Grace Under Pressure
Tony had gotten halfway across the base when the damage to his Iron Man helmet finally pushed him over the edge. He ripped it off with a frustrated growl.
“Goddamn piece of junk.” His fingers dug deep into the device, tearing apart the lining and tossing it aside. He didn’t care about being gentle; the jagged, metal edges cut deep into his exposed knuckles. He was already wasting time, the distraction of the broken helmet doing him no favors.
Within the eye-sockets, he grabbed the wires that contained two tiny LED lights and yanked them out. At least now he could be free of the dented helmet. The metal had been so caved in from his fight that it was putting pressure on his skull.
Tony smacked his palm against his chest, embedding the lights to his armor. The moment they attached, he resumed his search. There wasn’t any time to spare.
It didn’t take him long to find the trail of blood he'd initially been following. He couldn’t tell which way he headed in the base — left, right, south, north — all he knew was that he planned to follow the crude pathway until it gave him answers. His energy was fed by anger so intense, so hot that it starved away his undeniable anxiety.
When the smeared blood took a curve into an open room, Tony half expected to be led down another hallway. He instead came to a startling halt at the entrance. To his surprise, the room was a dead end. It was just that — a room.
What caught his attention was the reflection of Captain America’s shield, the red and blue standing out from the dreary darkness around them. It was directed right at him, attached to Steve’s back; telling him that the man was facing forward. Tony squinted, realizing that Steve’s attention was clearly focused on something — or someone — important.
He stood frozen in the doorway, listening intently to the sounds from within. The voice was so quiet he almost didn’t catch it.
Almost.
“Stay with me, soldier,” Steve spoke softly, his tone more delicate than Tony had ever heard it before. “Easy now — I got you, son.”
Tony furrowed his brows. It was the only part of him that he could feel move, his nerves paralyzing the rest of his muscles.
But he knew couldn’t have stood there long; Steve’s instincts kicked in quickly, his head turning over his shoulder when a new presence was felt.
He never said anything. It was probably for the best, Tony wasn’t sure if he would have heard him to begin with. Not over the pounding of his heartbeat, the blood rushing through his ears. Steve moved, just ever so slightly that both their flashlights gave sight to —
“Peter.” Tony’s breath lodged in his chest.
The kid was slumped forward, only held upright by the metal straps around his arms — Tony balked, they had him bolted against the wall. He was too far away to see if Peter’s eyes were open or not. It was too dark to see if he was even breathing — that was an intrusive thought his stomach couldn't handle.
But he was there. No mind tricks, no sick psycho taking on his identity, it was him. Peter.
His kid.
Tony was already across the room before he realized he was moving. Vaguely, he heard Steve say something, the intensity in his tone telling him he should listen.
He couldn’t. His focus didn’t steer away, his eyes locked ahead; soaking in the sight like he hadn’t seen Peter in two years, not the two days it had been.
His knees hit the floor with a resounding smack.
“Hey, hey…” Tony breathed out. A sense of endearment he didn’t know was possible laced his tone. He suddenly understood why Cap had sounded the way that he did.
With what he saw in front of him, it almost felt natural to speak in such a way. He didn’t fight it, he didn’t push it away, and he’d deal with that startling thought a later time.
The kid looked so...fragile. It was impossible not to speak with such delicacy, as if their voices could shatter him. His young age only intensified the sight of his broken frame.
Peter didn’t flinch, not at his words or Steve’s.
Unsure if he should touch him, Tony’s hands hovered in the air, uselessly, over his body.
“I got you. I gotcha,” he chuckled, the laugh almost sounding hysterical. “We got you.”
“Tony…”
Between his flashlight and Steve’s — who needed to stop calling his name and wait a damn second — Peter’s appearance was more discernible. The first thing Tony noticed was his hair. The kid always kept it so well-groomed, a harsh contrast to the mess of dirt it currently was, plastered to his face and dripping with sweat.
Tony instinctively reached for his forehead, pushing back the sweat-drenched curls with the palm of his hand. He recoiled at contact. Even beneath the broken nanites of his gloves, he could feel the skin was clammy, yet freezing like ice.
That’s when Peter leaned into his touch. His eyes fluttered open at a pace that didn’t seem right, the lids barely lifting past half-mast, sluggish and slow.
“...mr’...’ark…?” he slurred.
Tony swallowed hard, the lump in his throat increasing in size.
He thought he’d never hear that voice again.
He was so damn grateful to hear that voice again.
“In the flesh, kiddo.” With his other hand, Tony laid a gentle palm across the back of his neck, practically holding the kid’s head upright.
“...you...‘ou came?” Peter’s lids opened a little wider, the whites of his eyes bloodshot red and glistening with tears.
“You bet your ass I came.” Tony gave him a forced smile. “As soon as I could, buddy.”
His voice wavered with a flood of relief. He cupped the base of Peter’s neck a little harder, telling himself that this was real, that they found him — that it would be alright.
They did it. They got him, it was going to be okay.
And with a harsh, wet cry that got caught in his throat, Peter broke that flood of relief. His eyes clenched shut tightly. His chest hitched with each breath he pulled in, which seemed to be more and more by the second, almost a frenetic wheezing.
Tony panicked, moving closer, gripping the back of his head with overwhelming concern.
Steve didn’t let up. “Tony —”
“—‘m sorry...” Peter rasped, fighting a losing battle for air. “I...’m s’rry, I...”
“Hey, hey, no, no,” Tony interjected, smoothing back his hair. “Stop that. Stop that, now.”
He didn’t need Peter apologizing. If anyone needed to be begging for forgiveness, it was him. He was the one who got the damn kid taken in the first place. It was his fault.
He didn’t even want to know what those monsters had done to him in the past couple days. He needed to be here sooner — he should have come sooner.
Tony bit his tongue — why didn’t he just come sooner?
Peter’s head was shaking in his grip. His whole body began trembling, a fresh layer of sweat sticking to his face that Tony noticed looked way too ashen. Not even pale; the kid was taking on a ghastly gray tint, resembling a wax candle.
Something wasn’t right.
“I...I tr’ed….tr’ed to...”
Tony shook his head. “You did good, kid. You hung in there, don’t you apologize, you did good.”
“I...tr’ed—”
“Tony!” Steve shouted.
It startled them both.
Tony snapped his neck over at record-breaking speed. If it weren’t for the unnatural expression of anxiety that Steve completely failed at hiding, Tony would have yelled back — and he wouldn’t have been pleasant about it.
But the falter in Steve’s resilient composure had him at a loss for words.
“Look down.” Steve’s voice was quieter the second time around, almost a hushed whisper.
When Tony looked to the floor, he understood why.
No.
‘No.
No no no not him, not from him, it couldn’t be from…oh, shit, no.’
The metal covering his body had prevented him from feeling the wetness. Tony sat back on his thighs, the lights attached to his chest showing him clear as day what he had missed.
His knees were dipped in it, swimming in it. He was surrounded by blood. He was kneeling in blood, dark scarlet liquid.
All pooling from Peter.
Tony looked back up at Steve in horror.
“He’s lost too much blood,” Steve stoically explained. “He’s in shock.”
A quick glance at Peter and Tony realized that Steve was dreadfully correct. There was too much blood on the ground, too much for any normal person to still be alive.
‘Peter isn’t normal’ Tony had to remind himself. ‘A normal person would be dead by now.’
For someone still alive though, his skin had lost all color, and his breathing was incredibly shallow and far too fast. Way too fast. His eyes, normally bubbly and full of life, were glassy and rolled around lifelessly, landing on nothing in particular.
Peter was deep in the stages of shock. Tony didn’t need a PhD to know that.
For once, Tony felt sincere appreciation at the soldier’s ability to remain neutral. Because he wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t equipped to handle these types of situations.
Suddenly, the smell of blood was overwhelming, hitting his nostrils with fierce force. And the tremors from Peter’s body seemed too strong, too violent for his small frame.
Tony didn’t know what else to say besides, “Oh shit.”
