Chapter Twenty-Six
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Voodoo Child | Brick + Mortar

The castle loomed out of the fog like a massive ghost, pale and foreboding.

Getting closer, Peter fought a rising sense of doubt. They couldn't turn back now. They'd come so far already, and he didn't know how much longer the bad guys were going to hang around here.

Mia had disappeared into one of the off-road vehicles, carrying her somewhere within the old castle. It was easy enough to follow, though the group stopped a hundred meters away from the perimeter — there were cameras and guards with guns. There was no way they could just stroll inside. And Peter really didn't want to pick a fight until they had to. The thought of fighting their way inside seemed like a really bad idea.

It was Wanda who suggested they split up. "Peter, you will be able to get into one of the upper floors, yes?"

And sure, he could do that. He didn't particularly like the idea of leaving them behind, but yes. Peter could sneak up the sides of the building, all creepy crawly, and slip through one of the windows on the upper floors. "But how will we keep in touch?"

"Don't worry," was all Wanda said. "I'll keep an eye on you."

That didn't make him feel much better.

But it's not like he had any better ideas himself. None of them knew the layout of the castle nor where Mia would be inside. They'd have to look and hope they'd run into each other once inside. Peter is fairly certain Mia would absolutely hate this kind of plan, but they've gone into situations blind like this before. Well, maybe not exactly like this, but still.

Getting around the guards was easy enough. They were bored men who didn't expect anyone to find them up here, and with limited visibility due to the fog, had no vista to admire in the meantime. Pulling his hood over his head, the best Peter could do as a disguise, he made a wide detour around the length of the castle, hiding in the tall grass and heather. The castle's north end merged straight into the cliff side of the mountain, a sheer drop and no guard in sight.

Sheer drops were great for goats and spiders, though. Peter had no problem sticking to the side of the rock wall, then stone, though it was very cold. This was a lot higher than the skyscrapers he was used to climbing. A mounted camera swiveled back and forth, easy to dodge when he timed his movement just right.

Pausing beneath one window, wind whipping at his back, Peter peered through the dark glass. Didn't see anyone inside. No cameras or motion sensors. It was an old place and probably only recently retrofitted with electricity and modern plumbing. State of the art security features were probably still on the to do list.

The window hinges were old and stiff, and creaked terribly when Peter tried to wiggle it open. Yikes. Big yikes. He waited a long minute after trying to see if anyone would be alerted to the noise; when no one came around, Peter decided fuck it, and heaved himself inside. Threadbare carpet softened his landing, and he heard nothing in the narrow curved corridor he found himself in. Carefully shutting the window behind him (grimacing as it squeaked again), Peter picked a direction and started moving.

He wasn't as quiet as Mia, but Peter liked to think he was pretty close. Especially if he stuck to the ceiling, and thus, no footsteps. It also made it easier to avoid the hastily added cameras screwed into the walls.

The ceilings were thankfully taller than they had to be; this was a recreational estate and made after the medieval ages, so some royal guy could afford tall ceilings with painted walls to impress his guests. Made for some cold ass nights probably, but suited Peter just fine in this situation.

A few sentries passed below him completely oblivious. Peter tried to eavesdrop on their radio conversations, but it was all in German. Peter just did his best to keep an eye out for anything interesting while he continued his exploration.

The first big room he came across seemed to be a kind of sitting room, though now the antique furniture was covered in ugly plastic black cases filled with various equipment. Mostly computers, though some seemed to be a kind of radio, a scanner, along with various weapons. The electrical lighting seemed to date back to the 1920s, very dim bulbs, so industrial lamps on short stands had been brought in, fed with a veritable maze of electrical cord that looked like a pain in the ass to walk around. Definitely not OSHA compliant.

A few more rooms revealed little, though Peter was increasing his count of armed men here. He was guessing at least two dozen, if not more. Some analysts boosted the number, though there weren't many of them. Lots of fancy empty rooms that served for little else besides storage or improvised sleeping arrangements.

And he still had not yet come across Mia.

No clue about who these people were. It was HYDRA, of course, that wasn't much in question, but who was in charge? Peter had always thought most of the significant leadership was dead or imprisoned by now. Who was left?

