Hide and Seek
Tony didn’t wait for the double doors of the lab to open before he went ballistic.
“Hey!” His voice was barely an octave below a scream. The only thing louder than his shout was the mayhem he’d just walked into — unfamiliar faces decked in even more unfamiliar attire scampering the lab no different than chickens with their heads cut off. “How the hell did motley crew here manage to let a sixteen-year-old teenager escape!?”
Shuri whipped her head around before practically running to the other side of the lab.
“They’ve returned!” she exclaimed, not an ounce of panic hidden from her tone. “Quick — the dome!”
No sooner did she speak did a technician nearby begin typing hastily at one of the computers.
“City guard is back up,” he announced, still hunched over the keyboard as his head swiveled around to face Shuri. “No access in or out.”
Tony didn’t acknowledge the technician. Nor did he do anything but give Shuri a passing glance — hot-blooded and charged, but fast and brief.
There was one, and only one person he made a straight beeline for. And the guards that flocked at his side did nothing to intimidate him.
Their spears were pointed his way long before he approached the King.
Tony didn’t give a damn.
“I brought him here for safety!” Tony shoved a finger straight at T’Challa’s chest, the callouses on his skin pushing deep into the black and purple tunic T’Challa wore. “I brought him here for refuge — for help!”
Despite the finger jabbed at his chest, T’Challa kept his chin high. His eyes locked firmly on Tony, with an unreadable expression planted boldly on his face.
Bruce appeared in Tony’s very red shaded line of sight. “Tony, hold —”
“Where the hell is he?” Tony hadn’t spoken loudly, certainly not at a volume that reached over the chaos playing out in the laboratory. But he really didn’t need to. The force in his voice said it all.
T’Challa lifted his chin higher. “That is a question we both have. And an answer we are seeking, as we speak.”
Bruce stepped closer to Tony, somewhat timid, somewhat desperate.
“Tony,” he tried again, “before you —”
Tony pursed his lips. “I leave for a few hours and the kid’s already on the Wakanda milk cartoons!?”
This time, he did yell.
The Dora Milaje brought their spears closer to him, and Tony was one second away from blasting each soldier with gauntlets that he absolutely brought inside the Citadel this time around. Rules be damned — there was a line in the sand. And they’d just crossed it.
T’Challa lifted an open palm, silently encouraging the Dora Milaje to stand down. Only one of the many bodyguards refused, keeping her weapon up high where the tip of the Vibranium spear could be seen reflecting in Tony’s narrowed eyes.
If anything, Okoye gripped her spear tighter.
At the same time, Bruce reached out and grabbed Tony’s bicep, holding it firmly.
“Tony...”
It wasn’t often Bruce sounded so grim. Even post-Hulked, the scientist never seemed as alarmed as he did now. If Tony could see anything past the rage clawing out from within his entire being, he may have given that a second thought.
Bruce cleared his throat before speaking again. “Something’s happened while you —”
“Yeah, somethings happened. Peter’s gone,” Tony growled, quick to shake off Bruce’s touch. He spun on his heels, arms out wide as an eagle as he looked around the room. “Anyone wanna clue me in on how the hell he got away!?”
The doors to the lab parted, with Steve leading the trail of people behind him. He had wasted no time in gearing up, already returning to his dark blue and silver stealth uniform. Those at his side were no different. They poured in one by one, each wearing the gear attached to their namesake.
Busy working frantically at her own control station, Shuri briefly turned to the entrance of her lab to notice those who entered.
“He got up,” she dryly answered, the sound of hypnotic keys on a holographic monitor nearly overtaking her voice. “And he ran away.”
Tony turned towards her, grounding his teeth with a force that should’ve broken each one of his molars.
“How!?” His shouting was definitely the reason lab techs were making a hasty exit. Tony still didn’t give a damn.
“Well, I assume by getting up…” Shuri said derisively, her attention locked steadfast on the monitors. “And running away.”
Steve cautiously approached the group, inching close as if Tony and Shuri were ground zero to the chaos surrounding them. He took it in, quietly but cautiously all the same. Absorbing his surroundings with a precise awareness.
Tony seemed to be the only one uninterested in the pandemonium. He was dead-set on receiving an answer, and in many ways, Steve couldn’t blame him for that.
Still, from the moment he entered, Steve could tell something was wrong. Natasha approached his side, and judging by her expression, she sensed it too. The worry that slipped across their faces was telling in more ways than one.
“Sister,” T’Challa warned, the lighthearted exasperation that had coated his tone just hours before no longer there. It was replaced with something much more grave. “Now is not the time for jokes. This is serious.”
Shuri arched an eyebrow, but otherwise kept at work.
“Yes, I agree,” she coldly stated. With one final, harsh tap to the transparent screen, she turned to face her brother. “I never take death lightly.”
Something froze in Tony’s gut, the icy tone of Shuri’s words finally shaking him out of his volcanic rage. His forehead creased but the words didn’t come. Not even when he caught sight of Steve and the others converging in the laboratory.
It was then he finally noticed Barton, stationed far off in the deepest corner of the lab. He sat on the nearest stool, his knees kicked up high and his eyes unblinking as he remained surveillant to the rooms occupants.
There was only one time Tony ever saw the man so attentive. It was when a threat lurked around the corner — something that required his absolute, undivided concentration. Like a flip of a switch, he’d go from calm and collective to vigilant and guarded. Hawk-eyed to the best of his ability.
