• Home
• Synopsis
• Index
• Gallery
• Author

 

Tony clenched his teeth at the unexpected onslaught of cold. The slicing bitter chill suddenly shrouded his whole body, the air holding him in a frigid embrace. He was entirely unprepared for the drastic drop of temperature, having left the compound with his Iron Man armor absorbing most — if not all — of his body heat.

"Brrrrr!" Tony shook off the feel, looking around at the team as a cloud of vapor left Natasha's mouth, and Wanda hugged herself a little tighter than before — shivering like a child without a winter jacket.

He wasn’t the only one who felt the arctic hospitality of OsCorp’s bunker. But a quick cursory glance was all he needed to know that they weren’t protected with armor like he was. Tony wondered how long they’d last before the chill became a problem.

Thirteen hundred feet under the ocean and it was no ray of sunshine — literally, Tony noted. There were a few flickering wall fixtures down the hall; watts of electricity dim and poorly powered, and scarcely enough to light the way. Once Strange closed his portal, it was their only source of light. Even with those wall fixtures, barely containing enough wattage for a battery to power on, Tony found himself squinting to make out most of the building’s layout.

The place looked to be abandoned for quite some time.

Realistically, he knew that they’d have to hide their presence, keep it dark so they would have the element of surprise. But it didn’t help that the hallway was bare; the building long since deserted, giving no sign of life or clues to where they should go.

The elements had slowly taken it over — the whole place reeking of dank moss, stagnant condensation, and heavy rust.

"Which way —"

Tony didn't have long to finish his question. Once the crackling static of Strange’s portal died away, a whining buzz bounced off the metal walls. It was simultaneous with the slump of Tony’s shoulders, the added weight of his armor pulling heavily on his body.

He could barely see his hands through the darkness; the nanite technology of his suit had audibly shut down, his systems now offline.

Just as they expected.

Looking to the ground, Tony squinted. The thick swirls of fog obscured his dim, gray boots. It layered their feet like a second floor, thick and encompassing in its nature.

“I wonder how much of a supply they've got before they run out ,” Clint mused, his tone hushed. 

Tony scoffed, only to be interrupted with a deep cough. Musty and stale air invaded his lungs and throat like a plague, leaving a rancid taste on his tongue.

Instinctively, he went to put on his helmet, only to remember that there would be no functioning features to give him fresh oxygen. He gripped it tightly underneath his arm, suddenly feeling incredibly naked without his technology.

“It doesn’t matter. We stick to the plan,” Steve firmly stated. “This is the central point, right? We’ll regroup here.”

Tony frowned. For being the central point, there was no defining feature to go by. He stored away what information they had — a bare hallway, dusty ceilings and cheap light bulbs that threatened to give out at any second. Even when OsCorp had the place up and running, he imagined they hadn’t put a lot of their money into the place.

Shrugging off the thought, they were quick to split up into their assigned teams. It was a testament to the gravity of the situation that Clint stood so willingly by Tony’s side, normally adamant on staying post with Natasha. Tony watched as the two gave each other one concise, curt nod, and prepared to go about their own ways — separated from one another.

Tony was silently grateful for their unwavering dedication to the cause. He hoped he'd remember to at least try and express that gratitude when all was said and done.

For right now, he had much bigger things to focus on. His nose scrunched up, working hard to ignore the toxic odor of mildew and corrosion — both emitting a gas that distinctly reminded him of sewage waste.

He didn't like it. He didn't like any of this, not one bit.

Stephen spared a glance to the others. “Try and stay with your teams. If I should need to, it’ll be easier for me to find you if you stay together.”

Steve nodded.

Tony visibly rolled his eyes.

“Oh yes, we wouldn’t want to inconvenience the magical wizard," he drawled out, the sarcasm heavy on his tongue.

Tony raised his Iron Man helmet to his head, clasping the brackets tightly. Clint secured his pack of arrows, Natasha brought her gun out from her holster, all the while Steve adjusted the buckle to his helmet.

They were ready.

“Let’s move out,” Steve commanded.

Tony watched as Wanda lifted her hands, sparking a red energy from her fingertips not a second later. The glowing light illuminated their surroundings — easily, and without much effort. Leaving a crimson path for them to walk down.

She led both Steve and Natasha down one long hallway, the three eventually disappearing into the shadows.

Watching them leave — crossing into a direction of the unknown — it made Tony’s mouth run dry. His jaw clenched tightly and his teeth scraped across one another, a rising anxiety brewing hot inside of him.

The intermittent bursts of artificial yellow lights from the wall fixtures weren’t doing much to ease his nerves, either.

A quick glance over his shoulder and Tony realized they had their backs to a fork in the corridor. If his eternal compass was correct — which it always was — heading east would mean taking the left path. If all things turned out in their favor, it would loop into the south of the base and eventually bring them back here.

He hoped. He didn’t trust OsCorp enough to have much faith in their blueprints.

Tony looked at Strange with a sense of curiosity.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a Lite-Brite yourself, would you doc?” he asked.

All but expecting Stephen to retort with a frustrated quip, Tony was pleasantly surprised when his own hands lit up, an orange glow paving their path.

While looking less than pleased, Strange nodded his head in the direction of the corner behind them. He took off, the fog and darkness enshrouding him no different than the others before.

Tony hummed, smacking Clint on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“See? It never hurts to ask.”

He had hoped the hallow humor would distract him from the dread that began to claw its way up his chest.

It didn’t.

 

---

 

The blueprints never told Steve how uncomfortably similar the bunker was to the Hydra facility in Siberia. It was a harsh reminder with each step they took, every sound they made echoing off the walls.

There was a fierce lack of any distinguishing marks; nothing aside from gray, steel walls at every turn they took. The way pipes spilled leaking water onto the cement floods — splashing, sloshing — and he swallowed hard.

Siberia wasn’t a memory for him to revisit right now.

There was only one distinct difference from Siberia that he could make out. The facility was deceptively large. The ceilings hung low and the hallways were narrow, but they seemed as if they could go on for miles.

That wasn't a problem for Steve; he had the layout memorized. It was a tactical move — the need to know the exact square footage of every section, how long it would take to get to the next turn.

So even while Wanda provided them light, he made sure to stay in front of both women. Darkness in his way or not.

The desire to lead was strong, ingrained into his DNA the moment he'd been injected with the super-soldier serum. If anyone were to attack them head-on, he'd be on the front line of their defense.

KkkkrrrrrEEEAAAAKKK!

The walls groaned, aching under the pressure of the oceans depths.

Wanda jolted in place, taken off guard by the eerie noise. Steve didn't allow himself to be bothered by it. He refused to be distracted by any sounds that weren’t a threat, and he ignored the acrid odors that only intensified the further they proceeded in their search.

They needed to move quickly; his focus couldn't afford anything else aside from their designated perimeters.

It wasn’t long before they encountered a long, running line of windows. The glass encasing them fogged up, both with the nanite mist and the condensation of the building, freezing into ice towards the floors. Steve let himself briefly bask in a flash of confidence — it meant they had reached the north side of the base.

That was good, they were making progress.

The swarm of colorful fish swimming by the ceiling-to-floor-windows left Wanda in a trance. Her eyes followed them as they swam past her.

