Holy sh*t! I knew that my stories would get more recognition if I did a story on something popular, but I didn't expect this much! As a reward, you guys get this chapter early, and even longer than planned!
Trigger warning for this chapter because terrorists don't care how old Tony is, and if you remember what they did to him in Iron Man 1... So, trigger warning.
Tony might seem a little weak in this chapter, but this is because he's only fourteen. He hasn't gotten as good at hiding his emotions as he was in the original Iron Man movies.
And no Yinsen. I just didn't think he was that necessary in this story.
I forgot the disclaimer last time, but I'm pretty sure you know that I don't own any rights to anything Marvel. Otherwise, this story would have been a reality, written by the best writers available.
IRON MAN: PART 2: I DON'T WANNA LET YOU GO
Tony awoke to the sounds of quiet murmuring, the glare of harsh lights, and pain in his chest. Actually, no, not just pain. Normal pain was bearable, and he could get over himself easily. Hell, Tony had broken his arm pretty badly when he was five years old, and he hadn't shed a tear. Not even when it was being set (and that, by far, had been the worst pain he had felt in his life).
This, however, was different. This felt like a knife was being repeatedly stabbed and twisted into his chest, and he had to bite down a whimper as it suddenly increased, now that he was fully aware of himself. Tony rubbed his face wearily, suddenly becoming aware of a long tube running up his nose. He grabbed the offending device and pulled, letting out a tiny moan as he realized just how deep it had been. Glancing towards the table beside the cot he was lying on, he caught sight of a small cup of water. Tony reached out to grab it, but his shaking fingers wouldn't cooperate, knocking the cup to the ground with a loud clatter.
"Tony?" called out a familiar voice. Howard came running over, straight up to the cot and kneeling down next to it. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I'm being stabbed with a knife repeatedly," answered Tony honestly.
"Do… do you remember what happened?" asked his father tentatively, re-filling the cup with water. "After… the explosion?"
The young genius shrugged as best he could while lying down. "Bits and pieces. A lot of yelling. They transported us somewhere. The pain that I'm feeling right now. A man's face… how long have I been out of it?"
Howard looked uneasily at the ground. "Since we've arrived here, you've been unconscious for three days."
"Three days?" repeated Tony incredulously. "That long? I mean, sure, I got hurt, there was an explosion, but it wasn't that bad…" He trailed off as he saw his father's expression. "Right?"
Howard sighed tiredly. "I'll be completely honest with you. When you dived in front of me, back at the convoy? You… you took a chest-full of shrapnel. You were unconscious in the next couple minutes. Then, they took us. They brought us here. And they want us alive for something, I can tell that much. Made a bragging video about how "We have the Starks" and everything. And there was a captured doctor here, earlier. His name was Yinsen, he was a good man. When they saw your wound…" Here Howard stopped, gathering his breath, not wanting to continue on.
Tony, on the other hand, didn't want his dad to spare the details because, dammit, he needs to know the truth. White lies won't help heal his brain any more. "So? When they saw my wound…" he prompted.
"They forced Yinsen to operate on you," Howard stated, looking down, his shoulders shaking. "To get as much shrapnel out as possible. Open heart surgery. Without antibiotics or anesthesia."
Wow. Okay. He didn't just feel like he had been repeatedly stabbed, he actually was repeatedly stabbed. Tony pushed away the thought and focused on the careful wording his father had chosen. "What do you mean… as much of the shrapnel as possible?"
Howard looked up at his son's face, and Tony was struck by how much grief and guilt was in his eyes. "Tony, some of the shrapnel, it was just too close to your heart. Is too close to your heart. It's still in you. Yinsen didn't have a choice. He… he had to… implant an electromagnet in your chest."
Tony's head whirled. What? An electromagnet was the only thing keeping him alive right now? Almost subconsciously, he gently prodded his chest, and oh god something metal was definitely there. His breaths started coming in shorter and shorter bursts, and he gasped for air, and yeah that thing was deep. He could almost feel the casing, pressing against his lungs. Tony reached for the bandages covering his chest, and ripped them off despite Howard's gentle protests. Sure, he knew the thing was there, but seeing it, a metal device inside of him, hooked up to a car battery, just solidified it.
He was never going to be normal again.
His father held him as Tony wept.