That was, of course, until he came across a giant portrait in the main dining hall. All along the walls were old paintings of various old rulers in fancy doublets and mink capes, whose names Peter couldn't possibly have guessed. Slowly growing more modern the further along you looked, before finally ending at the centerpiece at the furthest wall, still partially covered by the old velvet curtain that kept it safe for so many years — the soft black cloth still revealed a partial military uniform, the thin combed hair, and little black mustache of Hitler himself.

Bruh.

Peter couldn't look away for a long moment, first out of disbelief, then to shake off the cold shudder that had worked up his spine.

Well. Guess that explained why this place was abandoned for so long.

That cold feeling settled in his gut. While great to know just what kind of people they were dealing with exactly, that did nothing to relieve Peter of his worries for Mia. Nope. Not even a little bit. Where was she?

Below him, the large double doors opened at once, loud and fast enough to startle Peter. A man strolled in, followed by an entourage, and Peter realized he definitely just can't hang out up here in the middle of the ceiling if these guys are staying. Which they were. The guy in charge was giving orders in German, but had stopped in the center of the room, in front of the large floor to ceiling windows overlooking the foggy landscape.

Moving fast, Peter threw himself across the room, hiding in the only place he could think of. Behind the curtain over Hitler's portrait.

Ugh.

He knew from museum field trips not to touch paintings, but this guy? Fuck this guy? Peter wasn't entirely surprised to find that when he touched the cracked oil painting, that its surface came away with his sticky fingers. Straight up just pulled dried paint right off the canvas, ruining it.

Heh. Peter smiled to himself, faintly amused, and then got an idea.

The occupants, completely unaware of his presence, continued about their business.

Zemo found this estate rather quaint, not nearly as grand as the original family home, but it would suit them for the time being. Though he couldn't see Geneva in this weather, he enjoyed the sensation of looking down upon them, watching the chaos unfold as he sat above it all, untouchable.

He smiled at the Soldatka as she appeared, silent as ever. The men who escorted her had an air of authority, but Zemo wasn't fooled. They were afraid of her. She only listened to their orders because Zemo commanded it of her, and he could just as easily take it back. They all knew where the true power laid.

And he enjoyed her silence. The girl made for a perfect companion. Though she rarely responded unless ordered to, Zemo knew she listened to every word. One could not ask for a better audience.

"All this land was once promised to us," he told her, gesturing to the world beyond the windows. "Had the Axis won, the Von Zemo's would've not only kept their land and titles, but also gained so much more. A fiefdom reborn, though for a greater cause than any medieval king. We would've fed nations, as we rebuilt them."

Zemo had never lived as a working farmer, but he saw the appeal of that hardworking, simple life. Where one's world was small, straightforward, and changed so little. How traditions remained strong. It bred strong people who could survive the harshest of seasons. Self-sufficient, yet their work put food on the tables of hundreds, possibly thousands.

"I often wondered at the toil of those harvesters, those cultivators. Builders and growers. Repeating the same action day after day. Feeding their livestock, tending their fields, building brick after brick. Do they see the nation they support? Do they know what greatness they live in? How good they have it? To feel secure in their lives, to question nothing at all?"

He cast a look back at the Soldatka and smiled. "Perhaps you would understand better than I. My life has been nothing but a constant ocean of change, enduring one crashing wave after another. But that is the world of politics. We must navigate carefully, and do it so well that those beneath us never notice the changing weather at all. If they perform their roles, then we can do ours. My life is difficult so theirs can be easy. Most of all, they know their place. All classes strive for the same common good above them all. They trust those above them. They know we have their best interests at heart."

"Do you?"

Zemo blinked, then looked back at the Soldatka, who had spoken. Out of turn. Her expression was as blank as ever, her eyes seeming to look through him than at him. But there was no question it was her voice, her words. Her question.

He did not ask her a question. Zemo pondered that for a moment, wondering if his phrasing had prompted this response. The Glass Presence only told him so much, and the Soldatka did not function in quite the same way as her father. Her protocol was not as refined or sophisticated.