Steve noticed when she came to a halt; the wonder in her eyes both childish and dreadful, a combination he didn’t feel comfortable witnessing. The red glow from her hands lit up the presence of ocean life and reflected onto her face, shining a turquoise glow to her features.

For a moment, it was almost calming. The tranquil fish greeted them with no tribulation, completely absent of war. Steve couldn’t blame her for being awestruck. He wasn’t even sure if the girl had ever seen the ocean like this before.

He fought off a pained grimace. Like most things in her life, it was a tainted experience to carry.

“Why would these madmen want to use a building under the sea like this?” she asked, the sight piquing her curiosity.

“Secrecy," Natasha distantly answered. "Less regulation on what they do, I’m sure."

Steve audibly cleared his throat. Before he could tell them both to get a move on, Natasha gently tugged at Wanda’s scarlet coat. Luckily, she was patient in her understanding, resuming pace not a second later.

Trudging down the base, Steve realized he'd become accustomed to search and rescue missions taking place in much grander structures. The further they walked ahead, and the more he believed it worked to their benefit to keep half the team behind. The hallways were too small, cramped — and went on and on, no stairs offering them upper levels to explore.

The closest resemblance he could think of was the Lemurian Star, the SHIELD vessel that had been overtaken by Batroc. Yet even there, the halls were further apart. Here...Steve gave a glance around as they took a corner. It was a good thing none of them were claustrophobic.

While the chill stung harshly on his skin, it never once concerned him. Not when his mind needed to be focused elsewhere. Besides, the cold hadn’t been a problem for him since the serum, and especially not after the ice. Seventy years frozen took that away from him.

But he could tell it was already affecting his team. Through the corner of his eyes, he watched Wanda shiver harshly.

“It is very cold,” she suddenly spoke.

Natasha nodded. “Being thirteen-hundred-feet under the ocean will do that to you.”

“Hush.” Steve’s voice was stern, a direct command to them both. With it, his fist shot up directly in the air, military sign language for ‘freeze’. He knew they both would understand, and their prompt stillness renewed his confidence in their training.

He stayed on alert like he would any other mission. Every step he took, every step his team made, he consciously registered each sound. Having taken another corner, he noticed when something was different – something heavy was in the air. He could almost smell it between the thick layers of metallic steel and lingering salty atmosphere of the ocean.

“You hear something?” Natasha asked him.

It was quiet. Not even the walls made noise anymore, only his ears ringing from his own heartbeat.

“No,” Steve answered.

As the words left his lips, their surroundings went dark. They both spun fast on their heels; the red light leading their path hadn’t fizzled out — it completely vanished.

And with it, Wanda.

Steve furrowed his brows. “Wanda?”

“Where the hell did she go?” Natasha breathed out.

Steve had no way of answering the question. He was just as confused as she was. With a sigh that came heavy in his chest, he reached up to his helmet and turned on the small flashlight that attached to his temple. It barely let him see the ground below him, but it was something.

He counted his blessings that old fashion batteries still functioned around the nanite mist.

Natasha noticed it first. The light skimmed the ground and crossed the path of a square card, no different than what they'd find in a playing deck. The bold, red heart cut straight through the fog.

“Look...” She squatted low to the floor, reaching to pick up the playing card.

Steve shot his hand out. “Don’t touch it.”

Natasha looked up to him, her brows knitted tightly. “Why? There’s too much fog here obstructing any tech. What could it possibly —”

“I don’t know," Steve insisted, his words clipped. "And I don’t want to find out."

There was too much going on between Dmitri and Mysterio for him to mess around with the unknown. And Wanda was now on their list of missing team members along with Peter.

He wouldn’t risk losing someone else.

“Let’s move.”

Natasha gave one last look to the playing card before she stood up from the ground. Steve let his gaze sweep the room, briefly hoping with little faith that his team member would suddenly reappear.

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side.

“Wanda, if you can hear us...” Steve wasn’t sure what direction to speak to, but he spoke regardless. “We’ll be back for you. That’s a promise.”

Steve looked at Natasha; his jaw thrust forward, his expression telling her he was ready to move.

With a bubbling tension to the unknown, they returned their search down the hallway.

 

---

 

Tony really had no idea how Rasputin and Disappear-O the Magnificent could spend half a year in such an inhospitable environment.

They had been exploring the bunker for maybe thirty minutes, if he had to take a guess, and he was already past his point of having any patience left. That said a lot, considering he really didn’t have any patience to begin with.

The place was beyond disgusting, the smell of sea life absolutely sickening. Tony was sure he’d never eat fish again after this. He had spent three months in a cave in Afghanistan and even that was starting to seem like better conditions than this dump. Afghanistan was hot. The sand would burn his toes and the air was hard to breathe, but at least it was somewhat clean — as if in a twisted sense of irony the heat sterilized most things.

Nothing, nothing was clean down here. If he wasn’t so worried about finding Peter, he’d be concerned that just by being here he’d be infected with some ocean parasite.

The first series of doors they had come across sprung a naive hope in Tony. Maybe, just maybe, this mission would be quick — in and out, find Peter and end the nightmare before it could get any worse.

It wasn’t long after having that thought he realized life would never be so easy for him. The areas they searched were untouched and had been for quite some time, the negligence to the base showing from heaps of dust, spider webs and the overwhelming stench of mold. The further they went, the worst it got. Whatever life support features were still in function, they were scarce and weak at that.

Not even Stephen was immune to the malodorous aroma.

Most of the rooms they had come across so far were small, easily cleared out by one man. Stephen and Tony stood guard outside the doorway while Clint took a brief look inside, his bow held high, and his arm arched back ready to pull an arrow.

It had become a pattern. Go in, find nothing, come out.

So Tony wasn’t surprised when Clint exited, a purposeful stride returning him to his team.

“Negative." He walked past them both, ready to continue onward.

Pattern be damned, each room that didn’t have Peter sunk a heavy anchor in Tony's gut. It was wishful thinking to believe they’d be in and out of here.

“Fifteen down. Not bad,” Tony’s voice strained, echoing with a metallic vibration through his helmet. “I mean, how many rooms can this place actually have?”

“Three-hundred-and fifty-six,” Clint dryly answered, not stopping pace even as he spoke.

“Hold on,” Stephen stopped, his non-glowing hand holding Tony’s arm. “Are you telling me you never reviewed the blueprints of this base?”

Tony shrugged. “I skimmed them.”

“You skimmed them,” Stephen repeated with a huff of disbelief. He looked to Clint. “He skimmed them.”

“Sounds about right,” Clint muttered, still walking forward — glaring at both men when they refused to do the same.

“You are unbelievable, Stark.” Stephen quickly walked away from him, joining Clint's side not a second later.

Tony gritted his teeth as he kept on walking.

“I get that a lot." He settled for dry, mirthless humor as Clint twisted the knob of the next door. "Usually in the bedroom. But hey —”

Years of training kicked their instincts into gear.

It only took a second for all three to quickly draw their defenses — Tony instinctively held out his palm and Strange conjured a shield. Clint swiftly released an arrow, the sharp metal point piercing through a purple cape and straight into the wall.

Their reflection stared right back at them from the glass helmet of the unsuspecting victim.

“Shit!” Mysterio cursed, green gloved hand shooting high up and smoke already engulfing him.

Stephen charged forward.

“Oh no you don’t!” He stretched his arm out, all while he rapidly spun his two fingers in circles, creating a portal directly behind Mysterio.

