway down, T'Challa pressed his clawed fingers against one of the beads, and Tony watched in amazement as the five men standing in and around the surveillance room all dropped to the floor, unconscious.

"Wow!" Tony said, unable to hide his amazement. "That was… cool!"

"As I stated, Mr. Stark," T'Challa said, rather arrogantly. "My sister does not make mistakes."

Stepping over the prone body of one of the guards, Tony's helmet folded back as he hurried into the surveillance room, scanning the monitors for signs of Peter and the rest of the team. His heart skipped a beat as he found Steve, sitting against the grey wall of a trapezoid-shaped cell, his eyes closed and his head tipped back, looking almost as beat up as he had after the Battle of the Triskelion. Pietro Maximoff also appeared to be pretty out of it, leaning against the wall of his cell with a dazed look on his face, his legs bound in two places. Tony breaths started to shallow as he scanned the rest of the monitors, locating Natasha, Sam, Wanda, Clint, and some other guy Tony didn't recognize, but no sign of Peter.

"Where's Pete," Tony croaked. "Rhodey, I don't—, I don't see him, he's not on any of these screens. Rhodey, where is he?"

"This isn't the entire prison, Tony," Rhodes said, laying a hand on Tony's shoulder. He leaned forward, pushing a button on the panel under the monitors. The images on the screens shifted, now showing a larger room from several different angles along with one smaller room, in which stood Secretary Ross and what appeared to be four soldiers, all wearing murderous expressions.

"Oh God," Tony gasped as his eyes finally landed on Peter, curled into a tight ball in one of the corners of the bigger room. Tony gripped the edge of the counter as a wave of dizziness washed over him, the sight of his son beaten and bloodied all too similar to that horrible vision he'd had back in the Sokovian HYDRA bunker. Peter's head was tipped back, his chest heaving with the effort it took to breathe, and his face and hands were covered in blood with his eyes nearly swollen shut. "Rhodey, what has that fucker done to my boy?"

"I don't know, Tony," Rhodes said in a low voice. "But he's alive. They're all alive. Let's try and focus on that."

"It also appears that Peter is on the ceiling, Mr. Stark," said Vision, tilting his head as he peered at the monitor. "Where he is sitting is at the very top of the room."

"The hell?" muttered Tony, forcing himself to look more closely at Peter, his eyes widening as he realized that Vision was right. Peter was in fact sitting on the ceiling, as easily as if he were sitting on the floor. "How?"

"He was bit by a spider, Tony," Rhodes said. "It makes sense if you think about it. Spiders like high corners."

"Yeah, whatever," Tony grumbled, in no mood for a lesson on the usual behaviors of arachnids. "We gotta get moving, we've no idea how long those guards are gonna stay knocked out. Any clue on who those goons are next to Ross?"

"I know them," Barnes suddenly piped up from behind Rhodes. He stepped closer, pointing to the monitor with his metal hand. "I know who they are."

"You do?" Tony sputtered in surprise. "How?"

Barnes inhaled a shaky breath, his lips twitching as he glared at the screen in front of him. "Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

The ominous tone of his voice made Tony's blood run cold, and he turned to Barnes with a pained look. "I've been told that might've been the case. You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes," answered Barnes. "I know all those people, they were all kept in Siberia with me after I—. I even helped train them."

"Who are they?" asked Rhodes.

"HYDRA's most elite death squad, credited with more kills than anyone in HYDRA history, and that was before the serum that I—". His voice broke off as he shot Tony a horrible, guilty look. "The serum that your father invented. That I took from him."

Tony's jaw clenched in anger, his hand gripping the counter so tightly it started to crumble beneath his armored grasp. "Howard never told me he invented a super-soldier serum."

"It was a secret," said Barnes. "Known only to SHIELD."

"And HYDRA, apparently," whispered Tony.

"Yeah," Barnes said, dropping his chin to his chest. "And HYDRA."

"Okay, so can we take these guys?" Rhodes asked. "How tough are they?"

"They're worse than me," Barnes answered. "We'd need some help."

"Well, we've got a whole room of Avengers just sitting on their asses," Tony barked. "Let's find their gear and get 'em out, then grab Pete and get the hell outta here."

"I agree," said T'Challa. He pressed a button on the panel, pointing to what appeared to be an anteroom off of the main circle of cells. "It seems their equipment is being held in this room."

"Okay, so we hit that first," Tony said as his helmet closed over his head. "Let's go!"

Even though every step of Tony and Rhodey's armored feet clanked way too loudly against the metal floor, no one came out to investigate as they made their way to the anteroom, much to Tony's relief. His mind still swirling from seeing Peter beaten to a pulp and the news that his own father had invented a super-soldier serum that had led to his murder, Tony was not exactly in the right mind for a battle, even as he knew he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

"Got anything on that fancy bracelet of yours that'll unlock these cells?" Tony asked T'Challa once they'd collected the team's gear.

"Hmm, yes," T'Challa answered, twirling the beads around his wrist until he found the one he was looking for. "I do believe this will work."

Walking into the circle, T'Challa pressed the bead, and Tony had to restrain himself from letting out a whooping noise as all the cells immediately unlocked. Tony rushed into Steve's cell, dropping to his knees and gripping Steve's shoulders.

"Cap. Steve, you okay?"

Steve's blue eyes blinked open, his pale face even paler than usual as he stared at Tony, as if he was trying to place him. "Tony?" he murmured, incredulous. "What the—?"