“Tony…” Bruce started for the last time, a firmness lacing his tone that didn’t go unnoticed. Though he didn’t try to grab Tony’s arm again, he did draw nearer. Making sure to keep his voice low and hushed. “The guard stationed at Peter’s door was found dead.”
Despite Bruce’s attempt at graceful discretion, the room still managed to fall quiet. As if every guard and lab tech somehow picked up on what had otherwise been unspoken until this very moment.
Even Sam’s hushed, “Oh, shit,” could be heard from near the entrance where he arrived.
Tony didn’t pay it any attention. His mind was reeling a thousand thoughts a millisecond, passing through his head faster than he could blink.
Ultimately, he landed on one thing.
“You got cameras in this place?” He whipped his head towards Shuri so fast, it left him dizzy.
Shuri rolled her eyes in response.
“Do we have cameras in this —” she scoffed, each clack her fingers made on the keyboard showcasing her offense. If anything, she hit the keys harder to prove a point. “What a barbaric question.”
Shuri didn’t give anyone a chance to clarify her answer. Her index finger slammed down to the nearest keyboard, harsher than what was required, but containing her frustration all the same.
It brought to life a holographic screen, splaying out in front of her. Blocking not just her face from view, but her entire body. Floating in the space between them with only the aid of technology to do so.
Tony furrowed his brows, turning slightly to the side so he could better view the newly displayed footage. He was so engrossed that he failed to notice Steve approach him, or even as Rhodey stood close behind him.
His vision was a tunnel, tightly hemmed in on only one thing.
He thought the security footage from Midtown was as bad as it could get.
He was sorely wrong.
“It occurred roughly two hours ago,” T’Challa stoically explained, taking two hardened steps to join Tony’s side, opposite of Steve.
Though he took distance from his guards, Okoye didn’t follow after him. Unusual for her, she stayed with the others. Her rigid stance didn’t lessen, but the gloss coating her eyes spoke a different story.
“The Dora Milaje had taken an evening rest, and we encouraged your men to do the same.” T’Challa kept his eyes on the footage, watching it intently as if it were his first time. Something told Tony that wasn’t the case. “Only Chi’ru remained at guard.”
“Yeah, that was our first mistake,” Clint heatedly chimed in, barely visible from behind the holographic screen. “You told us Peter would be watched.”
“And he was.” T’Challa remained diplomatic, not letting Clint’s anger — or the stress emitting from the others — get under his skin. “Chi’ru was a highly regarded warrior of the Border Tribe. On many occasions would I trust him with my very life —”
“And now he’s dead,” Clint snapped, his expression darkening. With a single fluid movement, he hopped off the stool, bypassing the screen that still played the security footage. If he had stepped any closer, he would’ve walked straight through it. “I told you I wanted to stay with the kid —!”
“Clint, you were falling asleep standing up,” Bruce tactfully cut in. When Clint rounded on him, Bruce held both hands in the air placaintingly. “So was I! We both were, it’s why we stepped away.”
Steve shifted his gaze to Tony, as if expecting the man to throw fuel on an already blazing fire. Any other day and the fight would’ve already broken out; Tony wouldn’t hesitate to chastise both men, yelling sly but angry insults about how neither should’ve left Peter unattended. He’d make some witty remark about how sleep comes another day, or how caffeine was invented for a reason. He’d be at their throats before they could so much think about what to say next.
But Tony was silent.
He hadn’t looked away from the screen, though he’d noticeably paled by a shade. His lips pressed thin, with no words to escape their tight seal.
The footage continued to play. Steve turned his head away; watching it once was plenty. Continuing to witness the horror was simply self-torture.
One that Tony couldn’t pull himself away from.
“We stepped away because we were promised guards would be there. Plural,” Clint stressed, dragging out the singular word. “Instead you tossed some nobody at his door and called it a day!”
T’Challa straightened his back. “Chi’ru was —”
“Dead. He’s dead.” Clint stormed up to T’Challa, and for the first time since Steve’s arrival, the soldier noticed the red cracks that fissured the whites of his eyes. Whether it was from exhaustion or stress stood to reason. “Stark’s right, we resorted to sanctuary with you people because you promised to help the kid! And already —!”
Okoye slammed her staff to the ground.
The only thing harsher than the strength of raw Vibranium shaking the floor was the quiver that shook her next words.
“I was on my way,” Okoye forced herself to speak through gritted teeth. Her chin stayed high, where the light from above glistened the sheen in her eyes. There was no doubt one blink would be all it took to break the dam. “He had been left on solo duty for no more than twenty-three minutes.”
Silence washed over the lab. Havoc that once seized the room dispersed as if it’d never been there, creating a spine-chilling hum in its wake. Even the remaining lab techs froze in place.
The only motion was the footage. Repeating on a loop.
Clint looked away, briefly, before turning back to Okoye with a cold sneer. “Twenty-three minutes too many.”
Rhodey all but jumped forward, his leg braces sounding louder than ever as he pushed a firm, open palm against Clint’s chest.
“Arguing semantics isn’t getting us anywhere,” Rhodey insisted, wisely creating distance between Clint and the approaching Dora Milaje. A quick glance of their weapons was all it took to make that decision. Clint may have been agent in the field, but Vibranium spears would win without contest. “What happened, unfortunately happened. What we need to be doing is planning our next steps. Not bickering over who’s fault this is.”