Tony rushed after him. “Wait a minute! Strange, don’t! Hey, hey! Wait a damn second Strange!”

Tony stumbled into a stop before he smacked right into the wall, the meager rain of orange sparks and dying cracklings of magic the only remnant of the closed portal.

Stephen and Mysterio were nowhere to be seen.

Tony threw up his hands in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

That fucking son of a bitch Strange had gone on ahead and pushed himself and Mysterio to fuck knows where and abandoned them here.

Here. Here where he was needed, where he promised he’d help.

And everybody always wondered why Tony had trust issues. This, right here, was why he had fucking trust issues.

“So much for having our own magical component,” Clint quipped dryly, forcefully yanking the arrow from the wall and shoving it back into his quiver.

Tony leaned heavily against the opposite wall, scoffing. “That’s great, that’s really great.”

The whole situation had him on edge. Across the building, Steve not only had a highly trained assassin at his side but also a witch, of all people, with enhanced abilities.

What did he have?

An archer. He was stuck with an archer.

He might as well have taken off by himself days ago. Sure, Strange got them into the underwater bunker located in the Bermuda Triangle in the seas of the North Atlantic ocean —

Tony groaned. The reality of it all began to sink in. His forehead rested against the wall, and he desperately tried not to bang his head against the steel. 

Composure came at a struggle. With clenched fists, he pushed himself to the exit, banging into a table on the way.

"Damn it!" Tony hissed. It was dark — they couldn’t even see each other, let alone where they were walking.

Clint was the first to catch on, eyeing Tony curiously as he cleared his throat.

“So...” Clint drawled out, “in your words — it doesn’t hurt to ask. You hiding a flashlight of sorts between those Iron-magnets?”

Tony huffed an exasperated sigh. He reached up to his temple and with one click that bounced around the room, the eyes to his helmet glowed a bright white.

Clint hummed, mildly impressed. “You really do think of everything.”

Tony shuffled past him, letting his thoughts vocalize in forms of mumbled grunts. He had to think of everything.

Like always, the solution to the problem was on his shoulders.

 

---

 

Steve and Natasha carefully walked down the hallways, still on the north end of the building, surrounded by windows covered in fog and littered with dust. The glass showcased ocean life outside of the base, nerve-wracking with each glance they gave — a grounding reminder of Wanda’s disappearance and their position undersea, telling them they needed to move. And fast.

KkkkrrrrrEEEAAAAKKK!

Steve paused.

Natasha froze in her place next to him.

He looked around, ensuring the sound didn’t come from anything — or anyone — that could cause them trouble.

It wasn’t the first time they heard the noise. It was becoming a constant nuisance.

“That’s not at all worrisome,” Natasha dryly said.

Steve shook his head, walking forward. “SHIELD’s reports stated that the facility was unstable at the time of shut down. Seeing as that was a little over six months ago, I imagine the lack of maintenance isn’t exactly doing it any favors.”

“Let’s hope we can get out of here before any of these windows break under pressure.” Natasha kept her voice hushed. “I already see spider cracks.”

“You can swim, right, Nat?” Steve gave a small smile.

Natasha glared. “That’s not funny —”

The air in Steve’s lungs rushed out in a pained gasp as a hard kick to the back knocked him down to the ground.

A loud crash on his left accompanied a painful yelp, and he quickly looked to his side as Natasha crumbled next to him.

He turned on his back and hastily rolled away at the sight of the man plummeting down from the ceiling. The man’s feet landed in a heavy, solid thunk where Steve's stomach would have been. He narrowly dodged the attack by millimeters.

Natasha had already jumped up, releasing the safety to her gun with a click. Steve reached for his shield, swiftly whipping it around.

The man stood between them both, a white helmet encasing his head. Steve clenched the handle to his shield tightly, and Natasha aimed her gun directly at him.

He didn’t flinch.

There was an unpleasant sound that came from his mouth when he looked at Natasha. It stirred something inside Steve, something combative — protective.

“Natalia Romanova.” He slowly gestured his arm towards her. “Davno ne videlis'.”

Natasha didn't so much waver the aim of her weapon.

“Dmitri Smerdyakov. I wished it would have stayed that way.” She raised her gun higher. “Gde mal'chik?”

Her voice was low, heavy with a raging storm. Dmitri silently stared at her, the slits for eyes on the helmet giving way to his green pupils.

He didn’t respond. As slowly as he turned to her, he turned to Steve. The arm he held out for her redirected to the soldier.

“You bring friend,” he calmly stated.

Steve wasn’t sure if he had ever, in his entire life, growled before. Whatever rumbling snarl emitted from his throat, it was as close as he’d ever gotten to the sound.

“Dmitri,” Natasha fiercely repeated. “Gde mal'chik?”

Steve locked his eyes with Dmitri’s, the man refusing to turn away for a good minute. It was dark, and only his helmet provided any light, but he saw enough in the man to break. Everything about him — his posture, the vibe he gave off, it was all more than just foreboding.

It was borderline evil.

Steve hadn’t seen or felt such a thing since Johann Schmidt.

Dmitri finally turned away, letting out a low chuckle when he faced Natasha.

“Ty vsegda lyubish' detey,” he mocked. “I assume that would stop when they fixed you.”

Natasha shouted, a sharp cry piercing through the air. She lunged forward.

Steve watched the fight begin right before his eyes in a daze, like he was displaced from the moment. Things moved so fast; each attack happened so quickly, he couldn’t find a place to interrupt. They fought like they had done it a thousand times before, like performing a long deadly set of well-practiced choreographed moves; their feet danced around each other, each assault one lobbed out was blocked by the other.

His eyes darted between both of them, realizing that they fought so seamlessly because they fought so similarly.

Natasha went to jump around his neck, Dmitri had dodged and grabbed her leg. When he swung her in the air, she used the momentum to grab his head. She repeated the move, swinging her body around him, latching onto his torso. He gripped her hair, and she fell from her grasp. As she faltered, she kicked his kneecaps.

Each move, each attack — if one failed, the other followed through with something new, as if it was their plan all along. There was no hesitation. It was dangerous, two highly trained assassins attacking each other.

They’d likely kill each other before one walked away.

Steve took one deep breath and rushed in.

For a brief moment, he worked with Natasha on attacking Dmitri. She kicked him, he threw a punch. Dmitri would swing back, they’d dodge. She fired a bullet in the wrong direction so that he’d use his shield to reflect it the right way.

Yet somehow, in their breathless entanglement of assaults, Dmitri never faltered. He never let up, never stopped.

With one smooth move, Dmitri chopped his open palm onto the front of Natasha’s neck. Her cry was silent, vocal cords paralyzed with a strike to the throat. She lost the grip to her pistol, and he was quick to catch the Glock before it dropped to the floor. The trigger was between his fingers before either of the two realized it.

Dmitri grabbed Steve’s arm and yanked him around in a circle, straight into Natasha. Their skulls banged audibly together, the echoing noise like a bat hitting a baseball.

Natasha clung tightly to her head, a grunt of pain muted in her mouth.

Steve absorbed the trauma with determination, spinning back around to face Dmitri.

The man chuckled. He laughed — like it was a game to him, lighthearted and full of pleasure.

Steve squared his jaw. “Where are you keeping him?”