His hand stayed firm on the cup of Peter’s neck, if not increasing in grip, while his other palm fell from the damp and cold forehead.
Peter’s breathing had turned into struggled wheezing. “I’m...‘m sorry...I –”
“Shut up,” Tony snapped.
The words came out much harsher than he had intended, but he wasn’t in control of his emotions anymore. Panic drove the wheel behind his actions, and a shooting pain suddenly ran up his left arm at the terrifying realization of the situation.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to find Peter, safe. Take him home, safe. Tuck him away, safe.
Tony whipped back around, gripping the kid’s shoulders. He patted him down, urgently trying to find a hatch or switch or something that would release the restraints.
In his fit of desperation — his hands touching everything, fumbling everywhere — he managed to graze over Peter’s side.
Peter gasped and let out a jarring scream.
"Whoa!" Tony's hands flew back, his eyes wide with shock. He swallowed, unable to form a response, his apology forgotten in the slew of weak cries that followed.
Peter’s head smacked against the wall, steel echoing at the action. His legs writhed between Tony and Steve in what seemed to be a feeble attempt in curling up on himself. His eyes shut tightly, his bottom lip quivering along with the Adam’s apple in his throat.
"Shit, kid..." Tony’s heart broke in a way that it never had before. There was something indisputably sickening about hearing the kid cry out like that — a sound he’d never, ever forget.
Steve moved closer, breaking his stunned silence.
“I can’t get these bands off him. I’ve been trying, they won’t come loose.” Steve tugged harshly at the metal with a strained grunt. “I’m thinking it’s Vibranium. I might be able to tear it away with the wall, but I’m worried...”
The unspoken didn’t need to be said. Steve was clearly worried about doing more damage to Peter, and Tony couldn’t blame him.
Tony looked over to him, his expression hardened, pressing determination sinking into the lines of his face. ‘Please, Rogers.’ it said. ‘I don’t have my tech here. I’m just a man in a can. I need help — he needs help.’
Steve frowned, seemingly reading his thoughts. “Tony, it’s bad. Front and back, through and through. We need to get him out of here. Now. Where’s Strange?”
Tony closed his eyes, pushing off an anxiety attack by sheer force of will. Of course they would need to rely on the man that abandoned them. Irony had lost its charm on him a long time ago.
“Gone,” he bluntly answered. “So is Barton.”
He heard Steve sigh, no doubt feeling similarly defeated. The one person who got them there and the only person who could get them out was now MIA — along with a member of their team. He wouldn’t even mock Steve if he cursed, the situation clearly calling for a few choice words.
Having given up on breaking the metal, Steve dropped back down to his knees. “Nat and Wanda are here somewhere, they just —”
“It’s Adamantium,” Tony interrupted, suddenly. “It’s — it’s an experimental metal. You won’t be able to break it.”
Steve furrowed his brows. “How do you —?”
Peter shook hard enough that Tony had to physically hold him, his hands stilling his shoulders as a wave of tremors brought on fresh cries.
“...ple...ple-ase, h’lp...help me, pl —”
“I’m going to,” Tony said with a sharp intensity. “I’m right here, Pete. I’m not leaving you, I promise.”
As quickly as he spoke to Peter, he turned back to Steve. “I came across files OsCorp left behind. It’s a whole new element, the bastard child of Vibranium, like some generic version. Strong as hell.”
Steve only seemed more upset by the news. An exasperated sigh slumped his shoulders, and he stood from the ground, the flashlight on his helmet sweeping the small room they were in. His hands went to his hips as he searched for something, anything that could help them.
“There’s got to be a way to get it off,” Steve mumbled.
Watching him pace, Tony had never been more thankful for the star-spangled-man-with-a-plan. Tony's own ability to focus was stripped the longer they sat idle, his concentration floating away like the pool of blood below him that rippled with each shuddering breath Peter managed.
Rogers would get them out of this holy mess of trouble they were in. He had to, God he had to because they had survived much bigger fights than this.
They weren’t the Avengers if they couldn’t rescue one damn kid.
Steve wasn’t quiet as he rummaged through the few belongings in the room. Over the clattering of his search, Peter heaved in a shaky breath of air and released it in hard, laborious sob.
“Ple–pl–ease. I–d’nt...I don’t–want–...I d’n’t wanna–die...”
Christ. The kid was fifteen and begging for his life.
Tony wasn’t going to pretend that he wouldn’t need a lifetime of therapy to deal with that.
With his hands gripping his shoulders, Tony dug his fingers deep into the material of Peter’s suit, forcing the kid to look his way. His eyes, usually so bright, were wide and dull with terror.
“You’re not. You hear me?” Tony insisted. “We’re getting you the hell out of here — alive. You’re going to be fine, kiddo.” The hand on his shoulder moved down to the floor, interlocking his fingers with Peter’s. Even with broken armor sealed around his hand, he could feel the blood soak around his exposed knuckles and fingers.
‘Fuck...this is bad. This is bad this is bad –
How do I fix this?’
Tony’s jaw tightened, watching as Peter’s forehead creased, his eyes wide, screaming for help. The pain that spread across his face looked wrong — it didn’t belong on him. It was an expression reserved for people deserving of it. Peter deserved none of this.
Tony grimaced. He needed to find control. Even if it was fake, even if he put on a show, there needed to be some semblance of order in the chaos. Otherwise, they wouldn’t get out of this alive.
For Peter’s sake, he needed to get his shit together.
“Look at me.” Tony used his free hand to grab Peter’s chin gently. “Hey, focus up. Eyes on me. You’re going to be fine.”
Peter stared back at him. The unyielding loyalty he had for Tony consumed his eyes, a childlike faith in not only the superhero but also the man inside the suit. Even through the bloodshot redness and tears dripping from his lashes, it was there. Even past the fear that surely crippled him, because it was close to crippling Tony and he wasn’t even the one gravely injured, the trust was there.
He trusted Tony to get him out of here.
And damn it to all, Tony wouldn’t let him down.
“See that wall over there?” Steve spoke up, getting his attention. “Chunks are missing, same height as where Peter is right now. I think he had the same idea as me, ripped himself away from the wall. I’m just going to have —”
Tony could have smacked himself. “Jesus — your shield. Use your shield.”
Steve shook his head. “You said —”
“It hasn’t been tested against Vibranium,” Tony quickly explained. “Wakanda was never stupid enough to lend Oscorp the Vibranium for their testing. In theory, it should —”
Steve had already whipped his shield away from his back.
“Protect his head,” he instructed.
As Steve latched the shield onto his arm, Tony inched closer to Peter, gathering his head and smothering it to his chest.
“Come here, Pete.” He forced his voice to remain calm, pulling Peter’s head as far away from his left shoulder as he could. “Come ‘ere.”
Steve held his arm back. Shield high in the air, he hesitated for one brief second, and then went in for collision.
The first hit against the metal straps was loud enough to startle even Tony. It reverberated off Steve’s shield with a force that could have made his eardrums burst open.
Peter gasped, his body shuddering at the impact. Tony winced as muscles aggressively contracted underneath his palms. He ran his hand along the back of Peter’s head, fingers carding through his hair in hopes that it provided him even the tiniest bit of comfort.
“It’s working,” Steve curtly said, throwing his shield against the metal for the second time. The sound was less boisterous, and the third hit resulted in a CRACK that Tony had never been more relieved to hear.
The metal fell to the floor. Without restraints on the left side of his body, Peter’s weight fell into Tony’s chest. He had to maneuver carefully to the other side, adjusting positions without causing him any more pain.
They worked seamlessly once he was in place, again smothering Peter’s head tightly to his chest.
This time, the first hit caused Peter to yelp, a shrill cry merging with the sound of breaking metal.
The ache in Tony’s chest deepened. “Shh, shh, you’re doing great, Spider-Man. We’re almost there, you’re doing great.”
Once Steve had broken both metal straps, Peter fell completely forward into Tony. It was as if someone had cut all his strings, his body falling limp and lax.