"Where's Yinsen now?" asked Tony quietly, a few hours later. His father looked up from his cooking, before glancing down and sighing again.
"The terrorists said they had need of him 'elsewhere'," answered Howard. "He told me he was going to a place called Gulmira. No idea why."
Tony nodded, then looked dejectedly at the car battery. "How much charge does that thing have, anyway?"
Howard looked up guiltily, but just before he could begin to speak, a fierce pounding came from the door. Tony shrank back as Howard leaped to his feet, pulling Tony along with him. "Follow my lead," he hissed vehemently.
A group of men entered the room as Howard raised his hands behind his head, gesturing for Tony to do the same. Tony, on the other hand, was distracted by other matters. "What? They have our guns? How do they have -"
"Be quiet," hissed Howard, voice sharp but also fearful. The young genius obeyed, knowing that anything that could scare his dad must be very, very dangerous.
The bearded man in front began speaking in a harsh voice, giving the pair a wide, false smile. A small, wiry man behind stepped forward and began translating in broken English. "He say, 'Welcome, Starks, most famous mass murderers in history of America. He is honored.
"He want you to build missile. Jericho missile, you demonstrated. This one." The bearded man held out a picture, clearly the Jericho.
"I refuse," answered Tony hotly, almost before he could think things through.
The next thing he knew, he was being plunged underwater, over and over again, to the cadence of his father's enraged screams. The electromagnet sparked, burning his skin. He gasped for air, only finding water. Images flashed in his head, over and over, until his head whirled and he went limp.
That was what the terrorists had been looking for; Tony was pulled out of the water, and he and Howard were shoved forward, their heads suddenly bagged. Lugging his car battery along, Tony tried to gaze through the burlap sack, but he only saw random orbs of light until they came a round, bright hole - the cave's mouth. The bags were ripped from their heads, and Tony gazed out in amazement at the encampment. Underneath camouflage netting were hundreds of metal cases, wooden boxes, and bomb cases; all emblazoned with the proud symbol of Stark Industries.
"This is worse than I thought," muttered Howard.
The bearded man motioned to the men holding the two, and the Starks were shoved forward, down a rocky set of steps. Tony stumbled, still disoriented from the torture, but Howard grabbed his arm. Tony glanced up at his father's face; upset was a complete understatement for the expression that Howard wore. The younger Stark nodded to his father, assuring him that he was O.K. (although would he ever really be O.K. after this?)
They were stopped in front of the bearded man again, who spoke to them again. His translator appeared by his side and intoned, "He want to know what you think."
"I think you got a lot of our weapons," growled Tony softly. Howard put a shaking hand on his shoulder and gave a sharp squeeze. The young genius fell silent.
"He say we have everything you need to build Jericho missile," continued the translator, as the bearded man continued to speak. "Make list of materials. He say for you to start working immediately, and when done, he set both of you free." The bearded man held out his hand expectantly.
Howard pasted on a fake smile, a smile that only someone who knew him - like Tony - could see through. The older Stark reached out and shook the man's hand, apparently agreeing to the terms. The translator nodded and left, and once he was out of earshot, Howard, smiling all the more, told Tony, "He won't give us freedom."
"No he won't," agreed Tony, wearing an equally fake, slightly shakier smile.
"They're looking for us, but they'll never find us in these mountains," ranted Howard, back at the room. "And now? Outside? That's my life's work. Our life's work, in the hands of those murderers!"
"Dad?" interrupted Tony quietly. "You never answered my question, before… before they came. How long will the electromagnet last?"
Howard looked at Tony then, and his gaze was so guilt-filled that Tony wanted to get up and physically comfort the man. Which wasn't necessary. Stark men were invulnerable to pain. They could rise above pain, and guilt, and sorrow… at least, he had been told that so many times before that it had become true to him.
"The magnet," responded Howard finally, brokenly, "will only have enough power for another four days. Then the shrapnel… I've been trying to find a self-sustaining power source, any power source at all, but I… I can't find anything. I've failed you."
When Howard started crying, Tony was shocked, stunned, amazed, all of that. Disbelief reigned over all of these rampant emotions. Howard Stark, the world's smartest man, a self-made billionaire, the man who could control army generals with a few well-placed words, was breaking down right in front of him. Tony's world was really never going to be the same, was it? If he survived to see it, anyway. Why was it that his father crying generated more of a reaction than his imminent death?