He didn’t need to specify who. The man falling silent confirmed that.

Dmitri remained still, tying his hands behind his back and keeping them there. He stood so nonchalantly, as if he didn’t care that his defenses were down.

As if he knew that they both realized he’d easily outmatch them.

His egregious cockiness fueled a fire Steve had been pushing away.

“Hey!” Steve shouted indignantly. “I said, where are you keeping him!?”

Natasha went to charge forward. Dmitri had the gun aimed at her head before she took another step.

She froze at Steve’s side, quickly looking his way in hopes that he had a plan.

“He will be dead by time you find him,” Dmitri sneered.

When Steve didn’t move, Natasha did. She surged ahead, sliding underneath Dmitri, avoiding the fired bullet and grabbing his legs.

“Ty monstr!” Natasha yelled, her voice reaching a whole new octave as she pulled him to the ground.

He grabbed her arms as she spun around, yanking her down with him. With a tight grip on her hair, he pulled her straight to his face.

The helmet covered his mouth, but his eyes bulged out from the slits, the frenzied madness boring an unforgettable image into her mind.

“Pryamo kak ty,” Dmitri hissed back.

When he kicked her off, she stumbled back at the force of the assault. Her head was low to the ground, watching where her feet moved when he flicked his hand forward.

Between his fingers, a playing card flew towards her.

Steve barely had time to react.

“Natasha, watch —!”

It was too late. Natasha immediately went to stop the attack, grabbing the playing card between her two fingers. 

Steve blinked, and she was gone.

He gaped and jumped forward, a mixture of surprise and horror causing his jaw to unhinge. There wasn’t any evidence that she had even stood with him, nothing left behind in the wake of her disappearance.

“Proshchay, chernaya vdova suka.”

The harsh, biting accent pulled him from his stupor. Steve stomped forward, grabbing Dmitri’s shirt and pulling him up from the ground.

“What’d you do?” his voice thundered in its shout. “What did you do!?”

Steve dodged a sudden attack to his head. The quick action left him defenseless to the harsh punch that his stomach took, the blow sending him doubled over as he stumbled back.

He hadn’t noticed when Dmitri aimed for his neck, a brutal hit with his hand taking him by surprise. His one arm dropped down to his side as his other reached for his throat.

It was enough of a distraction for Dmitri to snatch and steal his shield. By the time Steve noticed, the red and blue metal was smacking him straight across his forehead.

He didn’t remember blacking out, but he certainly remembered seeing stars.

Steve wasn’t sure if that was irony or simple physics.

Having fallen to the floor, Steve groggily lifted himself to his knees, his palms pressed heavily on the ground.

One simple look all around was all he needed to determine that Dmitri was gone. His shield laid abandoned across the hall.

“Nat?” Steve hoarsely called out. “Natasha? Do you read?”

KkkkrRRRREEEAAAAKKK!

There was no other sound.

Steve sighed, rising to his feet and rubbing the tender spot on his forehead. Though the Soviet Serum was barely half the strength of the super-soldier serum he received, Steve could still certainly feel its effects from the Russian man's attack.

His hits were hard enough to put Steve down, if only for a minute.

That was a problem.

He gave one quick look behind him, sure that Natasha was somehow there, trapped behind some...magic he couldn’t explain. Trapped like Wanda, both without their defenses.

While he was sure of it, he had no way to fix the problem. Not right now.

Strange could handle it. Eventually. That much he was sure of.

“I’ll be back for you, too, Nat.”

Now that they were exposed, he had to get to Peter —  and quickly. Dmitri hadn’t taken kindly to their presence.

Steve reattached his shield to his back. His legs nearly tripped over each other, an unintentional lapse in his rigid composure as he took down the hall.

Now alone, he had a bad feeling about what was to come.

 

---

 

They had made slow progress after Strange ditched them. Every room they searched was a bust, most just being dinky offices or small labs that would hold three, four men tops. It was dark, disconcertingly quiet, and dust notably filled the air in competition with the fog, thick and of the abundance.

Clint vocalized a theory that Tony wasn’t fond of — between the deserted rooms and the ominous flickering lights no longer in their path — their perimeters had gone untouched for months. Which meant Peter wouldn’t be found anywhere here.

Luckily, they finally caught a break. The next room they had entered was huge — at least compared to the ones they had come across so far. It was a laboratory of sorts, that much was obvious.

But this one held higher importance.

The light from Tony’s helmet landed across computers, incubators, tanks — equipment that they hadn’t seen anywhere else in the bunker.

“Jesus Christ," Clint murmured, pushing the door shut behind them. "It’s like a scientist’s playground."

Tony couldn’t disagree. They were getting closer to the interesting stuff, for sure. That was a good sign.

Plus, no one had emerged from the shadows to attack them yet — which meant they still held the element of surprise. The muscles in Tony's throat constricted at the very thought. Exactly how long would they be blessed with that small feat?

Tony hurriedly jogged down the metal stairs leading to a lower floor, the metal creaking with each hasty step he took. He spun around, rapidly taking in everything he saw. While the multitude of equipment had him nervous, he felt relief that most were covered by dirty white sheets or completely untouched altogether. It was just another area the freaks hadn’t utilized.

OsCorp had, obviously. That thought still made him grimace. But at least Dmitri and Klum hadn’t.

Making his way across the room, heavy chains from the ceiling caught his attention. He looked above; they swung slightly, back and forth on their own accord. Tony determined that at one point, more than likely, they held up the disturbingly large tanks surrounding them. All but the one that caught his attention — built into the wall, reaching from floor to ceiling.

The substance inside gave enough light to see at least five feet around the room. It glowed that brightly. It was disgustingly green; a luminous, sickening chemical he didn’t want to mess with.

Clint approached him, standing right at his side. “What do you think it is?”

The eerie green glow reflected against both their faces.

Tony stiffly shook his head. “I think it's not good.”

It was either a very good thing or very bad thing that OsCorp left it behind in their abandonment of the facility. Tony wasn’t sure which would make the most sense.

Nothing this company was doing made sense to him anymore. And Osborn himself? He was just a can of worms waiting to be opened.

Tony hadn’t even realized that Clint had left his side, hadn’t even registered the sound of footsteps across the room until a voice broke through his thoughts.

“Tony,” Clint called out. “You need to come look at this.”

It wasn't a suggestion. Tony took note of that immediately, turning away from the tank and briskly walking to where Clint kneeled on the ground. Before he had even gotten close, the LED’s to his helmet scanned over a large smear of shining liquid.

“What the hell is it?”

It was too dark to get a good look. For all Tony knew, it was split oil from some of the lab equipment nearby.

Clint looked up at him, his expression grave.

“Blood,” he answered. “Fresh. You can still smell the iron.”

Blood.

Tony lost sensation to his body. Blood.

His feet staggered back, the air halting in his lungs with painful force. The longer he stared at the liquid on the ground, the more he realized that it was a large puddle. Way larger than it should be and way larger than any bodily fluid should be, let alone blood. He suddenly couldn’t feel the rhythm of his own heart.

“Hey — hold it together." Clint immediately stood up, his fingers snapping together quickly. "We don’t know if it’s his or not.”

Tony resisted the urge to punch something. He’d save that for when he found the deranged assholes that took Parker.

Right now, Clint was right. He needed to keep calm, stay collected, stay grounded — he tunneled his focus on the new information with as much concentration as he could muster up.