Tony hurriedly pressed Peter back against the wall. He allowed the kid to lean slightly into him as he rushed to remove the web-shooters from his own wrist.
“See? You’re a free man already.” Tony hoped that Peter’s blood loss induced shock would keep him from noticing how poorly his attempts at reassurance were. He gripped Peter’s wrist firmly, trying not to notice how limp they sat in his hands as he strapped on the mechanical web-shooters. “Bet you missed these, huh, buddy.”
Steve was already on their other side, taking Peter’s arm when Tony was done with him.
“I’ve got his left. On my mark,” Steve instructed, carefully wrapping Peter’s arm around his shoulder and gripping it tightly. “One, two —”
A ragged, ear-splitting scream tore from Peter’s throat.
‘Three’ was never heard when both Tony and Steve lifted him off the ground, and Tony very nearly leapt out of his skin when the agonized yell hit his ears.
Peter cried out, gasped for air and cried again, his voice raw and hoarse.
Tony’s stomach soared into his throat, only to come crashing down when the anguished scream choked off into abrupt silence.
His knees buckled under the sudden weight. Peter crumbled like a rag doll, out cold.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Tony cursed. “You gotta carry him, Cap. We don’t have time for this.”
Steve grunted as Tony handed him off, squatting low to run his arm under Peter’s knees and lift him up. Tony knew that Steve had experience in carrying heavier weight for longer distances. He trusted him with the kid.
That was another thought he’d deal with later.
With Peter in his arms, legs dangling over his forearm and head resting in the crock of his neck, they took off.
Tony stayed at his side, their pace a fast jog down the hallways. “Where are we going?”
“Central point,” Steve quickly answered. “What happened to Doctor Strange and Clint?”
“Magic and more magic,” Tony responded just as fast. “Romanoff and Maximoff?”
“Same,” Steve tensely forced out. He took a few deep breaths as they kept jogging down the halls. “If we can find Strange, you evacuate to the compound with Peter. I’ll fall back to retrieve the others.”
They quickly took a sharp corner, now in an area that Tony had never seen before. They hurried down parts of the base that clearly weren’t within his perimeter, halls that he'd never seen before throwing him for a loop.
They passed by large, ceiling to floor glass windows that showcased the ocean from outside. It was like freaking Seaworld, of all things. The sight both fascinated him and caused nauseating panic to grow in his gut.
He realized now more then ever that if they didn’t find Strange, they were screwed. There was no way they were escaping this far down into the sea. Decompression sickness would kill them before they even got to the surface.
Tony gave a fleeting glance to Peter, watching as blood trailed behind them. The kid’s blood.
They could sit around all day long and wait for Strange, but Peter didn’t have that time. And the damn Sorcerer wasn’t here to know that.
Tony had no problem admitting that this really, really wasn’t looking good for them.
Halfway down the aquarium-like hallway and Tony’s forehead creased with concentration. He noticed that between his heavy breathing and Peter’s occasional moans, there was a persistent beeping echoing off the steel walls.
He stopped, grabbing Steve’s arm so he would do the same.
“Do you hear that?”
Steve paused. A beat passed as he listened for the sound.
“I don’t —”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“That,” Tony pointed out. “You’re telling me you don’t hear that?”
Peter’s head lolled against Steve’s neck, a stream of groans murmuring from his chest as he came too. Tony reluctantly placed his palm against Peter’s mouth, the loose hold smothering his weak and small whines.
Steve held his own breath to better hear their surroundings.
Beep. Beep. BeepBeepBeep.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Do you need Barton’s hearing aids now or —?”
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeeepbeep —
“Bomb,” Steve choked out. “Bomb — run. Run!”
Tony’s eyes widened. He darted down the hallway, his legs not carrying him fast enough. Steve was hot on his tail, his boots smacking hard against the floor.
BeepbeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEP —
The explosion shattered their sense of vision, sending them tumbling forward. Tony hit the ground face-first. Steve knocked into the nearest wall and crashed to the floor, immediately laying his body over Peter’s to protect him from the after effects.
There was no debris, no shrapnel and no fire to be concerned over. The bomb exploded with a shock wave, leaving them both rattled and confused.
Steve looked over his shoulder, eyes darting wildly for the source.
Tony flipped onto his back and scrambled to his knees. “What the fu—?”
“Shhh!” Steve hissed, still hovering over Peter’s motionless form.
Tony could hear it. The sound of glass splintered around them. It started small, beats apart, until each crack got closer, closer, closer — Kreak — KREak —KREEAK.
“Down the hall,” Steve gasped, struggling to pick Peter up. “Go, go — NOW!”
By the time they both took off, the sound was thunderous, booming all around them. Glass fractured from the blast, spider cracks broken, the integrity now unstable to the pressures of the ocean.
Steve held Peter tightly to his chest as he and Tony ran, all other thought disregarded, safety slipping through their fingers by the second. He knew that down the hallway, doors sealed off one section of the base to the other. If they didn’t close off this section, they were —
One loud, violent shatter and water came gusting through, knocking them both off their feet.
Tony was thrown into shock by the sheer coldness of the water. It was sharp, feeling as if it the icy temperature was cutting through his skin, into his bones. That was with his suit on. Which meant someone without that type of protection, someone openly exposed to the dangers of the sea water, someone like Peter —
It became his only thought. ‘Peter. PeterPeterPeter — get to Peter!’
“Pet –” He choked on oncoming water. “Peter!”
The gust from the broken glass hit them like a fire-hose, stripping them of their balance and sweeping them away. Tony kicked and clawed desperately to regain his footing. Water closed in around him, surging, roiling, a never-ending flow from the ocean entering from a crack in one of the broken windows. It wouldn’t stop. The base would flood before it would stop, that was simple physics.
The first time he found space free of the erupting flood, he gasped for air. It was like inhaling razors, the cold freezing his lungs. Tony clung tightly to the corner, the steel wall the only thing keeping him from being swept away. A cascading stream hit him face first, and he unintentionally took in a lungful of frigid liquid.
Tony held his arm out in front of his face, blocking off the torrent of water that assaulted him. Sea-life, sulfur, bacteria — god it smelt horrible.
“Rogers—!” He coughed and sputtered, gripping the corner tighter. “Steve!”
Tony finally found a spot away from it all, allowing him room to breathe. The water pooled around him, quickly filling the hallway with contents of the ocean.
Steve seemed to be having better luck at fighting the onslaught of water. His head popped over, his body twisting in all directions with rising panic.
“Tony, I lost him!” he called out. “I – I, damn it, I can’t —!”
Shit.
A fierce determination clawed at him. Tony took a deep breath and plunged forward. He went with the current, as chaotic as it was. His eyes burned underneath the salty water. It was too dark and murky to see clearly. When he broke away, finding that pocket of air, the water had risen dramatically, inching closer to his elbows.
“Peter!” Tony shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “Peter, answer me!”
Steve dragged his feet through the water, one leg at a time to reach him, cantering through the mess. Breathing deeply — raggedly — he grabbed Tony’s arm, frantic and furious at himself.
“Tony, we have to —!”
No.
That wasn’t happening.
“Peter!” Desperation quaked in Tony's voice. “C’mon kid, you need to answer me!”
They weren’t leaving without him. Not now, not that they found him, not that Tony had him back. He refused to leave now that they were so close to safety.
The only sound was the flooding water and his rapid heartbeat. He looked around, his own legs dragging through the water, ignoring how high it was getting — too high, high enough that they’d drown in minutes, possibly seconds if they didn’t —
THWIP!
Tony froze.
THWIP!
His head shot over to Steve, who was looking right back at him. An unspoken question of ‘did you hear that too?’ echoed between them.
THWIP! THWIPTHWIP!...THWIP!
Just like that, the roaring water stopped. It bounced around them, rocking waves that threatened their balance and soaked them up to their hips. But the water level didn’t rise any further. They both spun to the broken window, no longer containing a large, open crack pouring in the ocean.