Besides, there was no point in going into the finer details of a rural life, one of agriculture — not to the Soldatka at least. You cannot explain to a hammer what it's like to be a shovel. Zemo himself only knew what was relevant. The farmers farm, the bricklayers build. They were not impossible duties; any hardship these people faced was only brought upon by their own follies, and not anything those in power could control. Obviously.

"Of course I do," Zemo finally said, and then rectified himself. "They just don't see it yet. But they will come to appreciate the way things are meant to be. The vision never died, though it almost had in the Potomac. I intend to bring it back. The kings of old through their right to rule came from divine will; though they were incorrect in their reasonings, their methods of maintaining that power still hold today. Keep their bloodlines pure. Never dilute unless absolutely necessary. That is how HYDRA kept power, more or less. Democracy has always been a farce. Birthright, my birthright, will always remain true. Pierce had his ideals, but he sought to modernize our ways, painting them in a new, more American coat. I admired the man, don't mistake me; but his ideas were flawed, and now he's dead. Time marches on."

Pierce's end would've come eventually. He'd been a young man when he first rose to power within HYDRA, but he wouldn't be a young man forever. His attempts at being forward-thinking, of long-term goals far past his own existence, were well-meaning but ultimately failed. Dictatorship had its flaws as well. To maintain perfect, ever-lasting control, one must have a leader who never died.

And they must have their immortal weapons as well. In that part, at least, Pierce had succeeded. Though he had not started the Winter Soldier project, he had ensured its continued survival, and in that way, Zemo owed a great debt to that man. Pierce would never live to see his vision come true, but his name would be honored nonetheless.

Just… not under the same flag, perhaps.

"Someday, I might hold a great convocation of our generation's greatest minds, our leaders, here in this room." Zemo gazed about the dining hall; so dusty and washed out, once upon a time it must have been a room of grandeur and warmth and light. It surely served its purpose, once upon a time. "And if not here, then perhaps our ancestral home. But it will be some time before it can be fully rebuilt."

The place had been partially destroyed during World War II, no thanks to Captain America and his band of outcasts and criminals. Trying to rebuild anything these days without catching government attention was a terrible pain, and cost even more with the bribes he needed to hand out. But at least the process was underway. For the longest time, he did not have the means or the funds to do so. But someday, the von Zemos will be restored.

He gestured to the giant painting that dominated the rest, still partially covered. "Come, let's unveil the old masterpiece. If nothing else, this castle shall be the resurrection of HYDRA, and the world that once was."

A few men scrambled to respond, and Zemo had to command them to be gentle! Please! As they tugged stupidly at the velvet curtain. Morons, they might take down the entire frame if they're not careful. But at last, the curtain finally comes free, and reveals the painting in all its gl—

"Scheisse! What's this?" Zemo demanded, horrified and enraged at once.

For above him, the once glorious painting of Herr Hitler had been destroyed. And not just destroyed, as by time and elements, but vandalized. While one half had remained visible, the other half of the painting had been utterly destroyed; pieces of paint pulled out, the canvas where his eye had been cut out completely, revealing the blank wall behind the frame. Someone had doodled all over with a cheap black market, making a hairy eyebrow and altering the mustache. Added devil horns. A monocle. A little goatee.

And there, in the center of the painting, the vandal himself. A strange little hoodlum somehow sticking to the painting itself with nothing but his hands and feet, black sharpie still in hand — gazing down at the crowd below, with an equal expression of shock.

Only Zemo's shout shocked them back into action. "Verbrecher! Töte ihn!"

For a crime such as this warranted death, and nothing less. But Zemo had underestimated his own command — his idiot forces, who grabbed the first weapons they had on hand. Who didn't take a second to think why their target remained where he was while they raised their guns towards him.

The horror as triggers pulled and dozens of bullets went straight through the painting, turning it to little more than confetti.

And to top it all off, their aim was absolutely terrible.

"Wow, no aimbots here, huh?" Peter crowed after he had leapt off the painting, back flipping onto the chandelier in the center. The trail of bullets followed, haphazardly, and struck the glass and metal as well — long after Peter had already hopped to his next perch, and watched in growing delight as the once ornate chandelier came crashing to the floor in a broken heap.