“Where’d it come from?” Tony's voice was deceptively steady and short, calm even, but they both knew that Clint could detect the faint tremble hidden within it.

Clint shook his head, brushing against his shoulder as he walked away.

“I’m not concerned with where it came from.” Clint gestured ahead to the second exit opposite the one they came from. “I want to know where it goes.”

At his words, he pointed down to the floor. Tony looked below them, his range of lights showcasing a line of liquid that led in the other direction. It was a thick line, not drips or scattered drops but a thick, solid line — blood smeared in a path from a body that had been dragged away, and he forced himself to push the nauseating thought aside.

“There’s a trail," Tony murmured.

Clint didn’t miss a beat. He gave an excited, almost frantic and vigorous nod, quickly heading for the exit.

“Let’s follow it, see where it —”

The unexpected flash of light temporarily blinded Tony.

It burned his retinas and left behind a cloud of smoke that had him coughing from the sudden onslaught of fumes. He had to shield his eyes, the back of his palm pressed heavily against the metal of his helmet.

When he removed his hand, Clint was nowhere to be seen.

“Barton?” Tony called out. “Barton? What the hell — Clint!”

Tony stormed up to the exit, looking at all sides and even outside the room as if Clint was pulling some poorly timed prank.

"Clint!" No matter how many times he called for him, there was no response.

Tony swallowed down his frustration.

They were being targeted. Eliminated. The place was probably booby-trapped in anticipation of their arrival. It was a crazy guess — but it was also an educated one. 

Tony wanted to assume nothing could get any worse, but the universe had a way of proving him wrong.

“Work as a team, Fury said...what a joke,” Tony huffed, turning down the hallway — alone. “Can’t work as a team when everyone starts playing the vanishing act, can you, Fury?”

Something told him Nick Fury would have had an interesting response to that. He was beginning to miss those days.

 

---

 

The portal was a quick, on his feet, last-second action to detain Mysterio. Tumbling through was a much less elegant way than Stephen wanted to go with, but it got the job done. They rolled on the ground together, the magic entryway closing behind them.

The purple caped man was quick to fight off Stephen’s grip, desperate to reach his escape before it disappeared.

"Ah-ah!" Unfortunately for him, and very fortunately for Stephen, he was one second too late.

Stephen couldn’t help but watch with amusement as Mysterio skidded to a halt where the portal was. He dusted off his tunic, lifting to his knees and off the ground.

“Where are we?” Mysterio looked all around, his glass dome reflecting the wasteland that surrounded them.

Stephen took a deep breath in. It reeked of festering nature life, the dark looming clouds over them casting a dreary atmosphere. Even the sun hid behind the moon, light barely of existence on the derelict planet.

“Svartalfheim, one of the nine realms.” Stephen gestured around to the nothingness that surrounded them, only mountains far in the distance to be seen. “You see, Mysterio, you’ve made contact with a very powerful, very dangerous being. And I think you know full well who I'm talking about. You’ve recklessly sought help from someone who you should not have ever known existed. It’s my job to ensure you don’t cause any more trouble because of what you’ve done.”

Mysterio’s head cocked to the side.

“Oh, so you have magic too, huh?” He reached behind his cape, pulling with him a small deck of cards. “Well, I have a few tricks up my sleeve as well!”

The moment was meant to be dramatic. Stephen was sure of it. The cards whizzed through the air with precise speed, never reaching their target but instead the shield he had conjured to block their path. The flames burst around him, orange magic crackling each time a card exploded.

When Mysterio had run out of weapons to throw, Stephen lowered his defenses.

“That’s cute,” he mocked. “Do you do children’s parties?”

Though he hid his features behind the glass helmet, Stephen could practically see the very moment Mysterio realized he fell in over his head. His shoulders slumped, and he spun around, frantically looking for an escape.

It gave him a bit of satisfaction. Stephen's magic stemmed from within, not some pathetic party tricks bought at the local Halloween store. He spent his time studying the mystic arts in an effort to perfect his magic, and now it was paying off.

Klum was cocky; he had stepped into territory he wasn’t prepared to handle. Now, he stood panicked, no fake magic left to help him and without any weapons to his aid.

Stephen couldn’t help but smile.

This was going to be fun.

“Let me go,” Mysterio demanded.

Stephen shook his head. “Not until you agree to my terms, Klum.”

Klum scoffed. “And what terms would that be, Mr…?”

“Doctor. It’s Doctor Strange,” Stephen corrected. “And you agree that you’ll reside here, on this realm, and cease to cause any more problems with your fake magic.”

“Fake magic?” Mysterio huffed, clearly offended. “I will not be insulted by some low-life nobody who thinks —”

Halfway into Mysterio’s rant, Stephen was already in the middle of performing a spell. The purple-caped man never even noticed his hands twirling together, too busy ranting and raving to care.

Stephen played to the one element he knew would be Klum’s downfall — his ignorance.

His hands danced around each other until he pushed his arms forward, the magic sending an energy wave into the other man. Mysterio flew back, the wind so powerful that he had to dig his fingers into the ground to halt himself.

Eventually, it proved to be too much, and he tumbled away, only coming to a stop when the magic let up.

The force of the blow knocked off his helmet, the glass dome rolling to the side beside him.

Klum went to reach for the helmet. His arm pathetically dug into the dirt, crawling inch by inch to reach it. He stopped suddenly, a boot appearing in his sight and stepping on his glass.

Stephen, already having appeared, kicked the offending helmet away.

“Stop while you’re ahead, Klum. This isn’t a battle you will win.”

Klum grumbled, looking up with a snarl. “I wouldn’t count on that, doctor.”

“I would,” Stephen answered, squatting low to meet his face. “Because you would never believe the things I can do, the magic I can conjure, all of it beyond what your tiny, imbecilic mind could ever fathom.”

Stephen went to touch him, the mere act causing Klum to scatter away, panicked at what may happen. It was borderline cartoonish how his fear manifested. 

Stephen smirked and stood up, straightening his tunic with a satisfied sigh.

“And...because I have a cloak.”

Klum stumbled to his feet, wiping the dirt off his costume, desperate to regain control of the situation. He whipped his purple cape around, gripping the fabric for dear life.

“Yeah...well...so do I!”

“No, you have a cape,” Stephen corrected. “I have a cloak.”

And with that, the thick, red cloak came flying off Stephen’s shoulders. It darted over to Klum, stopping mere inches short of his face.

Klum watched with fear, eyes widening in shock. The cloak was alive. It moved on its own accord, beyond any technological magic he'd ever witnessed before.

The corner of cloak waved. If Klum had time to think, he would have rightfully assumed it was mocking him. Before he could blink, it had wrapped itself around his body, bundling him together. His legs immediately gave out beneath him, and he fell right back down to the ground, wrapped up like a cocoon.

Stephen wiped his hands clean and looked down to Klum with both his arms folded over his chest.

“I know you placed bait around the facility. How do I deactivate the traps?”

“I—I don’t know much about them!” Klum insisted, fighting the strength of the cloak. “They’re products of OsCorp, powered by a special combination of nanobots that work to bounce off the frequency of the mist. It’s the only tech that will work in there! That-that and life support! Most of them will shut down if they’re destroyed. It's some kind of gas that messes with your head — it's a hallucinogenic, that’s all I know, I swear!”