There was a hollowness in Tony’s voice when he spoke. “It’s not Peter.”
It was almost as if he spoke before his mind knew what he was saying. The only thing more uncanny than how he sounded was the expression written across his face. A haunting reflection that ran deep into each line of his skin.
At first, Rhodey failed to notice it.
“Yeah, Tones,” he turned to his friend with a mix of sympathy and frustration. “Of course it’s not Peter’s fault —”
“No,” Tony insisted, regaining density to his voice. He twisted at the side, meeting Rhodey’s glare with his own. “That’s not Peter.”
There was no need to point to the monitor. The footage continued to play, the loop never letting up. Every occupant in the room had been shown the atrocity, and if they kept watching, they were exposed morefold.
The cameras were set up in the medbay hallways, tucked neatly in the high corners of the walls. They didn’t lie, nor did they hide any facts. No grain in the video, no static. Each frame was crystal clear.
One moment the guard stood firm against the wall, watchful of his surroundings with his weapon firm in his grasp. He stood tall, attentive. If he happened to be tired, there was no way to tell. A sharp, vigilant stance encompassed his every muscle.
Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brows as she studied the footage, watching intently as it played out. Next to her, Rhodey did the same. As if they both weren’t too sure what they were seeing. Their confusion only deepened as time went on.
Seconds passed by. Ticking away at the clock on the bottom of the screen, numbers increasing up as minutes went by. With each passing second, a small change began to take fold. At first, unnoticeable. Too dark to perceive, even with the high quality of the film.
A frame passed, and then another. A dark, sinister blackness leaked from underneath the door, creeping up until it enveloped the walls completely. Painting the hallway with an ooze that glistened and dripped.
Steve made a sound as he turned away completely, something caught between a sigh and clearing his throat. His head dipped low and he placed both hands firmly on each hip, walking away with no destination to guide him.
Seeing it once was more than enough.
Natasha saw him withdraw out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t make mention of it, too preoccupied with the video. If she looked away, she’d have missed it. If she blinked, she would’ve never known.
The walls darkened completely, stealing light from the hallway. By the time the guard noticed, it was too late.
Tendrils wrapped at his throat, squeezing with a strength only a conscious being would have. His face never had time to grow purple, his lungs never had time to fight for air. One frame passed, and his body dropped to the ground; his head resting on the floor twistedly, the bones of his neck protruding outward.
Shuri had enough. With a harsh, lithesome motion of her hand, she shut down the display.
“Thank you for the obvious, rich man,” Shuri snapped, storming right past Tony with a glare to follow. “I warned you what would happen the next time the symbiote manifests. With each emergence, we lose Peter. And from him, the symbiote gains life. Life that kills.”
Sam watched Shuri cross the lab, his brows so high they could’ve touched the ceiling.
“So...what?” Sam looked to the others, silently wondering if he was the only one freaking out to the extent that he was. “You’re telling us that the kids out there — somewhere, completely zombified by this thing?”
Shuri didn’t so much as grace him with a look.
“I’ll let you know when we find him,” she answered instead. Whatever work she was doing, she was doing it fast. Her fingers spread in large distances on the transparent keyboard in front of her.
Sam made a face but kept the remainder of his thoughts to himself. Judging by the way Steve paced the lab, and the intensity radiating off Tony, it was the best decision for him to make.
Natasha wasn’t as eager to play quiet.
“Where have you looked?” she frowned, crossing her arms tightly over the leather of her Black Widow suit.
This did earn a look from Shuri. Natasha was by no means easily intimidated, but even Sam could tell she was taken aback by the heat in the young girls face.
“Oh, you know,” Shuri drawled on, her jaw visibly clenching. “Under the couch. In the dining hall. Oh! Maybe he’s hiding in the bathroom — quick, someone go check!”
T’Challa frowned, yet he allowed the silence to replace any rebuke he wouldn’t given his sister. The lack of banter between both siblings almost said more to the situation than the footage itself.
Steve didn’t like it.
Stopping his aimless pace, he craned his neck and looked high to the ceiling.
He didn’t like any of this.
T’Challa stepped towards him, as if sensing his stress. “Our systems have searched the entire kingdom, and have been unable to locate his presence in Birnin Zana. As far as we know, he is not in the city. We’ve activated the dome to ensure he cannot get in, and our civilians cannot get out.”
Steve never got a chance to respond.
“FRIDAY,” Tony didn’t miss a beat, whipping out his phone before the words even left his mouth. “Use the subroutine facial recognition batch to search for anything that resembles Peter. Down to the last hair on his head.”
The AI hadn’t even begun to populate results when Shuri spoke up.
“Save your resources,” she said with a roll her eyes. “We have done it already. Ten times over.”
Tony tensed up, spinning on his heels to face Shuri head-on.
“Then what are you waiting for?” He cocked his head to the side. “Presentation time, chop chop ”
If Shuri was frustrated by his arrogance, she managed to not let it show. Rather, with a few quick hits of the axonometric keyboard, she displayed a new image.
Bruce adjusted his glasses as he turned around, the light of the hologram reflecting against his lenses. The others were already in perfect view, though Sam noticeably creased his brows with confusion at what stood in front of them.
It held primarily numbers and codes, some even being in Xhosa. Most being in Xhosa. The only thing that stood out to the group was the multiple lines nearing the bottom —
No results found.