Tony was shocked to see the hole now covered with white webbing.
“I’ll be damned.” He gaped. “I knew those web-shooters would come in handy.”
Ocean water dripped down from Tony's hair, his body soaked to the core. The metal of magnetic nanites burned his skin, his body feeling as if it were surrounded in a suit of ice. Tony was pretty sure seaweed coated his arms and the smell, the awful acrid smell invaded his every sense.
So he didn’t notice the foreign liquid that dripped from above. Not until Steve pointed it out.
“Stark,” Steve’s voice was pinched and worried, his eyes reaching up to the ceiling.
Tony furrowed his brows and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Looking above, he forced himself to take a step back as drop after drop, blood dripped down below.
“Jesus Christ, kid.”
Peter clung to the ceiling, his one arm stretched out and shaking, hard, with two fingers pressed down on the center of his palm. His other arm and soles of both feet stuck to the steel ceiling. Tony swallowed away the terror that grew inside of him, watching as Peter dripped not only water but thick, red drops of blood. Each hit down below with a resounding ping.
Ping. Ping. Ping. The kid was trembling, shivering with enough exertion that only adrenaline could produce.
Tony gulped. “Good job, Pete, you just saved our asses. Now, get down here.”
The ceilings weren’t that high, but without his boosters, Tony wouldn’t be able to grab him. He reached up, desperate to get a hold of the kid, fingers stopping a few feet too short of his destination.
“I...I don’t...how’d I...” Peter’s words were slow and slurred. His eyes twitched, flickering up and down as he so obviously fought off unconsciousness. To Tony’s horror, they were slowly rolling to the back of his head, each flicker showing more whites than pupil.
‘Shit. He’s losing it.’ A quick glance to Steve told him they were thinking the same thing. An even quicker glance at the hole in the window told him they didn’t have much time. Even with the webbing reinforced, it wouldn’t have the strength to hold all the oceans waters.
They needed to move — fast.
“Come on, kid.” Tony clapped his hands together. “It’s time to go!”
A mounting fear cut through him at the sound of webbing being ripped away, one strand at a time. It sounded like fabric being torn apart, until a leak sprung with such force that a harsh stream of water came pouring in.
Peter looked around, the confusion on his face evident. “I...wha — Mr. St'rk?”
He seemed to cling to the ceiling with more force, almost as if he was unaware of his current position.
The remaining webbing behind them bubbled outward, ready to burst.
“Pete, I can’t reach any further and you can’t stay there!” Tony shouted, holding his arm up higher, standing on the very tips of his toes in the pool of sea water. “You have to let go, I’m going to catch you — I promise!”
Either the kid really did have complete faith in him, or he had finally lost the battle of staying conscious.
Tony had a sickening feeling that it was the latter.
He watched Peter lose his grip in slow motion, slipping away from the ceiling one limb at a time. First his feet, then the one hand, and then his entire body dropped down.
All one-hundred-fifty pounds of him landed in Tony’s arms at once.
His knees buckled under the pressure and for a moment, Peter dipped into the water below them. Tony was quick to bring him back up, cradling him close to his chest, struggling to keep them both afloat. His head hung limply over his wrist and Tony pushed back the sopping wet hair away from his forehead.
“Pete? You with me, kid?” No response. “Peter, hey, come on — open your eyes!”
Across the hallway, Steve grunted under the strain of opening the nearest door. He yanked and pulled, fighting against the strength of the water. One arm managed to keep the door open as he brought his leg high to the wall, the rushing water soaring out beneath him. It only took seconds for the water level to spread out across one hallway to the other.
Unfortunately for Tony, that took away the buoyancy helping him carry Peter. The kid may have appeared scrawny, but he was all lean muscle that Tony just wasn’t spry enough anymore to handle, especially not with a heavy suit of magnets already dragging him down.
He trudged through the ankle-deep water with a grunt. “Help me here, Cap.”
Steve was already at his side. “I got him, go—go—I got ‘em.”
He was quick to take Peter back, the boy blissfully unaware of the world around him. Steve took comfort in that; he unfortunately didn’t have the time to be gentle anymore, especially as he closed the door behind them. His back slammed it shut with force.
With the area blocked off, most flooding waters stayed on the other side of the base. Streams trickled through the cracks of the door, more reminiscent to a running shower-head than a powerful jet hose.
Tony finally let himself take a breath, trying to comprehend what the hell just happened.
He couldn’t.
“What the living hell was that about!?” Tony exclaimed.
Steve shook his head. “I gotta be honest, Stark, I don’t want to stick around to find out.”
Tony scoffed — that was the understatement of the year. He couldn’t afford sparing glances at Peter anymore. They were practically running full sprint down the halls now, bounding with each turn, moving fast because ‘damn it, we don’t have time.’
At this point, it was only a matter of minutes until the base sunk to the bottom of the ocean. They would have already been dead if it weren’t for the added strength he put into the spider webbing, and Tony savored that small feat.
They were running through halls that lead to doors Steve carelessly ripped open with his one free arm, charging through with haste. Tony didn’t realize they had gone this far into the base. Either that, or the urgency to get Peter to safety was making every step seem like miles. His mind only had one thought — move, move, move!
The clank of metal stopped them both. Tony looked down. A ball rolled down the hallway and hit the tip of his boot.
Both Steve’s flashlight and his own shinned down below on it.
Tony couldn’t stop himself from asking out loud, “Is that a goddamn pumpkin?”
It began to blink — orange, green, orange, green — and beep persistently — BeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEP –
Steve’s eyes widened, and he backed away. “Tony...”
Tony swooped down and picked up the bomb. In a seamless motion, he tossed it in the air, grabbed Cap’s shield off from his back and —
— SMACK, hit it across the hall like a baseball.
Another shock wave blew through them. Steve twisted, crouching low to take the brunt of the force while protecting Peter. Tony flew back and onto the ground, rolling relentlessly into a steel wall.
The blast left his ears ringing. Tony winced, distantly wishing he hadn’t decided to ditch his Iron Man helmet after all.
As he stumbled to his feet, he realized that in hindsight it would have been smarter to smother the bomb under Cap’s shield. Not his best move – his adrenaline surged focus had just caused another explosion that compromised the stability of the base. The problem with Iron Man was that he always went with his gut instincts — instincts that usually involved explosions.
Tony was painfully aware that this was not a place for explosions.
As if on cue with his thoughts, the thundering sound of breaking glass surrounded them.
Tony looked down the hall in panic, watching one long line spread down the entire window, splintering off into three, four, ten, twenty cracks, multiplying by the second.
He scrambled to his feet, rushing over to where Steve crouched, hovering over Peter.
“We gotta move Cap, let’s go!” Tony shouted, tugging at his arm.
Even with Peter’s added weight, Steve managed to rise to his feet with quick precision. He led the way, taking two sharp left turns before they encountered an open door. The water that submerged their feet shinned off the flickering lights illuminating the corridor. It rushed around them at its own pace, surging in from the broken windows far behind them, from areas they had long since abandoned.
“Close it, quick!” Steve shouted, his feet wading through water.
Tony pushed both hands against the heavy door and slammed it shut. He spun around, ready to take off when —
Metal pressed heavily on his forehead, the nozzle of a pistol cold against his skin. He had to squint his eyes as hot, bright sparks of nanites fired from Dmitri’s face, flaring with the blood that ran in cascades down his forehead.
Tony froze, stunned, completely motionless. Dmitri’s heavy, labored breathing was nails on a chalkboard to his ears. Swallowing heavily, he glanced to his left, only moving his eyes — leaving his neck to stay very, very still. He watched as Steve slowly and carefully began setting Peter down, leaning him against the nearest wall.
‘Good,’ Tony thought. ‘Get ready for a fight.’
The gun pressed harder, and Dmitri unlatched the safety.
“Wow,” Tony panted for breath. “You just don’t die, do you?”
With Peter leaning against the wall, Steve stayed low to the ground. He inched closer, one step at a time until finally, he made a leap to charge forward.