Stephen arched an eyebrow, watching him wiggle like a worm trying to escape from a bird’s claws. With a loud whistle through tight lips, calling his cloak like an owner calling its dog, the fabric unwrapped itself from Klum’s body.

Stephen was already walking away as it flew back to his shoulders, landing softly against his collarbones in reattachment.

“Have fun with the elves, Klum,” Stephen called out, not even bothering to face his direction. “You might want to use that cape as a jacket. It gets pretty cold here."

“Wait!” Mysterio called out.

Stephen didn’t turn around. He did, however, stop. He turned his head, just slightly, showing Klum he was listening. Even entertaining the idea of his plea.

Mysterio staggered to his feet, holding his helmet to his chest. “Teach me. Teach me your magic, please!”

The way he clutched his helmet so close to him, reminiscent of a child and their blanket, had taken the smile away from Stephen.

The man really had no clue what he had gotten himself into. Maybe had he just avoided using his skills for personal gain, things would have ended up different.

But Dormammu wasn’t a creature to be messed with. Stephen had seen firsthand what the entity could do.

His job was to protect reality. That was not an oath he planned to abandon any time soon.

“No,” Stephen bluntly answered.

He stepped through the portal, re-entering the underwater bunker and leaving Francis Klum for good.

 

---

 

Steve walked slowly down the hallways, staying cautious with every movement made. He had to rely on his own senses for protection — being stripped of his team took away his extra eyes and ears, leaving him more vulnerable to an attack. His shield stayed directly in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle until the metal dented into his palms through his blown gloves.

Every sound that the building made felt ten times louder than it actually was, each creak piercing his ears; the groans from the walls increasing his heartbeat to a raging drum. Sweat dripped in beads down his forehead despite the chill around him. He took the next corner suddenly, practically jumping in preparation of the unknown, defensively blocking off any incoming threat.

There was none.

Only being one man, Steve knew he couldn’t watch all of his surroundings. But he did the best he could. He looked up, down, to his sides — and turned around when he heard a noise come from behind. Tension tried to weather away his confidence; Dmitri was still out there. Steve wouldn’t allow the man to catch him off guard again.

At the same time, he checked every open door he came across. The tiny flashlight attached to the side of his helmet was just enough for him to determine if a space was occupied or not. Almost everything inside the building was empty and untouched. Room after room were filled with cobwebs and dust that tickled his nostrils, telling him no occupants had bothered to enter for a long time.

He kept searching. Everything could fail him, everyone could leave him, but he held onto his determination. No one could take that away.

Steve rounded the next corner, once again keeping his shield out in defense. The brief moment he stayed silent allowed him to survey his environment.

Straight ahead, water dripped from the ceiling. It hit the floor, the nondescript noise echoing — resounding.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His breathing followed the tune. Drip — breathe in. Drip — breathe out.

That’s when he heard it. Right in earshot, between the water, between his breaths, the fragile sound bounced off the walls.

It was a faint, muffled, weak in pitch, but it was there. Unmistakably human.

Steve looked around, guarding himself with each step he took forward. Up, down, left and right, glance behind. He needed to clear his surroundings before he risked looking anywhere else.

Finally, he turned to the room, standing at the entryway, trying to find the source.

As if on cue, the sound once again broke through the stillness. It led his eyes to the furthest wall, squinting at the dimness beneath his flashlight. When the picture finally registered, when he finally understood what he was seeing, his arms fell weak to his side.

Steve's shield hit his hip, no longer upright in defense. Horror stripped him of his strength and fight.

“Oh god.”

 

---

 

Halfway into following the trail of blood and Tony began to feel dizzy. The thick path of liquid was smeared against the floor, as if someone had dragged a dying animal to their grave. Clint was right, it was fresh and still glistened wet underneath his helmets LED’s. His pulse hammered, barely able to keep himself tethered to reality, terrified at what he would find at the end of the crimson bloodbath.

Tony was terrified.

It was a thought he had to push away, a realization of emotion he refused to linger on because Tony Stark didn’t get scared, let alone terrified.

And yet blood washed across the floor in quantities that didn’t seem humanly possible. He let a white noise scream across his consciousness because the alternative was logic, and he wasn’t ready for those answers yet.

He moved fast, his limbs only obedient from the surge of adrenaline that sparked fire inside him. The urgency was heavy; there wasn’t any margin for error, not when the blood was endless and teased at the very real concept of —

No. Tony refused to entertain the thought. He cantered on, the trail finally leading him to a door that he swung open with force. It was another hallway — it was always another damn hallway in this godforsaken place.

He let out a strained sigh when he saw flickering lights attached to the wall. At least some luck seemed to finally weigh on his side. There were signs that life had passed by here, which told him he was getting warmer in his search.

He had to admit, he missed FRIDAY already. She would have easily told him where to look and save him precious time. It was hard not having an AI point out every detail to you.

Between the fog, dust, and dim lights, Tony almost didn’t notice the open door on his right. He had initially jogged past it, focused straight ahead on the nauseating stream of scarlet.

The faint shimmering glint that reflected in the corner of his eyes ultimately caught his attention. He back-tracked his steps, first looking inside the room before immediately walking to the source, his heavy boots echoing in the vacant space.

"What in the living hell..." his breath lodged in his throat. "Chitauri heads?"

Before Tony had even finished the thought, he was picking up one of the skulls. His eyes narrowed in confusion and disbelief.

It felt as heavy in his hands as it did the day in Brooklyn.

Turning it around, he noticed the dismembered alien head had large gaps on each side. Looking back down on the table he'd retrieved it from, he saw many mechanical wings scattered about.

“What the hell,” Tony cursed out loud, dropping the offensive thing back on the table. The heavy metal landed with a thud, a cloud of dust rising up to his face from the impact.

There were many of them, more than he wanted to count. Most were disassembled from how he originally saw them, the metal wings laying discarded and unused.

Which meant the ones they fought a few days ago…

‘Un-fucking-believeable...they were behind it all,' Tony realized. 'The lured us straight into their trap, and we fell right for it.’

Peter’s encounter in Times Square, the stolen chameleon helmet, the attack on the Brooklyn bridge with the reassembled Chitauri heads — that was them. All of it.

They had this plan in the works long before Spider-Man went into that warehouse.

That damn Russian had been scheming this for months, and what really had Tony’s blood boiling — Dmitri had been doing from inside his business, from inside Stark Industries and the Avengers compound.

Right under his nose.

For all he knew, that was how they got the alien tech. Assuming OsCorp hadn’t already been sitting on it. He could barely keep his hands from shaking, quivering, barely containing the mounting rage as he looked around for any more evidence. His helmet illuminated a large stack of documents, some having fallen on the floor, most cluttered about.

Tony reached for the top stack, straining to read the papers through the flickering lights.

 

 

If the document wasn’t enough proof for him, the pictures behind the pages did the trick. Tony pulled apart the paperclip that attached the numerous, glossy photos to the file folder. 

He shook his head. While OsCorp had taken responsibility for Awesome Android’s attack on the Collar City Bridge, they never had the gumption to say how'd he'd been created. In fact, they all but shrugged the incident away with a wad of cash to the city.

Looking through the rest of the project file, Tony determined they must have taken the creature with them when the government shut down the bunker's operations.