Tony didn’t need a translator to understand that.
The sigh that came from Steve could’ve blown down buildings. “If you can’t find him using technology, we’ll have to search for him on foot.”
“And where the hell do you plan to start?” Rhodey scoffed, looking at Steve as if he’d grown six heads that each spoke pig Latin. “I’m not sure lost and found posters are going to get us anywhere anytime soon.”
It was Tony’s turn to take up pacing, crossing from one end of the lab to the next in a matter of seconds. His head stayed low, his mind already running a mile a minute.
Bruce stepped out of the way to give him more clearance. It didn’t take much for him to burn a hole through the floor. He was already half way there.
Okoye noticed, her eyebrow arching high.
“The window to his room was shattered,” she explained, her head staying still as only her eyes followed Tony’s movements. “It’s likely he’s escaped to the wilderness.”
Bruce couldn’t hold back the indignant chuckle that followed. “Oh, okay, so this shouldn’t take long at all.”
“We only need a postulation of his location,” Shuri spoke more to herself than anyone else. She continued to work fast-paced at the console. “If I can just fine tune the thermal scans to narrow into the abnormalities of his body temperature —”
“Won’t be able to,” Tony distantly said, his head still low, never bothering to look at Shuri when he spoke. “The symbiote cloaks his heat signature — it’s why we couldn’t get a lock on him in Queens.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Natasha argued.
“And waste our time?” Sam argued back. He swung around towards Natasha. “If he’s out there —”
“Have you seen how big that jungle is, Sam?” Rhodey’s exasperation bled through his tone. “It’d take us days to comb through every inch.”
Natasha made a face of non-conformance to the idea, while Sam shrugged.
beep.
“He only escaped, what, two hours ago?” Sam turned around to the others, though he gained no noticeable support from them. “How far could the kid get?”
A loud, aggravated huff sounded from the corner of the room.
“You don’t remember how fast he was going on the bridge?” Clint asked, one eyebrow shooting up his forehead. “Or did that bump to the head trigger short term memory loss?”
beep.
Bruce removed his glasses and started cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. “Whether we do a blind search or not, we’re only wasting time right now.”
Sam gestured wildly to Bruce, finally relieved someone sided with him. Natasha’s hum spoke of her indifference, whereas Rhodey shook his head dismissively.
Tony had stopped pacing.
“Bruce is right,” Steve said, though he didn’t seem thrilled about it. His one hand fell from his hip as he motioned to the windows of the lab. “If we don’t get out there soon —”
“It’s over a thousand miles, Steve,” Rhodey frustratingly cut in. “How are we supposed to cover that sort of terrain without a clue of where to start?”
Beep.
“We start somewhere,” Natasha succinctly advised. She sounded even less thrilled then Steve.
From the way he looked, Rhodey had reached his extent of exasperation.
BEEP.
“If you guys don’t decide on something quick, I’m heading out there by myself,” Clint tossed in.
Sam resisted an eye-roll. “Man, don’t start —”
Clint grounded his teeth. “We’re wasting time —”
BEEP.
There wasn’t one person in the lab who didn’t turn to the sound.
BEEP.
It led them right to Tony.
The man froze in his steps, every muscle in his body locked in place. Steve furrowed his brows as he walked closer Tony; he wasn’t sure even an earthquake would move him.
Tony looked up, his face uncharacteristically expressionless.
“Got a lock,” he stoically said. With one fluid motion, Tony lifted his arm into the air, showcasing the red and blue lights flickering from his wrist. “He just removed his panic watch.”
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
For a long moment, it was quiet. Even tenfold once Tony finally silenced the alarm emitting from his watch, cutting off the audible whine with one single command.
Wordlessly, the action triggered the next string of events — the device lit up with its own holographic features, similar yet different from the Wakanda technology they’d been exposed to.
A map splayed out in front of them. Large enough that every eye, no matter how far away, was able to see what it had to offer. Though transparent and translucent, it was discernible all the same.
Steve’s hands fell off his hips, naturally enclosing behind his back in a parade stance that he wasn’t even aware of. The blinking dot center to the image was his only focus, reflecting against his face with each step bringing him closer.
He refused to look away. Even as he spoke.
“We start there.”
Panels within the walls slid open with ease, bringing down a slew of shelves that each contained an arsenal of different weaponry. A backlight of sky-blue illuminated the artillery, tucked away in hidden storage units that only now could be seen.
Guards of all kind grabbed from the shelves, the Dora Milaje included. Their spears were joined with firearms, encased with the enriched metal of Vibranium. The design etched across each piece was only further detailed in the bright, florescent light of the lab.
Quickly, they ensured their weapon was loaded, and promptly made for the exit. A line formation that marched pass T’Challa, the King heading in the opposite direction.
“The guards will form a perimeter around the outskirts of the wilderness,” T’Challa announced, flexing his fingers at the density of the Black Panther suit, covering him down to his toes and up to his neck. Only his head remained exposed. “They await your command, Captain.”
A metallic click echoed between them as Steve swung his shield over his back, attaching it to his holster with a firm nod of acknowledgment. T’Challa joined his side, an iridescent highlight of purple running the course of his suit further exhibiting the power of Vibranium weaved throughout his armor.