It was about as much as he could enjoy with Mia right there.

Peter hoped the noise would at least tell everyone else where to find him. Because this was getting bad fast. The guys with the guns? No biggie? Web shooters took care of that — Peter snatched one with some web and yanked across the others like a great big domino pile, and took out some furniture, too, along the way.

But Mia?

She was coming straight for him.

Peter thought he was safe on the ceiling. But her aim was much better, and taking the gun from her hands did nothing to slow her down. She grabbed his own web to yank Peter off the ceiling.

He hit the floor hard, enough for the stone to crack beneath him. "Ow."

No time to lick his wounds. Mia was already charging.

Peter managed to roll on his back just in time, lifting his legs to kick Mia. Right in her stomach, throwing her backwards once more. Buying himself enough time to jump back to his feet, but not a second more. She pulled out a small pistol. He knocked that away, then had to dodge the follow-up knife. It cut straight through whatever his web-shooters could bring. A fact Peter still hadn't resolved with his chemical composition. Shit.

"Mia, come on! It's me!" Peter had hoped, after their encounter on the trail, that maybe there was something of Mia still there he could bring out. But after the third time of her trying to slash his throat, he was starting to think maybe Wanda and Pietro were right all along.

That did not improve his chances.

Peter knew he could hurt her. Stop her somehow. He was stronger than Mia by far, but hurting her? He couldn't do that. Mia was also acting with a much higher intensity than him, absolutely trying to kill him. Sticking her feet to the floor, catching her hand against a wall, it only slowed her down. She kept pulling out more knives. Tossed a flash bang at him, which Peter had to reel away from, fast. The room was already evacuating, yet Zemo remained, clearly enjoying the show.

"I don't know what you are, boy," the man said as he walked backwards towards the door. "But you are clearly out of your depth."

Peter wished he had a funny little quip to fire back with, but he was currently very distracted right now. He was prepared for Mia to pull out her shield, he could at least get that out of her hands, but he'd forgotten how bouncy it was. How Mia was much better at AP Trig than he remembered.

Him throwing the shield only for Mia to chase after it was good in theory; it gave Peter a second's break. Only to realize his mistake when Mia threw her shield and missed him was, well, not actually missing him.

A second chandelier fell and would've crashed right on top of him had Peter's spider sense not warned him a split second before.

"You know me!" He begged Mia, as if she wasn't looking at his entire face and trying to kill him anyways. "It's me! It's Peter! Come on! We can go home!"

But home was very far away right now. And when reinforcements arrived, Peter actually considered running away. The windows were right there. He could retreat, as cowardly as it was. Peter really didn't want to die.

Just as the new arrivals drew their weapons, however, a massive blast of red overtook them from behind, and bodies went flying. The doorway, once more cleared, allowed Wanda's entry, Howie huddled behind her. Behind her the flash of Pietro, zipping to the other entryway and barreling straight for the bad guys coming in from that end; their hands suddenly weaponless one second, and the next being knocked down one by one in a series of blows.

Then Vision, appearing through the floor and flying upwards, grabbing Mia from behind and lifting her into the air. His skinny Vibranium arms managed to lock Mia in as she writhed and spat against him, legs kicking uselessly.

"Wanda!" Peter called, both relieved and panicked at once. "I tried to make her snap out of it but it's not — it's not working! What do we do?"

Peter admittedly did not think this far ahead. He was really putting a lot of faith in Mia being able to recognize him, or at least be docile enough for them to kidnap her back and figure things out afterwards. But Mia definitely wasn't docile right now.

Wanda looked to him then up at her, brow furrowing. "I don't know. It was never a quick process. We could always try to knock her out —"

A burst of gunfire interrupted her

"Throw her against the wall!" Pietro shouted from across the room.

But Vision looked extremely preoccupied, yelping as Mia threw her weight around, making him swing about in the air. He definitely didn't look like he wanted to smash her head into a wall. His voice cracked, revealing his own panic. "Perhaps something a little less violent?!"