‘Which means OsCorp let the damn rock-monster loose, not Dmitri and Klum.’ Tony tossed the papers aside and hastily skimmed through the next stack with curiosity. ‘What kind of shady shit is Norman Osborn up to.’

Despite his hesitation, Tony flipped through each paper, skimming the crucial words to catch the gist of the reports. Things like clone technology stood out to him, the details horrifying in how they achieved their results.

However, weaponry like flying gliders that contained heat-seeking smart missiles, grenade’s under the code-name Pumpkin Bomb — they, unfortunately, didn’t catch his interest too much. Stark Industries had built their name off of much worse things.

Tony settled on the last bundle of reports.

 

Tony didn’t like what he was seeing, unable to deny the bout of nerves that came fluttering up at the concept of a metal similar to Vibranium. He huffed, tossing the document aside for another one.

‘Adamantium...so, the word adamant. How original.’ There was no way OsCorp was creating a competitor to Vibranium and planning on using it for the good of mankind.

Pushing a couple of Chitauri heads aside, he obtained the last stack of files, brushing off the dust with his metal-gloved hand to better read the information.

 

“What the fuck.”

Tony had seen enough. He dropped the documents like they'd caught on fire.

He knew for years now that OsCorp was into some shady shit, they had always been on his radar of competitors to keep an eye on. But this? Aggressive AI’s, generic Vibranium,  inhumane experiments?

It was light years far beyond his expectation —that comprehension didn’t even exist.

If the building wasn’t making Tony's skin crawl before, it certainly was now. But he’d take the information and deal with it later.

Right now, he needed to get Peter, his team and himself the hell out of here. Before anything worse happened.

Spinning on his heels, he turned to the door and —

“Christ!” Tony exclaimed, holding a hand to his chest.

In the shadows was Steve, standing still, his sudden and unspoken presence visibly startling him. It took a solid five seconds to regain his composure.

“Rogers. Thank god,” he ended up breathing a sigh of relief. “Listen, Strange ditched us, and I lost Barton to whatever tricks Houdini has up his sleeve.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Tony noticed Steve was standing alone. Neither women he'd been paired with stood next to him or behind him.

“Where’s Natasha and Maximoff?” Tony's tone softened with fluttering hope. “Did they find Peter?”

Tony was half expecting to hear that they got caught in the traps Mysterio had laid around the base. Something in his gut told him otherwise, his intuition screaming that something was off.

Steve wasn’t moving, not even a flinch. The flickering bulb from the hallway flashed rapidly, blinking like a strobe-like before finally giving out.

“You’ve risked a lot of lives here today, Tony,” Steve said, his voice sounding foreign, too low in tone with a resounding animosity dripping from his tongue.

Tony gaped.

“What?” he barked. “What nonsense are you spewing now, Rogers? Where’re the others? Who’s looking for Peter?”

He rattled off demands before they registered, desperate for answers. Desperate for control.

“They’re gone,” Steve bluntly answered, pointing behind him. “We need to leave before we’re next.”

Tony blinked, struggling to understand what he was hearing. First Strange, then Barton, now this? For a moment, he was at a complete loss for words.

When he finally found his voice, it was strong.

“What the hell are you —?”

Steve’s thumb pointed over his own shoulder, provoking Tony to notice the thick red gloves attached to his hands. The crimson color reflected off his helmet’s LED’s, the gloves riding all the way up to Steve’s forearms.

The frustration washed away like a tidal wave had consumed him, quickly replaced with growing alarm.

Tony froze. His eyes squinted as he cataloged the information, his mind breaking at the seams with too many thoughts.

There wasn’t a need for physical confirmation. With one startling realization, he came to a frightening conclusion.

Up until that moment, Tony was never aware of how many idiosyncrasies Steve had that he had come to memorize. Things like the way he stood, tall and with purpose, his back straight in a way only military experience provided.

This wasn’t a man standing with the posture of a soldier. His back was arched straight with tension, with corruption.

But what really stood out — no matter what, even if Captain America was limping with his own injury, on deaths doors himself, he questioned the status of his team members first. His team always came first.

Steve never called it quits, never abandoned a mission. He never abandoned his team.

This wasn’t Steve.

“Yeah. You’re right,” Tony finally choked out. “Let’s make our way to the central point.”

As if confirming his suspicions, when Tony went to leave the room, Steve hadn’t budged from the doorway. He stood rooted in his spot, hovering over him with a vibe that felt altogether not right.

Tony resisted the urge to attack, his fingers twitching as he kept himself from forming a fist. Hot, white rage flowed through his veins, eating away at him, making it hard to see straight ahead.

With a hard swallow, he gestured to the open hallway.

“After you,” Tony insisted.

Almost robotically, Steve stepped to the side. Tony wouldn’t turn his back to him, he absolutely refused. His arm stayed gestured out, insisting that the man take the lead. He could have sworn he heard a scoff when they finally started walking; it was hard to say, the blood rushing in both ears made his hearing muffled.

Tony stayed directly behind him, his fingers digging into his palms, scratching the metal of his armor. They walked down the hallways in the opposite way Tony had come from, opposite of the trail he was following.

Which meant at their pace and direction, they’d be rounding the back of the building.

‘He’ll either lead you to Peter or kill you first. Which do you think it is, Stark?’

With every step, each footstep they made, his breathing came in harder, his lips tightly pursed. Tony had enough experience with crazy maniacs to know this wouldn’t work for his benefit. Dmitri wanted him dead. Peter was a ploy, bait — innocent, goddamn bait.

Tony had reached his tipping point long before they had even entered the base. A devouring inferno of thoughts began to splinter him apart.

He took Peter. He had Peter. He probably hurt Peter – innocent, wanted-nothing-more-than-to-please-everyone Peter. This son of a bitch had broken into his company, tried to steal his money, took his kid — 

His control broke, snapping like a weak twig. Self-restraint gone with the wind, willpower lost in the heat of the moment, Tony charged forward.

The man whipped around as Tony yanked at his arm. “Ah-ck! What the hell are you —!”

Tony grabbed him, slamming him violently into the nearest wall.

“Tony, what —!”

Tony grabbed the side of the impostor’s face and smashed his head against the wall — once, twice, and then a third time. The light from his helmet barely illuminated the blood that trickled down from the bastard’s forehead. When he finished, Tony had the man’s hair clenched between his fingers, ensuring he wouldn’t move.

“Cap hasn’t worn those gloves since the battle of New York in 2012.” Tony pressed his face harder against the wall, the man’s cheek smothered against the damp metal. “Where the hell is my kid, Dmitri!?”

Tony couldn’t remember a time he spoke with such venom. His rage was a wicked tornado, building inside him, ready to cause destruction in its path. The blond hair stayed gripped in his hand, and he found himself squeezing harder when the sick fuck began to laugh — a light, airy chuckle falling between them.

Tony whipped Dmitri’s head back and —

WHAM!

The crushing impact of skull to steel reverberated around them. The attack only made Dmitri’s laugh louder, the chuckle now a full-blown cackle. It was sinister, every bit wrong coming from Steve Rogers mouth.

Tony saw red, nothing but fury, rage igniting every fiber of his being. He went for another attack, ready to pull the man’s head back when —

“Who, me?”