"We're here to get you guys out, Cap," Tony said in a hushed voice. "Can you stand? We gotta get to Pete, they're holding him in a different room."

"Oh God, Tony!" Steve cried as his eyes fell on the shield in Tony's hand. "Peter! If they've taken him, if they've—"

"This wasn't your fault, Steve," Tony interrupted, the words tearing through the lump in his throat the size of a marble. "It wasn't, I know that. But we need your help to get Pete away from Ross." Tony dropped the shield, shimming his hands underneath Steve's armpits and hauling him to his feet. "Now, can you help?"

The rest of the team had already assembled behind Tony and Steve, still donning their various weapons and gear. Pietro Maximoff was still a bit unsteady on his feet, but the look on his face was pure determination mixed with anger. Tony watched as Steve's gaze swept across the team—their family—plus T'Challa and whoever that dude was that was dressed like he was going trick-or-treating, and returned to lock with Tony's.

"You got Bucky?" Steve asked, his voice thick, tears welling in his bruised and swollen eyes. "You went and got Bucky?"

"Yeah," said Tony, his shoulders sagging. "Look, it wasn't only for you, Cap. I knew we'd need the help getting in here, and he seemed like a logical choice, so—"

"Thank you, Tony," Steve whispered. He reached an arm out to Barnes, pulling the grizzled soldier into a brief hug that Barnes tentatively returned. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, you can thank me more once we get Pete outta here," Tony said impatiently. "Can you help?"

"Yeah," Steve said with a determined nod, his voice raspy but strong as he picked up his shield. "I can."

"All right," said Rhodes, stepping to the side. "It's this way."

As quietly as possible, the group made their way towards the large, square room, with Tony and Rhodes leading the way. They'd just stepped inside when there was a sudden flash of light, so bright it was nearly blinding. Tony grunted, shaking his head to try and clear it when he heard Peter's panicked voice.

"Daddy!" Peter shrieked. "Look out! Behind you!"

Spinning around, Tony's heart leapt as the four soldiers they'd seen on the monitors with Ross filed into the room behind them, rifles raised and pointed at the team, the doors behind them sliding shut with a horrible scraping noise.

"Well, well, well," the booming voice of Thaddeus Ross suddenly sounded from the room's speakers, so loudly that Tony shuddered. "I do have to say, this is quite the unexpected surprise. Not that you're here, Stark, you and the rest of your… team. I knew it wouldn't be too long before you'd stick your nose into things, you're such an expert at it. But the fact that you brought along a visitor, someone I feared I was going to have to do without, now that's something I did not expect."

"I don't know what the hell you think you're talking about!" Tony shouted over the pounding of his heart.

"Daddy!" Peter whimpered, still clinging to the ceiling thirty feet above. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Peter, stop!" Tony commanded. "None of this is your fault, buddy. Absolutely none of it, so get that outta your head right now. This is all the doings of a power-hungry lunatic and nothing more." He turned towards the window. "Isn't that right, Secretary Ross? Did you actually think that going after my son, a minor, was really the right way to do all this? Rounding up certain people just because they're a bit different from the rest of us? How can you not see how wrong this is?"

"No, Stark!" yelled Ross. "It's you who's got it all wrong!" He paused for a moment, and Tony heard the sound of papers shuffling.

"What the hell's going on here?" came the disgusted voice of Sam Wilson. "Did these assholes really beat up Peter?"

"Tony?" asked Natasha, eyeing the four Winter Soldiers warily. "What's going on?"

"Longing!" called Ross, speaking Russian, something that Tony had never heard him speak before. He'd always said he detested the language. What the hell?

"What—?"

"Rusted!"

"No," Barnes whispered from somewhere behind Tony. Tony turned his head to look at him, alarmed at the pained look etching across the assassin's face.

"Seventeen!"

"Bucky?" Steve asked, gripping Barnes' regular arm. "Bucky, what's wrong?"

"Daybreak! Furnace!"

"No!" yelled Barnes. "No, please! Stop!"

"Daddy, what's going on?" cried Peter from the ceiling. "What does that mean? What is happening?"

"Don't you move, Pete," Tony commanded, holding up his hand. "You stay right there until I say to come down!"

"Nine!"

"Oh shit," muttered Barton from somewhere off to the side. "Ah, guys? This doesn't seem like a good thing!"

"Benign! Homecoming!"

"Stop!" screamed Barnes, wrenching his arm from Steve's grasp to clutch at his own ears, as if he was trying to block out the sound. "Please, stop!"

"One!" Ross yelled triumphantly. "Freight car!"

There were a few seconds of silence, such that Tony could almost hear the blood moving past his ears and the held breaths of the team surrounding him, all frozen in place. Slowly, Tony turned to face Barnes, his belly swooping at what he saw. Barnes' head dropped, his body curving slightly as if he were a predator, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey.

"Soldier?" Ross said, still speaking in Russian.

"Bucky?" Steve whispered, still holding Barnes' arm. With one swift movement, Barnes ripped it away from Steve's grip, so violently that Steve stumbled forward, nearly falling to his knees. Barnes turned around, walking in perfectly even, automatic steps to join the four other Winter Soldiers, blocking the only exit from the room, a smile so vile it could curdle blood stretching across his stubbled face.

"Ready to comply."

---

So... yeah. Things don't look too good. :(

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