But Peter feared they might not have a choice. "Wanda, can't you do something? With your magic?"

"I can try," Wanda said, but looked doubtful as she raised her hands, threads of a spell weaving through her fingers. "But it's not exactly straightforward, I have to coax her to relax and — Vision, stay still!"

"I'm trying!" Vision insisted. "She's being very difficult right now."

Just then, Mia smacked her head back and clocked Vision right on the nose. That actually seemed to daze Mia more than it did him — it shattered his human illusion but Vision was still upright and floating. "No, wait, do it now!"

But Wanda never got the chance. The spell had only left her fingers when another gunman managed to get off a few lucky shots before Pietro knocked him down, only to be followed by two more — one firing at Pietro and the other back at Vision. Being fired upon from multiple directions panicked the young android, unable to shield Mia from multiple directions, and without thinking, dropped her for lack of a better idea.

Mia crumpled to the ground, and Peter hoped that was a good opportunity. But he'd only just rushed to reach her when Mia was already rising again.

Peter saw the knife in her hands at the last minute, skidding to a stop and twisting his body hard to avoid the attack. "Whoa!"

The blade sliced through his shirt and Peter felt the blade hot against his skin, blood spilling. But only a flesh wound as he pulled away.

Things turned chaotic fast. Too fast. Peter was so preoccupied with Mia and not dying that he didn't see a lot of what was happening around him.

Like several of Zemo's goons getting back to their feet, behind Wanda, and snatching Howie from her side before she could stop him.

Holding the boy at gunpoint, while Vision was busy blasting another guy with his forehead laser (holy shit), or Pietro skipping back and forth through the gunfire aimed at him, pushing him away from helping Wanda or Howie, before he ran out of the room entire, gone in a ribbon of silver. No one had any idea where he went.

Meanwhile, Mia managed to get Peter pinned to a wall, from which vantage point he managed to catch a glimpse of Howie sneezing into his captor's face. The man recoiled in shock and disgust, long enough for Wanda to act. Taking over his mind, forcing him to drop Howie, then to put his own pistol beneath his chin and fire.

Wow. Peter wished he didn't see that. Normally he would've liked to establish the rules of combat beforehand, but now knowing who and what they're dealing with, maybe he won't talk to Wanda about killing Nazis later.

In the meantime, Mia was slowly choking the life out of him. Right. He still has to survive.

Then Pietro, appearing out of the other door, Wanda's door, flew in and slammed straight into Mia, full speed. As Mia was yanked off him, Peter dropped to his knees, hacking and coughing.

She cried out at impact, thrown halfway across the room. But she recovered just as fast; he struck at her, but her shield absorbed Pietro's body strikes, and his fists alone were hardly enough to take her down.

Instead of attacking Pietro in turn, however, Mia tossed another one of those little damn balls at Wanda. It diverted Pietro, who suddenly changed directions mid-run and raced to grab the grenade before it reached Wanda. Mia must have timed it exactly, because instead of giving Pietro the two seconds he needed to throw it back, the flash-bang exploded right in his hands.

The blast took Pietro right in the face, and he went down with a shout enveloped by the bang. Wanda screamed.

Pietro hit the ground, preserved momentum carrying him through several chairs before he slid to a stop against a wall. Face covered in angry red burns, he groaned — not dead, at least.

Still coughing, Peter stumbled over to Pietro, as Wanda turned her full attention on Mia, but her first spell had little effect on Mia — slowing her down, but not taking her out. A second volley Mia managed to dodge; a third ripped up the floor at her feet, threw chairs and furniture and what have you at her.

Mia took one blow across the shoulder, another almost tripping her. Another cut across her face. And still, she did not stop.

Windows shattered and razor-sharp glass shooting directly at her. Mia took the worst against her shield and let the remaining cut across her legs and feet. Threw herself forward, rolling across the floor to pick up a fallen gun, and aiming it at Howie.

She fired, and only Wanda bringing up a magic shield was enough to protect the both of them. Vision swooped in to their defense, looking extremely reluctant when the gem at the center of his forehead unleashed another blast. But he had forgotten about Mia's shield.