The blond hair now brown curls, the blue eyes now brown, the face now —

Tony let go. It was pure instinct, dropping the grip like his hands had been burned. The fresh-faced boy looked so innocent, the Bambi eyes staring back at him for the first time in days.

‘It’s not him,’ Tony had to remind himself.

But it was. Peter stared back at him; sympathetic, apologetic, desperate.

Tony lost his breath, air never returning to his lungs. He knew what he was looking at. A fake. It was a fake, he was being played. He knew that, he was well aware of it. He wanted to rub his eyes clear of the image until his skin bled, until his eyelids were sore from friction, but he was robbed of the ability to move. 

‘It’s not him.’ Tony chanted in his head, a furious mantra on repeat. ‘It’s not him, Stark — it’s not him!’

Tony growled, his jaw clenched tight. “What did you do with him? Where is he?”

That wasn’t his Peter. The once startling and disturbing sight quickly became nauseating. Disgust curdled in his stomach, sick from seeing Peter’s identity sitting on the body of a man who had done God knows what with him, kept him somewhere far away from his family, hurt him or worse — 

“Where is he!?” Tony shouted.

Dmitri stumbled back, putting space between the two of them. He clutched at his chest, pulling faintly at his red and blue spider-suit, his hand specifically placed over his heart.

“You’re too late, Mr. Stark. I died, screaming your name. Begging for your help,” he cried with Peter’s voice, wet with unshed tears. “But you never came. This wouldn’t have happened had you just listened to me in the first place. Why didn’t you just listen?”

Tony roared. He charged forward, arm cocked back and first outward to punch, ready to assault. With wild abandon, he released it, and it arced forward, headed straight for his target.

As quickly as he had attacked, he was blocked.

In shock, Tony stared at the hand that grabbed his fist, only to be caught off guard with a kick to his stomach.

The hit came a lot quicker than he’d expected. Tony doubled over and stumbled back from the force. Though he gripped his stomach, no pain penetrated through the bonded nanites attached to him.

With an animalistic snarl that came through gritted teeth, he looked up.

Dmitri stood in front of him, no longer hiding behind the face of anyone, only his own mask. His eyes could be seen through the white helmet encased over his head. Those tiny slits revealing his eyes — deranged and psychotic green beads — were enough to send Tony over the edge.

He lunged, tackling the man to the ground.

Days of pent-up, seething anger released itself in each blow, his metal covered knuckles smacking against the white helmet — his helmet, his creation — each smack echoed with resounding effect. Tony let loose a string of assaults, punch after punch after punch —

And Dmitri laughed. He howled with laughter.

“What’d you do with him!?” Tony hollered between each hit. “Where’s my kid!?”

Tony hadn’t noticed when the change occurred. He couldn’t see straight. He barely saw each impact his hand made, each contact his knuckles made, sight blurry with anger, the fight making him lightheaded. The laughter changed. It became something — someone — different.

It hit a sore spot, yielding emotions he had pushed deep down inside of him many years ago.

Howard Stark.

Tony’s next punch stayed high in the air, his fist shaking with adrenaline-fueled tremors at the sight.

“You’re pathetic, Tony,” Howard sneered. “A failure. You always have been.”

It was enough to catch him off guard. Howard kicked him back with enough strength to have Tony toppling over, and just like that, he had lost the upper hand. He had Tony straddled to the ground, his own attacks now coming in hard.

Any other day, Tony would have used his suit to save him. Fly away, repulsor beam him off, electrocute him. Hell, he would even blare AC/DC at a noise volume loud enough to damage the man’s ears.

Taking each punch as they came, he was left weaponless without his technology. The hardened nanites protected his skin, a small feature he’d have to use to his advantage. It was all he had going for him.

The punches hammered a strong force against his head. Each impact damaged Tony's helmet, caving the metal in.

With each hit, Tony expected the next, anticipated them, and in the moments after they landed, he let his body relax. A blow smashed into his temple, rattling Tony’s head within his breaking helmet. He tried to escape, to wiggle out from under the man, his legs writhing desperately to get a grip on the floor.

Howard leaned back, panting breathlessly. “You resent your father for how he raised you, yet you couldn’t even protect a young boy from dangers you put him in. His death is on you, Stark.”

Tony took the moment and ran with it. With a grunt, he kneed the man between his legs, a painful cry showcasing his achievement.

Tony gave one hefty smack across the side of his head and Dmitri toppled over, his appearance flickering on and off. He phased between multiple different people as the light-show filled the otherwise empty hallway.

Tony jumped up and dashed forward. He launched himself on top of Dmitri, planting him face-first onto the floor. His body-weight pinned him to the ground, his knees digging into his back to keep him still.

“You may be good at fighting, but you’re a damn horrible liar.” Tony smacked his head against the ground, holding it there. “Now I really don’t like asking things twice. Where. Is. He!?”

The helmet was shutting down. Tony could tell it had already been exposed to too much damage, the flickering lights bouncing off the billion nanites that ceased to function.

Dmitri’s eyes slid up to look at him.

“I’ll tell you when you’re dead,” he sneered.

WHAM!

A stern blow to his head, one after the other. Tony didn’t let up, using strength only emotion could fuel, chips of his metal suit flying from his knuckles. He beat the man relentlessly, beat him even as he damaged his own suit — his own form of protection — he didn’t let up.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!WHAM!

“Dead so you can take my money, right!?” Tony threw his arm back, punching again. “You did all this so you could take my money, you took that kid for my money — you fucking psychopath!”

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. A blaze of rage shredded his restraint, a ballistic force unleashed and out of his control. It seemed like an hour, it seemed like a lifetime that he kept hitting and hitting and hitting and —

His knuckles were bleeding. The nanites spread around him like glitter, broken pieces of magnets shredded and discarded. Only when he physically lost his strength, his body tapping him out, did Tony stop.

He panted and heaved. He spit the saliva that ran out of his mouth and closed his eyes in hopes his nausea would quell. He didn’t move — he stayed on top of Dmitri, his body weight still pinning him to the floor.

The man didn’t struggle underneath him, though. He couldn’t. The once pristine, white helmet had been shattered in Tony's fit of rage. Sparks of nanite powered electricity burned into his fractured, damaged face.

With the portion of his head exposed, Dmitri looked up at Tony.

“Ty umresh' zdes' s mal'chikom.”

Tony punched him one more time. For good measure.

Dmitri ceased to move after that, eyes closed and body still.

“Take your Russian and shove it where the sun don’t shine,” Tony muttered, rolling off the man’s body and climbing to his feet.

Tony panted, attempting to suck in breath after breath, air refusing to fill his lungs. His nerves were shaking, his muscles literately trembling, coming down from the high of the fight almost as painful as the split skin on his exposed knuckles.

He spared a glance at Dmitri, unconscious on the floor. The nanites now embedded within his skin still sparked, tricking blood down the chunks of white helmet that still remained. He wished the sight gave him satisfaction, he craved the vindication from his win.

But he hadn’t won yet.

He wouldn’t win until he found Peter.

And even then...

Tony briefly considered what to do with him before ultimately determining he was better left for dead. Looking ahead, he scrambled off the floor, stumbling and gripping the walls for composure when his feet faltered.

He still needed to find Peter.

With or without the team, he’d find Peter.

‘I’m coming, kid.’ Tony moved faster than he ever had before. ‘I’m coming for you, Peter.’