The chaos had been replaced, morphing instead into a tightly contained, almost unspoken course of action. Each step taken had purpose. Boots hammered the floors with the sound of prowess.
Almost admiring the well-oiled machine functioning around him, Rhodey cautiously waited until the Wakandian army had taken what they needed before approaching the wall for himself. His hand was bulky as he reached out towards the arsenal, the War Machine armor making him triple the size of his normal self.
There was no hiding the surprise in his face when he grabbed a weapon off the shelf.
“Guns?” Rhodey arched an eyebrow high, craning his neck around to lock eyes with T’Challa. “We sure that’s necessary?”
The sound of Shuri scampering across the length of the lab was nearly swallowed hole by the marching army exiting through the doors.
“Guns, yes, but no bullets,” Shuri hastily explained. No sooner than she approached one of the many consoles did her fingers begin typing maddeningly on a holographic screen. “They are loaded with high voltage electroshock ammo only. Enough electricity to take down a whole family of Rhinoceros’s, if needed.”
Natasha joined at Rhodey’s hip, taking a gun for herself.
“Widow bites were the only thing that took him down last time,” she mentioned, turning the oddly shaped blaster around in her hands before stowing it away in her thigh holster. She repeated the action on the other leg, with two weapons secured to each side of her body. “That, and the tranq.”
“Which we don’t have now,” Clint mentioned, too preoccupied at a workstation to look at anything but the bunch of arrows he carefully loaded into his quiver. The blue tips indicated the same design as the Wakandian guns. Electricity only. Clint wasn’t going to put up a fight about it, either. Anything was better than using his tranq arrows on a fellow team member.
Rhodey looked from Natasha, to Clint, back to T’Challa until finally his gaze landed on the weapon in his hand.
He let out a deep whistle from the back of his throat. “Listen, I understand we’re dealing with an anomaly here —”
Sam nearly bumped into him as he reached for the shelves. “You really calling that thing you saw on camera an anomaly? ”
Rhodey’s face dropped. “Sam, he’s a kid!”
With a harsh smack, Sam loaded a clip of ammo into the weapons chamber of his wings. “A kid that’s giving Stephen King material for his next novel.”
Almost robotically, Sam did it again, another clip sliding easily into the ammunition compartment. When those slots filled up, he twisted the jet-back around and removed what cartridges and missiles resided inside. Quickly but efficiently replacing them with more Wakandian tech.
Rhodey wasn’t eager to do the same. “It’s still Peter —”
“It’s not Peter.” Tony’s voice couldn’t have been anymore firm as he stormed past the departing troops, all but squeezing through to approach the center of the room. No different than T’Challa, his armor covered his body from feet to tip of his neck. Leaving only his head exposed. The red and gold was more than enough to attract the attention of the others. “Not for very long, anyway.”
Planting his feet at the closest console, Tony idly tapped across the hypnotic screen before activating a display larger than himself. When he decided that wasn’t good enough, he expanded it further out.
Steve furrowed his brows, turning slightly to get a better look. Natasha, Clint, and Rhodey weren’t far behind, though Sam kept his attention on loading his jet-pack. Only giving a few glances here and there when he could.
“Princess Brainiac had the machines set up to run an automatic tomography scan of his brain every ten minutes.” Tony stepped back, a crease in his forehead highlighted by the gleam of the holographic image. “If the timing all lines up, this was just a few minutes before he escaped.”
Though it wasn’t a stagnant picture, the display also didn’t render any live action. Unlike the security footage shown earlier, it was nothing more than a computerized image — just like type of scan they’d see at any doctors office.
Clint was the first one to perk up; it may have been a typical MRI, but it was far different than the many scans he’d seen of his own head after one too many concussions in the field.
The crease along Tony’s brow deepened. “This was right before he was taken over.”
The MRI lit up in various colors — bright yellows, reds and blues that showed every detail of the brain. They didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure it out, though. No neurologist was needed to know something was incredibly wrong — and incredibly sinister — with the imagery shown.
Bruce stepped forward, squeezing his way between Natasha and Rhodey, far too entranced to notice himself bumping into their shoulders.
“There’s almost no white matter left in his brain,” Bruce murmured, nearing Tony as he drew closer the hologram. It morphed, slowly, with a darkness that crept into the edges. Weaving through each twisted wave like ink split on a canvas. “See all that? That’s not organic…”
Bruce pointed to the image with the pen that dangled between his fingers, turning to the others with an expression far too worrisome for their liking.
“That’s foreign contamination. Embedding into his frontal lobe.” Bruce turned back to the scan, his lips drastically thinning. “It’s actually consuming the tissue of the cerebrum and replacing it with…symbiote matter.”
Sam looked up from his jet-pack, his hands slowly falling idle despite the loads of ammo sitting next to him, ready to be loaded.
Cautiously, he looked between the group. Otherwise staying quiet.
Clint was the first to speak up. “So this is brainwashing.”
Natasha couldn’t contain her huff. She gave Clint a side-eye. “Yeah, and I don’t think cognitive re-calibration will do the trick this time around.”
The attempt to remain lighthearted fell flat. Bruce may as well have been deaf; he continued to the display, right up until his nose was mere inches from the heat of the hologram.
“There’s no telling if this can be reversed.” His eyes darted the scan rapidly — blinking and looking, blinking and looking. “And if it can...and the symbiote shrinks away from this white and gray matter...who knows what will remain.”