Peter didn't know what would happen if the two forces made contact, and very soon he did.

Mia, still curled on the ground, hunched behind her shield as it not just absorbed the gem's power, but redirected it. First at Wanda, who's thin shield shattered upon impact, and then sharply at Vision, who cried out in shock. Both fell at the impact.

It was only then Peter realized how fucked they were. Both Vision and Wanda unconscious. Him shaking Pietro, trying to wake him. But Pietro was out for the count, his face badly injured, though Peter was so full of panic and adrenaline he couldn't say how bad it was.

But hearing Pietro mumbling, "Can't… see…" only made his heart clench.

Peter looked over his shoulder again to see Mia once more rising to her feet. Her eyes set on Howie, the only other person still standing, so to speak. But Howie was also on the floor, scrambling backwards. His hands moved frantically, and at first Peter thought he was signing, before he saw the repulsor in Howie's palm.

Just the repulsor, the skeleton of its framework around his hand. No armor. Nothing more than a tiny thing that Peter knew would do nothing but mildly annoy Mia.

Not Mia. There was nothing about Mia in this girl approaching Howie, gun in hand.

She could've fired from her distance. But to confirm a kill, you get close.

"Stop!" Peter didn't know what the hell he was doing, only that he had nothing left to lose. It was easy enough to pull the gun from her hand with web, but everything that came after?

Mia had always won their spars. Only when Peter used his full strength, had to think of out of the box ways to keep her down. Because Mia was always impossible to keep down. She just kept getting back up, no matter how much she was hurt.

Even now, she was bleeding from multiple places, as Peter slammed into her at full speed. Her hands, covered in blood. Whose blood? Peter didn't know. The cut on his side hurt but it couldn't have bled that much, could it?

Mia hit the ground beneath him, but quickly got the upper hand. Peter hadn't managed to pin her down before she was on top of him, knife in hand. It was seconds from burrowing into his eye before a blast knocked it from her hands. Howie, with one very good shot.

Mia's head whipped around to glare at the boy, giving Peter the chance to punch her. Hard. Harder than he's ever hit her before. Enough to knock Mia off of him, to feel that sick horrible feeling in his gut when she landed on the floor. Throwing himself at her once more, only to be knocked back when she raised her shield. Batted him away like he was a fly.

Peter landed on his feet, shoulder aching where he'd taken the worst of the blow. Ready for Mia to throw her shield at him. But once more, it wasn't him she was aiming at.

Instead, the shield bounced several times around the room, before striking the giant ruined painting. It was already on its last legs, a hunk of tattered canvas and heavy wood. Now it trembled, shook, fell. To the three bodies still lying underneath.

Peter couldn't pull Wanda, Vision, and Howie out of there all at once. If he had to choose, Howie would've been first and Vision last, but regardless — Howie yelped as Peter struck him with his web shooters and yanked him out from beneath the falling canvas. It crashed down, wood splintering, and Peter hoped Wanda would forgive him for it later.

He pulled Howie right into his arms. Howie was breathing hard, trying to say something, but between his cold and chattering teeth, it was impossible to understand. Peter couldn't protect both of them. If he separated from Howie, then Mia would go straight for him. There was no good option.

And that was before realizing that she wasn't alone. Only a few of the remaining men were still conscious, but three was more than zero and they all had guns. They winced and groaned and were covered in their own injuries, but that probably only made them madder. They didn't fire immediately — they were waiting for Mia. Maybe they wanted to enjoy the show.

Mia had a developing bruise on her jaw from where Peter had struck her. But there was no betrayal in her eyes. Still the same cold gray nothingness as before.

Once more, Peter eyed the windows. He didn't want to leave the others behind. But Howie was the only one left, and he was virtually defenseless. Peter did his best to place his body between everyone else and Howie. But they were cornered. He had no other choice.

In that glance towards the window, Peter saw something move out of the corner of his eye. A shadow, a cat, a something, moving so fast he had almost hoped it was Pietro back on his feet, but the size and shape was all wrong. One man shouted in alarm and fired, drawing everyone's attention. But he wasn't shooting at Peter and Howie.