The young genius sat awkwardly next to his father, resting a hand on the man's knee. His brain started working, running through different power sources, so many power sources. Self-sustaining. So some sort of reactor. Nothing nuclear, of course. Something clean, with as little waste as possible. Wait… what about an ARC reactor? The one back at Stark Industries headquarters generated such a huge amount of energy for its size, and all completely waste-free… if he could find a way to miniaturize it… it just might work.
"Dad," whispered Tony urgently. "I have an idea."
Howard looked up in confusion. "What?"
Tony smirked, some of his old Stark snark coming back. "This is a very important four days for me. Better make it count."
"If this is going to be our work station," called out Howard, about an hour later, "I want it well lit. I want these up." The translator stood next to him, shouting out orders to the crowd of men in the chamber, bringing in supplies. "We need welding gear, don't care if it's acetylene or propane." When the translator gave a questioning look, Howard waved his hand in annoyance. "I don't care what type. We need a soldering station. We need helmets. Gonna need goggles, a smelting cup, two sets of precision tools…"
Tony watched from the sidelines, watching the activity. His father was back, exercising his power, not taking no for an answer. No signs of the broken man remained.
If his father was always this good at hiding his true feelings, did Tony really know Howard Stark?
The next morning, the two bent over a Stark Industries missile, pulling out the complex innards. As Tony worked, isolating certain parts of the device, he asked his father, "Who are these people anyway?"
Howard pulled a sardonic smile. "They are our loyal customers, and they call themselves the Ten Rings." The older Stark stayed silent for a while before adding in, "You know, we could be more productive if you include me in the planning process. We're supposed to be building the missile together, after all."
"Don't I know it," muttered Tony, pulling the nose cone off of the missile and revealing a complex device. He carefully extracted a sliver of metal, throwing the rest of the device backwards and muttering, "We don't need this."
"What metal is that?" asked Howard, desperately wanting to be in on what his son was planning.
"Palladium, 0.15 grams," responded Tony. "We need at least 1.6, so why don't you busy yourself breaking down the other 11?"
"Palladium," Howard mused aloud, even as he opened up a missile. "Now what could that be used for? Wait… wait… You can't be serious!"
"If I wasn't serious, I wouldn't be wasting my time on this," replied Tony, half-sarcastically. "Get to work, Pops."
As Howard decimated more missiles, Tony packed clay into a small bowl, and created a narrow mold. After several painstaking hours, Howard held the smelting cup over the fire, melting the 1.6 grams of palladium. He carefully rose up, walking to the prepared mold. Tony stood by him, muttering, "Careful. Careful, we only have one shot at this."
"Relax, I have steady hands," responded Howard as he poured out the palladium. "How do you think I got this far in life as an inventor?"
Tony gave a small smile, concentrating as he watched the metal cool. After five minutes, he gently pulled the thin ring out. The boy genius carefully dropped it into a larger ring, and raised it to a stand. He carefully wrapped wiring around the outer edges, intricately looping and affixing it.
Over the next few days, Tony set up a row of components, lined up as how they would fit in the device. On the evening of the third day since he had woken up in a cave, he pulled the last wire into place, and the device lit up, starting to generate electricity, which ran through the cords that were affixed to that accursed electromagnet. Tony let out a breath that he hadn't even realized he had been holding in. The device worked. He was going to get out of this.
Howard wandered over to his son's side, gazing in awe at the generator. "Wow. It really works."
"Yep," replied Tony. "Miniature ARC reactors are possible, after all."
"How much can this one generate?" asked Howard.
"If my math is right, and it always is, three gigajoules per second," the young Stark informed.
"That could run a heart for 50 lifetimes," murmured Howard in awe.
"Or it could run something big for 15 minutes," said Tony, ready to launch into his next point.
"What?" asked Howard. "What are you planning now?"
"I'm planning to get our ticket out of here," responded the young genius, handing his father a stack of translucent blueprints as he fumbled with the ARC reactor. "Flatten them out and look."
Howard flattened out the papers onto the desk, as Tony came up, having locked the reactor onto the electromagnet. He didn't miss his father's look of amazement, or that twinge of pride.