That got Sam’s attention.
“You saying we get the kid back, only for him to become a total vegetable?”
Bruce twisted around, briefly searching for who spoke before finally locating Sam somewhere near the far end of the room at the weapons table.
“Shuri was right.” The words leaked out of his mouth before he had time to consider them. Bruce swallowed, hard. “Each time the symbiote emerges, it gains more sentience. At this rate, it’ll absorb everything it needs from Peter to get there.”
Tony had heard enough.
“It won’t,” he snapped, shutting off the hologram with one forceful tap of his armored finger. Without even looking at the group, he turned his back and made a straight line to the weapons artillery. “We’re not going to allow that.”
Bruce frowned. “Tony —”
“We detain.” Tony’s expression stayed painfully neutral as he loaded whatever ammo remained on the shelves, but the intensity that flooded his eyes told a story he wouldn’t vocalize. “Use enough electricity to piss off Reddy Kilowatt, but no lethal action. Comprende?”
There was a tense silence that suffocated the lab. A nod here, a nod there. But no one outright spoke. They weren’t sure why — the commitment was there, not a single person planned to do anything of fatal nature. That would always go without saying.
But Queens was just a day behind them. Those who witnessed first hand what the symbiote was capable of knew full well that no promises could be guaranteed.
Self-defense, after all, was a tricky thing when it came to fighting one of their own.
Rhodey seemed to catch onto that unease, looking to the team before looking to the Wakandian weapons laid out in front of them.
“This gunna be enough?” he asked, directing a nod to the ammo that he reluctantly loaded into his War Machine armor.
“You are not alone in this battle,” T’Challa spoke up, purposefully looking to each remaining occupant in the lab. The Avengers, Shuri, and himself were all who resided once the soldiers departed. It built on the tension that already festered deep within. “For what your team cannot do on their own, you will have my Kings Guard at your side. As well as the Border Tribe securing the outskirts, and the Dora Milaje for aid. And —”
The doors parted with a quiet gust of air.
“And a semi-stable hundred-year-old man,” Bucky announced, no sooner than the doors split open. “Like it or not.”
Nearly every head swiveled to the entrance — sans Tony, though whether he was preoccupied with loading ammo or deliberately didn’t want to look remained up for debate.
Bucky didn’t wait for his acknowledgment. He was already making purposeful strides into the lab, the reflection of lucent silver that hung on his left side managing to look brighter than any of the technology in the room.
Okoye stood close behind him, the tight furrow in her brows still as tense as the moment she left. She stopped only once he did, Bucky pausing halfway to the group as he rolled his shoulders and flexed his metal arm.
Sam was the only one to give him the most noticeable once over. Steve fell even more quiet than he had been before — a feat, considering his contemplative behavior.
“You sure that thing can’t come off?” Sam frowned quizzically, walking until he was side-by-side with Bucky. He tilted his head, eyeing the metal arm with a twisted fascination. “They really be popping and locking it, just like that?”
Bucky didn’t look particularly interested in discussing the subject.
“There is only one way to disengage the connection,” Okoye answered. She held her chin high, and barely looked to Sam as she spoke. “The fail-safe implemented for removal can only be activated by the Dora Milaje herself.”
Sam arched an eyebrow at her. “So...you popping and locking it?”
“I wanted it gone,” Bucky all but sneered, his tone dangerously low as he further flexed the arm. It made an all-too-distinct mechanistic sound as he worked the limb to be one of his own. No different than the day Wakanda scientists had removed it for him — and promised to never put it back on.
As if reading his thoughts, T’Challa stepped forward. “We were afraid that an event such as this might occur. In which the soldiers strength would be needed once more.”
Bucky looked his way, but stayed wordless.
His expression said it all.
Not far behind where Sam stood, Natasha folded her arms across her chest. She eyed Bucky, the arm specifically, before turning to T’Challa.
“You kept it as a backup,” she stated matter-of-factly.
T’Challa opened his mouth to speak.
“Apparently,” Bucky beat him to it. He gave one last look to the arm before tugging harshly at the cobalt kevlar vest that hung heavy on his shoulders. “They got all the time to make some fancy on-off switch for the old junk, but can’t build me a new one.”
Shuri’s ears burned from across the lab.
“I have the designs,” she insisted, going so far as to pause her work when she spoke. “I just —”
“Save it.” Bucky didn’t intend the bite that bled into his words, and the sigh that followed showed as much. He clenched his jaw, glaring at the arm before side-eyeing Shuri. “And take it off when we’re done. Keep it this time, will you.”
It wasn’t a question. Shuri didn’t need clarification on that, either. Under the weight of Bucky’s glare, she decided it best to not respond — offering him what could only be described as her best apologetic face before quickly resuming her task.
Bucky was immersed with staring at his arm when T’Challa placed a gentle hand over top the metal, unintentionally covering the red star that had been the brunt of his concentration.
“Rest easy, White Wolf,” T’Challa exhorted, somehow soft and firm in one breath. He didn’t flinch away, not even when Bucky switched his glare towards him. The heat in his eyes was scalding, but T’Challa willingly took on the flames. “However long the night, the dawn will break.”
Bucky kept a sigh deep in his chest, the exhale that blew through his nose barely lifting the kevlar of his vest. Still, he managed to taper off, albeit a marginal amount.