The bullets struck the form, but didn't pierce it. The black suit glowed faintly purple at the impacts, but nothing slowed the man down as he struck, slashing one man across the chest, another across his face. More gunfire, this time cast wildly in a panic.

Peter barely had time to understand what was going on before they were all down. Only Mia remained.

Like a missile seeking out its target, she went straight for the newcomer. Single-minded and entirely unstoppable, only this time her opponent wasn't so easily beaten.

Peter wanted to shout at her, tell her to stop. But she wouldn't listen. Not even losing would have convinced her, he realized.

It only came to an end when the man, catching her thrown fist, threw her out a window.

It was so sudden, Peter almost didn't have time to react. "No!"

Glass shattered and Mia disappeared from sight. But the sound of impact was quick — rushing to the window, Peter was relieved to find Mia on the courtyard below. The fog had cleared somewhat, thanks to the helicopter planted not a hundred feet away, its rotors spinning.

Inside its open bay doors, Peter spotted the form of Zemo, beckoning to Mia.

Below, she was already getting to her feet. Peter called her name, and Mia looked up, but there was no recognition there. She stood there, for a moment, their eyes locked — and then she turned and ran for the helicopter.

"Mia! Stop! Please!" Peter called after her, his voice breaking in what could only be a sob. His body ached in every way, but nothing hurt more than watching his own best friend turn her back on him. Choosing to run away.

Only it wasn't a choice, was it?

A hand on his shoulder prevented Peter from jumping out after her. He could've done it, he could've made it. The helicopter was already starting to rise, but Peter could latch on. He could do something. But the hand that caught him was strong, already pulling him back.

"Please, stop," a voice urged. "There's nothing more you can do for her."

Peter struggled only for a second more, until the voice added, "Your friends still need you,"

And that's when he remembered. Pietro, Wanda, Howie, and Vision. He couldn't leave them behind. Defeated, Peter knew they were all in bad shape. He just didn't know how bad yet.

Pietro was already stumbling to his feet, but it was clear his vision was impeded, turning his head this way and that. Red tendrils curled around the broken pieces of canvas and wood, lifting up off of Wanda and Vision as they, too, slowly began to rise. Vision looked dazed, while Wanda was definitely nursing a limp.

All four of them stared at the man who'd intervened. Covered head to toe in a full black suit, its mask resembling that of a cat's, none of them knew how to respond.

"Who are you?" Peter asked, joining the rest as they stood together. He slung Pietro's arm around his shoulder when it was clear the older boy couldn't navigate on his own. If they got into another fight, especially with this guy and his bulletproof suit? They were screwed.

"I am T'Challa," the man said, lifting his hands to remove the helmet from his suit. Howie gasped upon recognition, and the man gave him a small nod. "King of Wakanda. I followed you here."

Wanda looked thunderstruck. "How? I never sensed you."

"I kept my distance," the King said vaguely, looking out the window, then back at them. "You would not have seen me even if you tried. The European police are not making good headway. When I realized you five were here, and you had personal knowledge of those involved, you might say I hedged my bets. I didn't think you'd be foolish enough to strike on your own, however. Had you turned back, I might have gone in and handled this myself."

"We couldn't wait!" Howie threw out his hands. "Mia was here!"

"And you would've hurt Mia," Peter added, pointing towards the window. "Which you did."

"She attacked me. I was only defending myself." The King replied, unwavering.

"You don't understand!" Wanda shook her head, wincing as she stepped forward. "Mia isn't in control of her actions. She— she's under protocol! That man, Zemo, he's the one making her do all these things!"

"Protocol?" The man frowned, tilting his head in a decidedly feline manner. "What do you mean?"

"It was years ago," Wanda explained. "Zemo is HYDRA, and it's HYDRA that brainwashed Mia. They put a … a code in her head, a trigger to turn her into a mindless weapon! If you have her code, then you can control her. Mia has no way to resist it; her father is the same."

"The Winter Soldier," T'Challa surmised. "This Bucky Barnes. What you're saying means either one of them could have planted that bomb. Could have killed those people."