Dmitri had the gun aimed in his direction before his foot had even lifted off the ground.
A bullet fired from his pistol.
Steve froze.
The smell of thick gunpowder burned in the air. Tony shot his head over in the direction, eyes wide at the hole that left a dent in the steel wall.
The steel wall that Peter leaned against, only meters from his head, way too close to the kid for comfort.
“I would not move if I were you, Captain,” Dmitri threatened, gun held high. “It is not you I will shoot.”
Steve did the one thing that Tony didn't expect to see. He held his hands high, surrendering.
He also backed up into the wall, purposefully blocking Dmitri’s aim of Peter’s unconscious body.
“Leave him out of this, Dmitri. He did nothing to you,” Steve retorted.
A turquoise glow from the glass windows combined with the flickering lights gave way to see the pure carnage done to Dmitri’s face. Skin dangled in chunks from open wounds, the white of bone to his jaw glistening underneath the poorly powered lights. Sparks of nanites lit up in random, chaotic bursts, showcasing one eye swollen shut, the other bulging with fury. There was still a wedge of metal lodged in his forehead from the broken chameleon helmet.
He sneered, blood coating his teeth. “Another word from you, I shoot him.”
The pistol was aimed directly at Peter. Tony had full confidence that Dmitri wouldn’t hesitate to fire. It stripped him of his ability to fight, the concept of Peter’s head shot open, brains splattered against the wall — the son of a bitch wanted him to break, and he knew what would do the trick.
Tony furrowed his brows, realizing that if they didn’t intervene, the man might very well get his way.
Steve stood tall in front of Peter, arms spread wide as if it would help his defense. Silently, Tony had never been more appreciative in his entire life.
The three men stood at a deadlock, Tony and Dmitri straight across from each other, Steve off to the side and near the corridor’s wall. All the while, water soared in from the open spaces of the doorway, pooling from the bottom at an alarming rate.
Tony’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s over, Dmitri! There’s no version of this where you come out on top.”
Dmitri jerked his head over to Tony, his eyes wide, radiating a fiery, hungry insanity.
“Oh right about that you are, Stark,” he said, stopping to spit a mouthful of blood and what looked to be a loose tooth into the water below. “You see, unlike you — unlike pathetic weak team you have, I embrace change. I will not be on top, no. That is change I accept. But I will take you to bottom with me.”
Tony heard the beeping before he saw the device. The sound had become so ingrained in his head that he was sure it would haunt his nightmares for the remainder of his life. Right along with Peter’s screams.
Dmitri whipped the pumpkin bomb from behind his back, pressing onto the top and activating it.
Steve lunged forward. “Dmitri, no —!”
He tossed it across the hallway, the metal ball landing in the water with a plop.
Within seconds a shock wave tore through them all. Even feet away, it was strong enough to send all men tumbling back.
Tony hit the ground and skidded backward, clawing through ankle deep water to come to a stop.
Glass cracked, splintered, and miraculously stopped.
The moment his body stopped rolling, Tony shot his head over to Peter. The kid sagged onto his side, his head dangerously close to going underwater. Steve laid across from him, dazed, holding his temple as blood trickled down from a newly acquired head wound.
The sight was enough to get Tony's legs underneath him.
“You throw another bomb at me,” Tony threatened, “and I’m going to lose it.”
His grit his teeth together, his jaw aching under the pressure and yet not doing nearly enough to distract him from his bloodcurdling rage.
Dmitri slowly rose from the floor, one leg at a time. He spit again, a disgusting stream of thick, crimson liquid trailing down his chin.
Tony clenched his fists tighter.
Dmitri growled.
This was ending.
Now.
Tony attacked him with a shriek of straining metal. He charged forward, one soaring punch landing directly in his jaw. It started a slew of rushed, rapid hits. His strikes came at every angle, throwing his fists and swinging his legs to hit anything, any contact he could get.
Face, knee, jaw, stomach — Tony punched, his elbows jabbed, his legs kicked — each assault sending Dmitri stumbling back. The man was clearly weakened, far from the skilled assassin he had encountered earlier. A surge of confidence energized Tony, every thud from his punches telling him he was stronger, every crack from his kicks igniting his determination.
He hadn’t realized he was pushing Dmitri straight towards Peter. The thought never occurred to him, not until the man promptly swung his arm over that direction, the gun aimed directly at the floor — straight at Peter’s head.
Tony froze. His next hit never landed. His fist stayed high in the air, trembling.
“Ah-ah-ah...” Dmitri taunted, his finger wrapped around the trigger, tapping it, teasing it.
Tony wished he could have dismissed the gun as quickly as Iron Man always had. It wasn’t possible here. Not without his tech. Not with Peter so openly vulnerable.
He wouldn’t bring home a corpse. He absolutely refused.
Dmitri swung the pistol back in his direction, the metal pressing firmly against his temple once more. Tony barely had time to process the quick action. This time, tension seemed to drain from his body, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
He opened his mouth to speak, only for the words to fall flat on his lips. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t moving.
Steve stood across from him, rooted in his position and swaying slightly, looking at Tony as if to say ‘do something, Stark!’
But he couldn’t. Steve didn’t dare to throw his shield or charge with an attack, and Tony kept his hands curled into tight fists at his side. One stupid action from either of them meant death. His only focus was Peter, the boy unable to protect himself. And they both were failing at protecting him.
“Move and I lodge bullet in your brain.” Dmitri casually turned the gun around, eyeing it conspicuously. “I have enough ammo left to shoot you, Captain, and mal'chik.”
Tony closed his eyes. If it were up to him, he’d take the gun and shoot all the bullets at himself. He’d trade his life in a heartbeat for Peter’s.
Something told him Dmitri knew that. He knew Dmitri would shoot all the remaining bullets at Peter before even considering letting him go. It was a torture worse than death.
With resignation, Tony looked over his shoulder and at the wall. The water was rising fast, and Peter was so slumped, so slack that it wouldn’t take much for him to go under. He had enough experience with drowning to know that it wasn’t the peaceful end everyone made it out to be.
Yet their options weren’t looking the greatest.
He closed his eyes, briefly wondering if it would be best to just...let it happen. The kid already had a gaping hole in his body. Bile tickled the back of his throat at the reminder of how much blood Peter had been sitting in, how much blood was smeared across the floor, how their chances at survival dipped drastically before the rescue even began.
The thought made Tony dizzy. After all this, maybe drowning was the most merciful way he could go.
“The invincible Iron Man…" Dmitri’s rank breath spread across his face. "Nothing but mask to hide egotistical, weak Tony Stark.”
Tony’s jaw unhinged. His defeat was immediately overturned.
“Really!?” Tony exclaimed. “You’re going to give me shit about wearing a mask!?”
Dmitri pressed the nuzzle of the gun harder into his temple. “Tell me, do you understand why I will win here?”
Tony never had a chance to respond. Dmitri dipped low, his free hand latching around Peter’s neck. With one clean sweep, he pulled him high up and straight out of the water, dangling him like a limp rag doll in the air.
Steve and Tony both dove forward to stop him. The gun that once aimed at Tony switched to Peter, the nozzle hidden around tufts of soaking wet brown hair.
It was Steve who had to stop Tony from moving any further, yanking his arm back — knowing the gun was cocked and ready to go.
Tony swore he’d be sick watching Dmitri squeeze his grip around Peters throat, the kid flailing, livid and frightened all at the same time.
Peter’s feet kicked uselessly in the water, splashing around in a panic, his eyes now wide open and staring down at Dmitri in terror. He instinctively fought to unlatch the grip. His fingers dug into Dmitri’s hand, nails scratching, fist pounding at his arms, fighting in any way that he could to free himself.
“Let him go,” Tony demanded, his words simmering with fury, his arm twitching in Steve’s hold.
