A Long Retirement - Part 3: 1991
Title: A Long Retirement - Part 3
Fandom: Captain America/Avengers
Series: To Rewrite History
Pairings: [For the series]Very minor Steve/Bucky and Tony/Pepper
Ratings/Warnings: R for violence
Word Count: 3577 (11,843 so far)
Disclaimer: If I owned it it would be a family story
Summary: No one could have survived that fall, but for Steve they look.
Part 1: 1988
Part 2: 1989
1991
Tony hears the argument as soon as he opens the front door and he can't hold back a sigh. Freshly home from college where he's working on his Masters, he was hoping for a warm welcome. But it doesn't sound like he'll be getting that tonight. Not when Steve and his father are at each other's throats again.
“It's too dangerous and you know it!”
The voice booms through the foyer. Steve isn't yelling yet, but Tony can hear frustration laced through every word.
“We're just going to the opera, Cap,” his father answers and he just knows the man is smirking, one supercilious eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You need to relax.”
“You're not just going to the opera, Howard. We both know what's in that briefcase.”
Tony follows the sounds of arguing through to the drawing room where he finds exactly what he expected: Steve and his father squaring off across the table, neither man willing to back down while Bucky and Maria watch from the sidelines. Howard is dressed to the nines in a fine tuxedo and Tony's mother is wearing a gorgeous gown to match.
However, while Tony's father is staring down his nose at Steve just as expected, Maria Stark is staying out of it. She's standing by the window with a glass of rosé in her right hand and Bucky at her side. The two of them are chatting calmly, though the brunet has one eye on the fight and is clearly ready to step in if things come to blows.
And honestly, that seems pretty likely as his father smirks, “I don't see why you care. You're retired aren't you?”
“To protect us! And to protect everyone else from those damn experiments,” the blond snaps back. “I've read the files, Howard; how many lives have you broken along the way already? And that's only with the scraps that you could salvage from the war.”
That makes Tony startle. He's not naive enough to think that Stark Industries hasn't done some shady things - they make weapons after all - but he's never heard about anything like that. Steve and Howard both ignore his quiet gasp, but his mother notices. She rushes over to hug him tightly, her smile lighting up the room.
“It's good to see you, darling. If you'd told us you were coming, I would have sent the car,” his mother says, pulling away to look him up and down. “Are you eating enough? You seem too skinny and I know you often forget when you're working in the lab.”
“I'm all right, I promise,” Tony says with a kiss on her cheek. “I caught an early train because I wanted to surprise you. But maybe I should have waited. What's going on here anyway?”
“To be honest, dear, I'm not quite sure. Your father surprised me with last minute tickets to the opera and you know how I love La Bohème.”
“Father bought tickets to the opera? And remembered?”
“It is rather out of character,” his mother agrees easily. “But he has been trying to be better so I thought I should give him the benefit of the doubt. However, Steve became quite worried when he heard. He said he needed to make some phone calls and then stormed back into the room a few minutes later. They have been fighting ever since.”
“We caught a rumor through the grapevine,” Bucky explains before Tony can even ask. “Also known as Peggy Carter; that gal knows everything. Your father plans to hand off his latest project to the Pentagon tonight and there's a lot of people who'd like to get their hands on it.”
“What kind of people?”
“Ones that you don't want to mess with. We know the Soviets have agents here on US soil, but for this they'll send the best,” the brunet tells him and suddenly Tony can see the sniper. He can see the man who walked out of a prison camp and went straight back to war again. “The most ruthless, the most deadly, the ones who don't flinch when told that no one should make it out alive.”
“Shit,” Tony mutters, fear licking down his spine. “What can we do? What should we do?”
“We've got Peggy sending backup and we've been trying to get Howard to call off the opera jaunt. We know you've got a panic room; it'd be better for everyone if we got you hunkered down in there. But Howard's being stubborn.”
“Yeah, what else is new?” Tony snorts and Bucky is kind enough not to mention the hint of panic in his voice. He's grown up knowing that there were people who didn't like the Starks, that people sometimes hate him for his name alone. But this is the first time he's been faced with anyone who actually wants him dead. Not even as a target; these people want to kill him as a fucking afterthought.
“Howard! Put aside your ego and think about your life,” Steve shouts, finally losing his temper. “Think about your family instead of your damn pride!”
When Tony looks over, the blond is grabbing his father by the shoulders, frustration on his face. His expression screams: I want to shake you until your teeth rattle, and the young man knows that feeling well.
But shouting now won't help and Tony glances back at Bucky, ready to volunteer for anything that will keep his mother safe.
Except Bucky is staring out the windows of the drawing room. His eyes are narrowed, dangerous, as he tries to pierce the darkness and Tony feels a chill run down his spine. Something's out there? Fuck, what could be out there?
“Steve! We're out of time!”
Before he can ask what's going on, Bucky bursts into motion, grabbing Tony and his mother around their waists and dragging them down behind the couch.