"Impressive," Howard murmured quietly, as he gazed upon the Iron Man suit prototype.
Over the next two months, the two worked constantly to finish the suit. What made their work even harder was the fact that they had to keep up appearances on the Jericho missile's progress. Sure, they could openly work on circuitry, plating, and even motors without the Ten Rings getting suspicious, but if nothing was getting assembled, they were asking for trouble. Too bad they couldn't realize that the 'Jericho' was nothing more than an empty shell.
Tony sighed, getting up from his seat in front of a complex set of circuits. Today marked the second month since the bomb, the second month that they had been missing. Hopefully, they wouldn't be in here much longer. If they continued to put in the same average amount of time of work, the suit would be done in three days. One half-hour of loading up the suit and one big fiery battle later, they would be free.
Howard came over from where he was working. "Tony? Can you help me weld this piece of the suit?" Tony nodded, coming over and grabbing a welder. He fired it up and held it over the iron plate, but a sudden slamming on the door had him turning the welder off and holding his hands behind his head, as Howard did the same.
As gunners came in, brandishing their rifles, Tony spotted their friend the bearded man, but he moved into the ranks of the soldiers, forming two long columns. So he's not the highest-up, after all. Between the rows came a bald man with a beak nose, swaggering for all it was worth. He came up and gazed at Tony and Howard, and then told them, "Relax."
Both of the Starks slowly lowered their hands, mildly surprised at this turn of events. Beak Nose came up to Tony and tapped his chest, right on the ARC reactor. Turning away, he started the standard villain monologue.
"The bow and arrow once was the pinnacle of weapons technology. It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to the Ukraine. An empire twice the size of Alexander the Great and four times the size of the Roman Empire." The man stopped in front of the desks and riffled through the Iron Man plans, thankfully not fully realizing just what it was. "But today, whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands. And soon, it will be my turn."
Okay, the man was clearly pissed that they hadn't gotten farther on the Jericho missile. Who wouldn't be? He had tortured these people, and they were still defying him? Tony didn't want to know what he would do.
He didn't have a choice in that matter, as the bald man barked an order to two of his goons. They grabbed Howard and pushed his head onto the anvil, and the bald man plucked a coal from the campfire. "Mr. Stark, we have noticed that you are not the one building our missile. Your son is. Why, then, should you still be here?"
Oops. Tony, despite his best efforts, had still tipped off that he was the one behind all of the designs. Nevermind that they were designs for the Iron Man, not the Jericho.
To Tony's horror, Beak Nose started pushing the coal towards Howard's face. Howard didn't even try to struggle, just closed his eyes and waited. Tony couldn't wait.
"Stop!" Immediately, all of the terrorist's guns were trained on him. The genius raised his hands above his head once again, and glanced at his father. Howard's face was no longer resigned, but fearful - for Tony. Meanwhile, Beak Nose looked with a hint of amusement at the younger Stark. Tony tried to ignore this, and continued speaking. "I need him. No one can build a Jericho alone."
Beak Nose seemed to consider this for a moment, and then he dropped the coal, a few inches from Howard's face. He turned with a sweep, marching ahead of his forces. "You have till tomorrow to assemble my missile," he intoned, before leaving the room with his forces behind him. Tony waited until the door had slammed behind the terrorists before rounding on his father. "What were you THINKING? You didn't even try to prove him wrong! You were willing to just let him maim you!"
Howard held up a hand, stopping his son's angry rant. "Tony… what if you were the one in that position, and you knew that anything you said could and would be used against you, with extreme prejudice, on me?" Seeing his son's expression, Howard continued. "You have no idea how they could twist anything I said against you, to make me cooperate. I just… I can't have you in danger. You're more useful to the world than I am.
"Now let's stop discussing this and finish the Iron Man suit."
Tony nodded. "This is gonna be the busiest night of our lives."
The song for this chapter is "Believer" by American Authors, because it talks about someone's faults and how they don't want to let someone go. This relates to Tony and Howard.
Next chapter will be one big thing of escape!
This part of the story will go on for 5 or 6 chapters, so be prepared.
I couldn't get literal translations for Raza's conversation with Yinsen, so I just fudged it. Hope it's still fine...
See you next chapter!
~Horseluv