“You are sad man, Stark," Dmitri sneered. "Everyone before me, everyone you faced up til now, they do not come close to power I have over you,” he spat, his knuckles visibly straining as he clenched Peter’s throat. “You have never truly faced your enemies. You throw punches at them, using battle suit you hide in — it does dirty work for you. If you have not killed them, you have them thrown away in prison cell where they can not bother you no more. You have never conquered your enemy, you have run from them.”
Dmitri lifted Peter higher with each word spoken, but to Tony’s horror, Peter didn’t scream. He couldn’t, a guttural choking, gasping noise the only thing he could manage. His fingers clawed at the grip around his neck, his once colorless and ashen face now darkening under the swell of red and purple that pooled to his cheeks.
A growl rumbled deep in Tony’s chest.
“This…this is real face of your enemy,” Dmitri said, shaking Peter in the air. “Guilt. Fear. Regret. Emotion. Love. Heart that beats inside of you will be your greatest downfall, and you will not be able to do anything about it. You can not outrun this, Stark! You can not — DER’MO!”
A foot collided in Dmitri’s midsection. Peter kicked him — hard — between the legs. They both dropped to the floor, Peter much less graceful once free of the stranglehold.
“Oh!” Tony exclaimed.
He couldn’t help himself. Watching Dmitri stumble back, doubled over cursing in Russian — it was like watching Pepper attack Killian all over again. He watched in pure astonishment as Peter, weak and injured, lunged at Dmitri.
“Will you...” Peter heaved and panted, “shut up!”
His gasps for air were agonized, labored and hoarse. But Tony watched in disbelief as he staggered forward. With all the strength Peter could possibly have, he threw a punch that took them all by surprise.
Dmitri held his face in pain, sluggishly looking up only to be attacked again. The way he failed to dodge any of Peter’s blows had Tony believing the man was overwhelmingly stunned at the kid’s sudden surge of adrenaline.
God knows he was.
The shock had shattered his focus, his jaw to the floor.
Peter was weaker than his preternaturally strong self. It was evident in each punch he threw, each hit slow, inept and flimsy, his dodges sloppy and his kicks barely hitting past knee level. But something was fuming off of him, a fury Tony had never seen from him before.
“Gah-ah!” Peter cried, slamming a clenched fist against Dmitri’s forehead.
At that moment, Tony had never felt so much pride swell up in his heart, very nearly overtaking the ruthless stress of the situation.
If Peter was going out, he was going out with a fight.
That was the kid he recruited for Berlin.
That was his spiderling.
Peter had the upper hand. Dmitri was weakened, both Tony and Steve noticed that his moves weren’t as sharp, weren’t as cut-fast as before. Tony had taken him down a couple pegs, possibly evening out the playing field. But Peter was still injured. And with each punch he threw, he was losing strength.
Dmitri struggled. But Peter struggled just as hard. They both were exerting themselves, and it was just a matter of time until one of them broke.
Steve jumped in. He rushed forward, his arms throwing multiple punches, moving quick, smooth, gliding like a dancer — deadly and fast. And powerful.
He ripped his shield off his back, tossing it like a Frisbee in the air, satisfied when it collided with Dmitri’s hip. Dmitri stumbled forward into Peter, who pushed him off with a weak punch to his jaw.
Tony saw an opportunity and latched onto it. Dmitri held his head, dazed, and Tony grabbed his arm with force. In his grip, he kneed him in the stomach — once, twice, three times — pushing them both back up against a wall. Even then, he didn’t let up. Tony grabbed Dmitri’s head, pulling it low and kneeing him in the chin, over and over and over again.
Dmitri yanked the person closest to his side — Peter — and swung him around. Tony instinctively let go to catch him, his feet tripping over themselves, nearly tumbling to the floor. As he did, Dmitri's steel-toed combat boots gave one solid kick to Peter’s leg.
POP.
A sickening, horrifying crack erupted that Tony was close enough to practically feel. Dmitri’s foot collided with Peter’s lower leg, the sound of bone breaking echoing the hallway.
Even Steve came to a startling halt.
Peter screamed.
He cried out, the agonizing shout eating away at Tony’s nerves. His leg completely gave out under him, and Tony struggled to hold him up, his body weight threatening to make them both fall to the floor. Peter’s fingers were digging into his shoulders, pushing the magnetic nanites into his skin, one long cry rolling off the steel walls.
Tony’s only focus was to keep Peter standing. Ultimately it was the distraction that cost him. Dmitri kicked, punched and pushed Tony aside, grabbing Peter and forcing him into his grasp.
Tony stumbled back near Steve, who caught him and stilled his balance. Dmitri held both Peter’s arms outward. As Steve and Tony went to attack, his fingers pressed down on the web-shooters that were attached to the kid’s wrists.
Peter’s right hand released a strand of webbing that stuck to Steve and his left to Tony.
The webbing struck his body with surprising force, the impact momentarily stealing his breath away. Tony looked down in shock. His entire torso was latched to the wall, covered in the sticky, white fluid. A quick, horrified glance to his right showed him that Steve’s arm was encased the same way.
His hands grazed over his stomach, but he didn’t pull or pry. Steve, on the other hand, was already trying to yank himself free of the webbing that restrained him.
The same reinforced tensile strength webbing he'd been grateful for not even five minutes ago.
Tony spewed out a million different colorful words.
Gripping both Peter’s hands, Dmitri squeezed, clenching down onto the limbs as if they were stress balls. A bone-cracking CRUNCH accompanied the sound of metal breaking, his web-shooters broken along with his wrists.
“Stop!” Tony shouted, frantically beginning to dig and peel away at the webbing. “Goddammit, STOP!”
Peter had lost all strength to cry out. He sagged to the ground, his mouth open wide, his jaw unhinged with no sound escaping his blistering sore throat. As he fell, Dmitri let go of his hands and placed one heavy boot on his chest, forcefully pinning him to the ground. Peter’s head made a splash as it hit the water.
Tony couldn’t move. He couldn’t help, he couldn’t — goddammit, pulling at the webbing fluid was like pulling dried cement and Steve grunted and roared, his super soldier strength failing to rip it away.
This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening, he couldn’t let this happen, he needed to do something!
Dmitri chuckled, the laugh coarse like sandpaper, cold-blooded and sadistic.
“How does it feel, Stark? To have everything you worked so hard for ripped away, right from under you?” Dmitri pressed down harder as Peter squirmed and thrashed beneath him. “I will kill boy and then I will kill you, and world won’t even know what happened here.”
Tony released a desperate cry of frustration.
“Dmitri, you maniac — let him go!”
Tony and Steve watched, unable to help as Peter gripped Dmitri’s leg, clawing at his pants, the foot pressing down harder against his chest. Peter struggled to keep his head out of the water, spurting and spitting mouthfuls of the salty sea contents, the current from broken windows pouring in through closed doors.
The harder the foot pressed on his chest, the more his air supply was cut off, his breathing once more resorting to gasps and wheezes.
“Dmitri’s not my name,” Dmitri snarled. “You call me...you call me Chameleon.”
Tony’s eyes darted frantically between Peter and Steve. Dmitri was so intensely caught up in restraining Peter that he failed to notice Steve reaching out for his shield. It laid untouched in the water to his left side, close enough that it could be seen, close enough that it could be used. The water glistened over top of it, the large silver star standing out like a coin in a fountain.
Steve had his legs spread wide, his left arm — his free arm — reaching desperately for the shield. His fingers were so close.
Tony grounded his teeth. ‘Come on Rogers, so fucking close.’
Peter inhaled a constrained, shaking breath. “So...you did...go for...the name...” he choked out.
Tony snapped his head back in front of him, his brows rising high.
The kid just didn't know how to give up.
“You are at deaths doors, boy." Dmitri’s eyes burned with spite. "Look around you…nothing about this makes you hero. Stop playing one.”
The very tips of Steve’s fingers were dipping into the ocean water below. Tony could see under the fast blinking lights as his face strained, his jaw clenched, and his eyes shut tight, forcing his body to move in a way it wasn’t naturally meant to move.