The doors parted again, somehow managing to fall even more quiet than the last time. No rush of air, barely any noise as they divided.
It wasn’t until Tony shot his head up to take in his surroundings that her presence came with a sound.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Maximoff,” Tony may as well have mumbled the words.
Steve didn’t even hear him at first, only looking to Tony by chance, and then catching sight of the red hair standing restively in the doorway.
Wanda barely budged.
She didn’t respond.
It was worth delving into. Wanda hadn’t made herself known since their arrival to Wakanda, tucking away in corners of the Citadel where they couldn’t find her. The only reassurance came from Clint, who insisted she was fine where ever she may be.
Steve’s eyes drifted to the archer, where just like before, he warned them not to press the issue; wordlessly, with a look in his eyes speaking what his mouth wouldn’t.
Steve frowned, but followed suit.
The last thing they needed was to be creating more trouble ontop of the problems they already had. Wanda held onto too much; a can of worms they knew best not to mess with at the moment. Between her distress over Peter, the breakthrough of new powers that startled even herself, and now this —
Clint gave a slight shake of his head, and though it hurt him, Steve agreed. Their back-burner was filling up quick, but it was a necessity at this time. Narrowing down focus on Peter was the only chance the kid had at surviving.
“Alright,” Steve started, casting a look across the room. “Everyone’s here?”
The lab was large, but not big enough to lose everyone’s presence in the far apart corners of the room. Those who were tucked away quietly, like Clint, made their way towards the center where Steve stood. It was a silent gathering. No words needed to be exchanged.
Steve took a deep breath in, one that pulled his shoulders back tautly. He made sure to do an internal head-count, purposefully eyeing each team member, whether they looked back at him or not.
Tony was one of the few who didn’t. Though he’d long since finished loading his suit up with Wakandian tech, he was far too busy working through the data taken from his watch to divert his attention elsewhere.
Steve knew he was clinging to desperation at this point. Digging for any further clues the watch could’ve possibly given him. He didn’t outwardly show it, but the frayed seams were becoming more noticeable. Threads that were pulling apart, overtaxed with too much strain that even somebody like himself couldn't handle it all.
Distantly, Steve wondered how much longer they had before Tony fell apart completely.
It was moments like these that made him despise leadership more than anything. In the furthest cracks of his bone morrow, he wanted nothing more than their top priority to be about Peter. It wasn’t just a matter of saving one of their own — in so many ways it was.
But Peter was more than that.
He may not have taken on the full fledged Avenger title, but since day one, the kid fit in with the team in a way too natural to be produced. He wasn’t just a recruit. He wasn’t just a team member, or Queens Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.
He was family, to them all.
But when it came to Tony, it was more than that.
Steve could feel it clenching at his gut, pulling in ways that made him sick. Peter was something to Tony that could never be replicated. There was nothing else like their kinship, and deep within, Steve wasn’t sure there could ever be anything like it again.
The weapons at his side suddenly felt heavier than before.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks,” Steve began, his eyes briefly casting to the floor before he forced himself to regain composure. When he looked up, it was as if he’d become an entirely different person. Like Steve had taken a backseat to Captain America, and the silver star spread across his chest was the nexus to his transformation. “Regardless of what arsenal you already have, take what’s been provided to us into the field. There’s no need to use heavy ammo on Peter. We know what works, and what doesn’t work. Stick to it.”
The map that once signaled from Tony’s watch had since been moved to a nearby monitor, spread out where all could see. Steve grabbed a pen that laid on the desk it was attached to, an ink-less stylus of sorts that activated once he began making drawings on the screen.
He drew quick, misproportioned circles before scribbling numbers above each one.
“We split into groups of two, five teams each. That way, there will be enough of us to cover a large spread of terrain. West, north, south, east, and central.” The pen made a harsh tap with each letter and number he jotted down. “The jungle’s large, but this way, we stay close together.”
Briefly, Steve stepped back to examine his game plan. The monitor reflected vividly in his face, the luminescent shine of blue LEDs outlining the map further intensifying the blues of his eyes.
He drew in a deep breath before turning around, vaguely aware as he set the stylus back down where it came from.
“Stealth is top priority, the goal is to locate Peter before he knows we’re there — get him back without a fight. We barely got him back from Queens, we don't want to repeat our mistakes.” Steve found himself hesitating as his eyes flickered towards Tony. He didn’t let his gaze linger for long. “There’s no telling how far gone he may be this time. We proceed with caution. Is that clear?”
Steve could tell Tony had lifted his focus from the data reels, all but staring a hole straight through him — a burn that was hot and heated.
It took all Steve had to look elsewhere.
Most just nodded his way, like Rhodey and Clint, whereas others gave acknowledgment with a firm look in their eyes, like Natasha and Sam. Their understanding was unspoken and unquestionable.
Bucky was the only one to approach Steve — more so the monitor, as he didn’t even bother to look at the man standing next to him.
A beat passed.
“That’s a stupid strategy, Steve.”
Steve’s eyes widened while Sam’s abrupt laugh, covered quickly by a forced cough, managed to break the stifling silence.
“Oh, damn,” Sam muttered, turning away where his smile couldn’t be seen. “Metal man came right out and said it.”
Even Tony looked taken aback, his eyes darting between both former war soldiers with a slight amusement lifting a single brow high.