They all nodded emphatically. Vision added, "They wouldn't be acting under their own willpower in this state. And neither of them has a desire to ever serve HYDRA again, we can promise you that."

T'Challa cut him a look. "You know the Winter Soldier well enough to make such a claim?"

Vision quailed slightly, averting his gaze. "Well, er, no. Not Barnes. But Mia. And she says her father would never willingly return. And I believe her. Barnes has been actively pursuing HYDRA remnants with the Avengers in rooting them out."

"I see," The man was silent for a long moment, evaluating the group of them. "And this Zemo, what do you know of him?"

The group exchanged looks with each other and shrugged. "No idea." At the man's stunned look, Peter could only shrug, "I heard his name when they were talking earlier, but aside from the fact he owns a giant painting of Hitler, I have no idea."

"So, you cannot actually claim he is HYDRA."

"Fuck yeah I can!"

"This has HYDRA all over it," Pietro agreed, gesturing to a room he couldn't see. "This is how they operate. I recognized some of the men that are still wanted for their association with HYDRA. And I was forced to grow up with them. Wanda and I both. We know them better than anyone else in the world."

It was a bold claim, yet the Wakandan King did not call him out on it. Instead, he seemed to take it into consideration. "I've heard a little of your group. The young Avengers."

"We don't have an official name or anything," Howie said, making a face. "Labor laws."

"Ah," The man raised his eyebrows, and for a moment, seemed faintly amused. "And thus, you work outside of the law. Not wisely, I think. But you're faring better than the true Avengers. Secretary Ross is keen to have us all arrested. His actions seem to put us on the same side."'

Peter scowled. "Not if you're going to kill Mia."

"I have no intention of killing anyone," T'Challa replied, dark eyes pinning Peter to the spot. His heart skipped a beat. "I seek only to bring my father's killer to justice. If this man you call Zemo is behind the attack, then he is the one I want. If what you say about your friend is true, then… I'm sorry. I can only promise I will not try to kill her. But she may not give me that choice."

Peter wanted to fight, to argue, to cry — but he knew what the King meant. Mia had already tried to kill Peter himself, and all their friends, and they were relying on their own attachments, their own hopes that she'll come back. This man didn't know her.

"I understand," Peter said at length, weakly. He supposed he should be grateful this guy was even listening to what they had to say.

"So, you're not with the Accords anymore?" Howie piped up. "You turned against Ross. How did you get out of arrest?"

"A little bit of legal technicalities." T'Challa replied, with the faintest smirk. "And a promise that Wakanda will not interfere with Interpol's investigation."

"But…" Vision blinked in confusion. "You are interfering,"

"Am I?" The King asked, looking around. "I do not see them here. I cannot interfere with an investigation if Interpol is not making the correct headway. They don't even know I'm here."

"…Oh." Vision said.

"I'm not inclined to help either they or Ross in their pursuits," the man continued. "And I think it would be in your best interests to leave as well. Sooner or later, they will come here. I can offer medical assistance as well."

"We're fine," Pietro's voice was sharp, cutting in fast before anyone else could take him up on that offer. As if he wasn't the worst off among them. "We've had worse. Just stay out of our way."

It seemed King T'Challa was fighting a smile, but he bowed his head graciously nevertheless. "Perhaps we shall stay out of each other's ways, then. Though if you are anything like my little sister, I highly doubt that will happen. Take care, then. And avoid the southern path down the mountain."

With that, the king placed his helmet back on and turned away, leaping out of the window in one graceful move. The five of them watched him go, vanishing into the fog, from wherever the hell he came from.

"Perhaps we were too hasty in refusing his help?" Vision offered timidly.

"Maybe," Peter made a face. "But it's too late now. We're probably better off on our own anyways. The King of Wakanda is a known entity. No one knows about us yet. I want to keep it that way."

"If we accept help, then we'd be indebted to him," Pietro scowled. "And I won't be indebted to a man who'd kill Mia no matter what we do."

"We need to leave, now," Wanda said, ending that conversation entirely. "The King has his own problems and we have ours. If we don't keep moving, then staying secret won't be an option anymore."

And they definitely couldn't afford that to happen.