Looking back over, on the ground and practically immersed in water, Tony could see Peter shake his head. The water rippled with the action. It soaked over his ears and to his forehead.
“Being...a hero...means helping others...” Peter gasped for air, his voice weak and thin. “...when you have...have the power to...to help them. Even when you...can’t...help yourself. It’s...it’s my...responsibility.”
The last word he spoke came out so choked, so cracked that Tony was sure his lungs had been crushed under his own rib cage.
“No, mal'chik." Dmitri shook his head. "It is what will be your death.”
Tony had stopped pulling on the webbing that clung to his torso, horror and fear intermingling into an unspeakable force. He could only watch, helplessly, as Dmitri went in for a final blow.
The leg that stood on Peter’s chest rose high in the air, and just when Tony realized that this was it — that he’d have to watch his failure unravel in front of him, that he’d have to watch Peter die —
“Queens!” Steve shouted. “Catch!”
With a strained yell, Steve tossed his shield over at Peter’s direction, the polished metal landing in the water exactly where it needed to be.
Peter grabbed the shield faster than Dmitri could react.
“Gah-AHH!” With an anguished cry, he swung up, Vibranium metal hitting the man’s head.
Dmitri failed to recover from the hit. He stumbled back, grumbled, pained animalistic noises replacing the Russian he once cursed.
As quickly as he could possibly manage, Peter grabbed onto Dmitri’s shirt, using it to lift himself off from the ground and —
WHAM!
— slammed the shield against Dmitri’s head one last time.
Dmitri fell back and into the water. His body landed with a splash, and stayed there.
Seconds went by, soon turning into a solid minute. Peter’s labored breathing and the rushing water around them became the only sound that filled the bunker.
Peter languidly dropped the shield, his arm hanging loosely and weakly at his side. His body physically moved with each struggled breath he took in.
“I think you got him, kid,” Tony said, finally finding his voice.
Dmitri didn’t move. The water soared in from the cracks of the door, reaching over his face, submerging his unconscious form.
No one moved to save him. He was a goner before he had even hit the water.
“Yeah?” Peter muttered, his body leaning forward, his knees going weak. “That’s…that’s about all…I had.”
The ripping of webbing briefly overtook the sound of gushing water. Steve tore away the sticky entrapment with a shout, discarding it into the liquid below and immediately going over to Tony to do the same.
Tony never paid attention as Steve clawed rather painfully into the webbing around his torso. His eyes were locked straight ahead, watching Peter stagger on his feet, wobbling forward. He had his one arm wrapped feebly around his stomach, the other reaching out as if something were near him to steady his balance.
“I...I don’t...” Peter murmured.
“Cap...” Tony warned.
Steve huffed, tearing away at the webbing. “I’m working on it.”
Tony shook his head. “Rogers...”
“I know, I’m getting there!”
“Steve!”
The stress was raw in Tony’s voice, loud and demanding. Steve snapped his head up at record speed, his eyes locking with Tony’s, telling him everything he needed to know.
In one fluid motion, he spun around, lurching forward just in time to catch Peter from nose-diving to the ground.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”
Steve laid Peter down gently, one knee bent on the floor and the other high up for Peter’s back to rest against. Any lower and he’d be submerged. Steve looked back at Tony, his face stoic and yet still somehow expressing a deep panic and fear.
The fierce exchanged was met with splintering, shattering glass. The windows around them began to crack, rumbling like thunder, already damaged by the bomb’s explosion. Time seemed to slow down with each fracture that rang along, splitting it apart, one crack turning into three that turned into — too many. Too many for Tony to count.
There was one layer of webbing left — hard and cemented against his Iron Man suit that Tony somehow managed to tear away with a strength he wasn't sure he’d ever have again.
Two giant steps and he was at Steve’s side, taking Peter’s limp form from him.
“Get that door open,” Tony told him. “Go, now!”
Steve didn’t need to be told twice. He stood up, attached his shield to his arm and waded through the waist-deep water, struggling to meet the other end of the hallway.
“Hey, hey, easy now,” Tony said, his free hand cupping Peter’s cheek. “I got you. Easy, easy...”
Tony kept Peter’s head high and where he could breathe, holding it close to his body. A quick glance behind him showed him that the water level was rising much faster, too fast, and thundering booms and cracks roared around them. The walls screamed in agony, windows from areas they were cut off from giving way to the pressures of the sea. The poorly lit light fixtures dimmed to practically nothing.
It was the light from his chest plate that showed Peter’s eyes, brown pupils sliding in and out of focus.
“Mr...Mr. S'ark?” Peter mumbled, his words thick and slurred.
“Right here." Tony gulped. "I got you. It’s over now, I got you.”
Across the way, Steve grunted and roared as he fought to open the door. The pressures of the water snapped it shut every time he managed, struggling to squeeze his shield between the cracks. He didn’t stop, trying and trying again and again.
In Tony’s arms, Peter wheezed out a crackly, heartbreaking whine from the back of his throat.
“mr’...’ark...I...I don’t...I dn’t feel so good.”
Tony’s heat plummeted in his chest. He cupped Peter's cheek harder. “You’re okay, you’re alright.”
Peter gulped, hard, his throat quivering as a tremor seized his body. Tony felt when his muscles locked with rigid contractions, strong underneath his hands. By the time his body relaxed, his eyes were barely open, distant, and far away.
“You stay with us, you got that soldier?” Steve yelled over his shoulder. “That’s Captain’s order’s!”
Peter didn’t respond. His chest barely rose, barely lifted, his lungs barely breathing.
Steve let out a shout that echoed off the steel walls, pulling at the door with all the strength he had.
The cracking and shattering of glass thundered loudly before a wave of water slashed through, a torrent blasting against them. Tony hugged Peter tightly to his chest, taking the brunt hit of the water as it poured, surged and rushed around them.
“You hear that, Pete?” Tony yelled over the gushing water. “Don’t want to let Cap down — come on Rogers, hurry it up!”
Tony fought hard to drag them both closer to their escape, fighting the chaotic stream of the sea water, a task that ripped at his muscles. By the time he reached the end of the hallway, Steve had managed to keep the door open just wide enough for them to get through, using his shield as leverage between the open space.
“Come on, go!” Steve shouted, veins popping from his neck at the strain of it all.
Tony didn’t hesitate. He slid through the crack, pulling Peter with him, both tumbling forward with the onslaught of ocean water that came with them.
The door shut on Steve with resounding effect. It was millimeters away from taking off his fingers. He couldn’t care less; already storming down the other end to open the opposite door.
Tony collapsed with Peter, breathing heavily, fighting to keep them above water level. His back was pressed against the wall, and he had Peter’s back resting against his chest, shielding his face every time water sloshed near them.
“Kid? Come on, Pete. Answer me!” Tony slapped Peter’s cheeks, gentle at first, frantically fast and forceful as time went on. His features were slack, almost relaxed. “Stay with me, buddy. Don’t leave me.”
Steve went to pull the opposite door open, only to be met with raging water. The other side of the base had flooded, and he let the door slam shut ungracefully. He snapped his head back in the direction they had come from, water surging in, already past his calf's.
They were between flood zones, sandwiched in with no escape. If the rumbling sounds of the building were any sign to go by, the walls were going to give in within minutes. They had run out of options.
Steve's hands reached behind his head, yanking off his helmet only so he could grip his hair in frustration.
“We’re trapped,” he said — realized.
In front of him, Tony adjusted himself on the floor, shaking Peter’s shoulders, doing anything to wake him up.
“Come on, Peter. Come on, kid!” Tony pressed two fingers firmly against Peter’s neck, searching in multiple spots, his own hands trembling as he did. “His pulse is barely there.”
Tony didn’t know who he was speaking to. Honestly, he really didn’t care. All he knew was that he couldn’t stand to feel the faint, weak thrumming anymore. His hands wrapped tightly around Peter’s chest, gripping him, his own body shaking so hard his teeth chattered. Tony wasn’t sure if it was from the bitter cold water or the undeniable fear that ate away at his control.