“Look at this map,” Bucky pointed out, not wasting any time as he used his calloused finger to point at the monitor. The dirt underneath his fingernails was highlighted by the brightness of the hologram. “Two people on each team isn’t enough defense. You just completely spread out your resources — one man goes down and the other’s shit outta luck.”
Steve furrowed his brows. “But the —”
“Not to mention, who the hell is your tenth person?” Bucky looked around, twice, before turning back to Steve. “I count nine.”
Steve’s head darted between the monitor and Bucky. “Shuri —”
“Uh-uh!” Shuri yelled from the furthest corner of the lab, stopping mid-stroke on her keyboard. “I am staying in here. Tech support only.”
Clearing his throat, Bruce meekly lifted his hand in the air. “Goes without saying that I’m with her.”
Sam huffed, tossing Bruce a quick glance. “Definitely goes without saying.”
“What’s there to be shy of, Bruce?” Clint sarcastically drawled, shifting on his feet and mindlessly adjusting his quiver. “Last time we checked, the green guy likes Spider-Man.”
Bruce failed to see the humor.
“Yeah, he likes Spider-Man,” Bruce emphasized, his hand flapping around the air without any direction. “I’d rather not find out his feelings on the – the – you know...symbiote.”
The reluctance Bruce felt was met with an overwhelming, implied concurrence from the surrounding team. Especially those who had been on the first flight in to Wakanda. Clint shuddered just remembering their adrenaline filled hiccup. To say it was a close encounter they didn’t want to repeat would’ve been an understatement.
“Hulk escalates. We need to de-escalate this situation,” Natasha laconically cut in. She exchanged glances with both Steve and Bruce, her gaze lingering on the latter. “A code green won’t defuse matters, it’ll only make it worse.”
Bruce gave a silent nod of agreeance, not that the sentiment needed noted.
Bucky turned his head towards Steve, with an eyebrow quirked upward. “Sounds like the count is at nine.”
Looking like he wanted to resist the urge to sigh, Steve took a step back, lowering his head to the floor where he could only see the steel cap toes of his boots.
“Okay,” he yielded with one firm nod of his head. “What did you have in mind, Buck?”
There was a silence that fell over the room, tense in its nature as Bucky took small steps closer to the monitor. Without much thought, he grabbed the stylus from the desk, tapping it against the bottom of his chin while the crease in his forehead deepened.
“It’s large terrain, but it doesn’t warrant complete coverage,” Bucky mused aloud. The pen tapped faster against his beard. “Not if the guards will be covering the perimeter. The south will be a no mans land, too far out to send anyone there. And there’s no reason to have a team camp on the north end when we’ll already be covering that ground leaving the Citadel.”
The weight of his contemplation was heavy. Steve couldn’t help but stare, watching Bucky think as if he could see the wheels turning inside his friends head. They were heavy, but reliable — cogs that moved instinctively and efficiently.
Finally, and without missing a beat, Bucky traced over Steve’s tactics with his own. Crossing out what he didn’t need and writing above what he did.
“Three teams of three. West, east, and central,” Bucky concluded. He took a step back, eyeing his plan before nodding his head. “By the time we depart, the guards will have cleared the outskirts. We start at the borders and draw inwards, leading us all to the central territory of the jungle.”
For a long moment, Steve looked to the monitor, absorbing every bit of detail he could. It wasn’t until he felt satisfied that he turned around to the others.
“Anyone opposed?”
If there were any doubts or disputes, no one dared to vocalize them.
“Makes sense to me.” Clint kicked his leg up behind him, resting the heel of his shoe onto the nearest console.
He took a look around the room, finding that those who weren’t nodding along were simply eager to get out — pulling anxiously at their armor for the fifteen time, or ensuring that their weapon compartments were properly loaded.
Or they were like Tony, simply staring out the large windows that lined the walls of the laboratory.
Natasha had joined his side, not that he noticed or acknowledged her presence. The reflection of the moon was nearly as bright, if not brighter, than the lights within the lab. It cast a sheen across both their faces, highlighting stress lines etched deep into their skin.
Steve cleared his throat, managing to stir only Natasha from her trance.
“Alright then,” he concluded, arms so tight at his sides they could’ve crushed his rib-cage. “Myself, Bucky, and Sam — Team A, take central. Tony, Clint, Wanda — designated Team B, go east. T’Challa, Nat, Rhodey — Team C, head west. Stick close, have each others back, and migrate towards the middle.”
His commands were heard, but very few actually looked at Steve while he spoke. Rather, their heads turned to the window walls nearby, drifting their attention where Tony’s had been the whole time.
The crinkles around Tony’s eyes had worsened, his focus intensifying with each passing second. His stance was nearly as tense as Steve’s, as if every fiber of his being fought to hold onto his composure.
“Comms on at all time,” Steve continued, pulling harshly at his brown combat gloves before pocketing both hands away. “No response and you’ll be considered out for the count. Stay guarded. We aren’t entirely sure what we’re up against.”
Steve lingered for a moment, as if there were more to say — despite knowing he’d said it all tenfold.
When words failed him, he turned to the windows, the last of the group to cast his gaze towards the wilderness outside. His back was stiff as a board as he stood in front of the glass, knowing the terrain ahead was too dark to make sight of. But finding himself captivated all the same.
The moon was bright. But the darkness was heavier, closing in on everything that laid ahead.
Steve almost didn’t hear himself when he spoke again.
“Ready?”