Steve sighed, looking at the two with a furrow wrinkling his brow. “Tony...”
Tony didn’t respond.
He couldn’t.
He pulled Peter closer to him, desperate to give the kid what little warmth he had, desperate to give him everything he needed — give him the whole world and the life he deserved.
Desperate for a second chance.
He latched onto Peter tightly, his grip so firm it was as if someone threatened to take him away.
Tony distantly realized that the threat was very real.
He looked up at Steve, who looked back down at him. The solid, remorseful despair in his eyes spoke it all. Tony looked down the hallway at the gushing water, understanding what Steve hadn’t spoken.
Something in him seemed to finally snap.
It wasn’t an acceptance, no, rather an understanding. That he couldn’t stop what was happening. That they couldn’t stop it.
They weren’t escaping.
They weren’t going home.
Tony smacked his head against the steel wall, his chest shuddering in each breath.
“I’m sorry,” he ruefully said.
Tony felt it, like a knife in his spine, twisting and sharp.
Time. He had run out of second chances, having abused them time after time like he could buy more at a whim. Even after Afghanistan, even after he tried to right all the wrongs he had caused in his life, there was no undoing the damage. Tony knew that one day he would have to repent for his sins. He had cheated death too many times, flown a nuke into the sky and still, he always walked away, Always bought more time until…
Until now.
He had run out of second chances. And like everyone in his life, they suffered for it.
“I’m sorry, Rogers,” Tony said, eyes locked straight on him.
The cold was razor deep, the frigid water stripping him of the nerves that allowed him to feel Peter’s presence. His fingers had gone numb, the stiffness traveled up to his palms, and he clung to the red and blue fabric on Peter’s chest but he couldn’t feel it, he could barely feel it.
So he lowered his head, resting his chin and nose in the tuft of Peter’s hair, clawing at what he still had before it was taken away from him.
“Don’t." Steve adamantly shook his head. "We’re getting out of here.”
His promise was empty, bare of any reassurance. The pain in Tony’s chest was so intense he could have sworn his heart was slamming against his rib-cage with every frantic beat that pulsated, yet he could barely feel the kids own heart underneath his grasp.
His arms wrapped tightly around Peter’s body, desperately clinging to him. He refused to let go.
Tony fought to breathe, the air in the building quickly being replaced by water. “I got you into this mess —”
“Stark," Steve wasn’t about to give up. "I’m getting you both home, even if I have too —”
“Will you for once in your life listen to me!?” Tony snapped.
Steve’s expression was as cold as the water that soaked them.
“I did,” he bluntly answered. What came next was said all in one breathe. “In Siberia.”
If Tony had the energy, he would have laughed. He would have scoffed, fought back, prove himself right as always. He didn’t care about having the upper hand anymore. He didn’t care about anything anymore, not now that he…
His throat closed up, his strength all but gone. No longer able to tamp out the emotional fire that set him ablaze. Tony squeezed Peter harder, mentally chanting pleas to a God he didn’t believe in, anything that would give them a second chance.
“We took Bucky in." Steve stood tall, not backing down. "We got him help, we moved forward. I listened to you about the Accords, you listened to me, we fought them — together. I listened to you, Tony. If we can make it through that, you better be damn sure we’ll make it through this.”
It was one hell of a speech. Unfortunately for Tony, it meant nothing. He cradled Peter, his nose deep in his wet hair, savoring what was left of the kid’s life. Basking in it. Hot liquid leaked down from his eyes, warm against the freezing cold of his cheeks, tears streaking down one by one.
“You moved on, Rogers. I didn’t,” Tony said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t. I tried. I gave you what you wanted to hear, I gave the team what they wanted to hear, but I never...I never — Christ. Deep down, I never forgave you.”
His admittance was met only with the sound of gushing water. Tony ached for a reprieve, for an emotional purge that wasn’t coming — the fear, shock, and horror hanging on. An emotional tremor tore through his body, too potent to be contained.
“How could I?” he asked. “You chose to protect Barnes. Time after time you chose to protect him and I didn’t understand how. How could you so relentlessly sacrifice everything to protect someone like that?”
Steve stood speechless. His blue eyes shined brightly from the light on Tony’s chest plate, his wet hair plastered against his forehead and his face exposed without his helmet.
For what seemed to be the first time in their entire friendship, in the whole time they had known each other, Tony looked up at him with raw, unconcealed emotion.
“I never understood how...until now,” Tony choked out. “Until Peter.”
The acknowledgment in Steve was almost painful to see — so different, so real that Tony couldn’t look at him for long.
For a man raised in a generation of staying tough as nails, never to show emotion, never to show weakness — Steve visibly broke. As if finally, after years of being at each other’s throat, he found both relief and remorse in their shared troubles.
Tony knew this day would come. His arms wrapped around Peter’s front and he fought hard to ignore the weak, labored breathing from the kid. He had lost his direction too many times, done too many bad things that he could never fix.
He just hated that the consequences affected Peter.
If they were lucky — if Peter were lucky, he’d stop breathing before the water got too high.
If Tony had to be honest with himself, he never expected that this was the way he’d go out. In a watery grave.
“I’m sorry,” Tony repeated, his voice cracking, his eyes articulating his anguish. “For failing you both.”
Tears clouded his vision along with the dense fog, and he barely saw anything around him but darkness — rich darkness and rising water sloshing into his torso. He almost didn’t notice when Steve crouched down to his level, his knees hitting the floor with a splash.
Tony felt the grounding hand on his shoulder, Steve’s touch not enough, not nearly enough to counter the hot tears that slid down his face. He was past caring about heroic appearances — and apparently so was the soldier.
“You didn’t fail us, Tony,” Steve said, moving his other hand to Peter’s shoulder, a firm grip on both men in front of him.
Tony breathed out a heaving lungful of air, not quite a sigh but not close to the succor of comfort. He was unable to deny that his approaching death felt better with the company of others, teetering on the edge of acceptance.
Steve squeezed his shoulder, and Tony wondered if he felt the same way.
They weren’t crashing a plane into the arctic, they weren’t flying a nuke into space. Looking up at Steve, the light from his chest-plate illuminated between them, Tony decided that if he had to go out, he was at least glad that he wasn’t alone.
That he was at least with a friend.
The tiny LED’s begin to flicker, batteries struggling to withstand damage from the water. They dimmed softly, fading out slowly until nothing but blackness enveloped them.
Water sloshed. Splashed. Their breathing was thick, heavy, shuddering in the cold.
And just when Tony closed his eyes, a golden light basked over them. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t comforting, but wow was it radiant. For a split second, Tony wondered if another plane of existence really did exist: if this was the light to the end of the tunnel he had finally reached.
“Gentlemen,” Strange said, “this is not the central point.”
Tony’s eyes snapped open. The bright, vivid orange glow of magic sparkled in his pupils.
Steve closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping with released tension, both his hands falling from Tony and Peter.
“Shit."
The swear word was so foreign coming from Steve’s mouth that with hysteric relief, Tony laughed. The breath of air he hadn’t realized he was holding escaped and he clung to Peter and laughed, the bark an indescribable catatonic joy flooding through him faster than the waters below.
Stephen cocked an eyebrow. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, Captain?”
A sob hitched in Tony’s chest, repressed by the intense need to escape. He pushed past the breakdown and pulled himself up, fumbling hands fighting to wrap themselves tightly underneath Peter’s arms. He dragged them through the water, towards the crackling orange portal — towards their home.
“Get us the hell out of here, Strange,” Tony said.
“Gladly.” Stephen motioned behind him, the light from the compound bright as ever. “Now come on, the rest of your team is waiting for you.”
Stephen stepped aside to let both men pass by. Steve jumped into the portal first while Tony insisted on carrying Peter himself, arms latched underneath his arms as he dragged them both through.
The crackling died away, and sparks fizzled in the waters below, sizzling like extinguished firecrackers. With two fingers, Stephen gracefully closed the portal.
The water never stopped rising, but no occupants remained to care.