There's a sound of breaking glass and then the roar of an explosion, flames licking above his head close enough to feel the heat.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“Both of you, stay down!”
And then Bucky is moving to engage a black-clad man aiming a gun in their direction, the weapon yanked off target even as the trigger's pulled. The sound of the bullets firing is deafening, a short burst that sets Tony's ears to ringing as he does his best to block his mother's body with his own.
He can't track the fight; it's too fast - too brutal. Bucky dodges around the stranger's blows, untouchable as water while every motion of his arms cracks skin and bone beneath his fists. Then there's a knife in his left hand, a sleek and deadly blade that he pulls out of nowhere and sinks into the other's chest. Bucky grabs the intruder's weapon as it falls from nerveless fingers, bringing it to bear in one smooth move and firing again.
The muzzle flashes before Tony's eyes, black and menacing and for a moment he thinks that Bucky is shooting straight at him. But there's a grunt of pain above him, just barely audible over the crack of gunfire, and something wet and warm is spilling across his face.
Oh god, he thinks, trying not to taste it, trying not to move as a body falls across his lap. The man is dead already, a jagged crater of flesh and bone blasted through his head, and it takes everything Tony has not to throw up right then. He can feel the stranger's blood still sliding down his skin, his vision going grey around the edges as a chunk of brain matter drips onto his hand.
Someone lets out a whimper, a shriek behind clenched teeth and he's not sure whether the sound came out of him. Tony's mother is shaking at his side, trembling so hard that her teeth are rattling and he just can't seem to breathe.
“Hey, Tony, come on. I need you to stay with me.”
The weight pinning him down disappears as Bucky tosses the corpse aside one-handed, another streak of blood splattering across the wall. Tony doesn't recognize the man who fires another shot over the couch to a gurgle and a thud, but he knows the hand there on his shoulder. The brunet's eyes are sharp, but his touch is gentle, a familiar lifeline that Tony latches onto desperately. Because Bucky will keep them safe - he'll do it or die trying - and that's a promise he can feel down to his bones.
“Up, get up,” the other man is urging as he pulls him to his feet. Tony keeps his mother close, hiding her face against his chest so she doesn't have to look.
But he can't stop himself from staring at the utter wreckage of his family's drawing room. One of the windows is blown out, the curtains still on fire and glass strewn across the floor. And in the middle, there stands Steve, half a dozen bodies lying at his feet.
There stands Captain-fucking-America, going toe-to-toe with an assassin and not backing down an inch.
Where did these assholes come from? 1-800-Rent-a-Villain? Tony wonders just a touch hysterically. The man that Steve is fighting is dressed head to toe in leather and bristling with knives. However, none of those blades can help him when the blond lunges forward to wrap one hand around his neck.
Instead there's a screech of metal, two different knives deflecting off Steve's metal arm. Tony is torn between pride at its resiliency and irritation at the knowledge that he'll need to buff that out. But then it's back to horror as Steve slams his enemy into the floor and the sickening crunch of bone reaches Tony's ears.
He gags at the sound, bile rising in his throat and he probably would have thrown up if Bucky hadn't reappeared there are his side. The hand on his shoulder grounds him enough to tear his eyes away from his friend, his brother, beating someone to a pulp.
Instead his gaze falls on his father and somehow that's even worse. Because Howard looks unruffled, standing calmly amidst the carnage his experiments have caused. The man actually checks his watch when Steve finishes his last opponent and stands up again, blood dripping from his knuckles to the floor.
“Is that the last of them?” he asks, sounding almost bored. “We should still make the hand-off time if we leave now.”
Howard could be asking about the weather for all the interest in his voice and Tony just doesn't understand. Was his father always like this? More interested in science than living flesh and blood. He doesn't expect the man to weep over their enemies, but Howard doesn't seem to care at all. The man hasn't even looked in his direction, hasn't bothered to check that his wife and son are still alive.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
The words feel ripped from Tony's mouth and it takes him a second to realize that he didn't scream them out. It was Steve who rounded on his father and jabbed a finger into his chest, leaving a crimson streak across his tie.
“There's not going to be a hand-off! Peggy is coming here to make sure that you're protected, you and your family!” the blond growls. “I know you love them, Howard, but you're shit at showing it. How could you bring that here and put them both in danger? How can that damn serum still be your main priority?”
“You and Barnes are here. Why would I worry?” his father answers, raising one eyebrow. “I know that we'll be fine.”
“Cold-hearted motherfucker,” Bucky mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to hear. Then there's a hand on Tony's arm and instructions in his ear. “Head over to the door. Steve will deal with Howard, but I want to get you somewhere more protected until Peggy's folks arrive.”
The other man nudges Tony until he finally gets moving, holding his mother close and focusing on the door in front of him. It's good to have a goal, something to keep him from thinking about everything he's heard. He doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to process this.
“Steve! Watch out!”
Tony half stumbles at the shout, his heart kicking back up to double time. He's almost to the door now and he wants so badly just to run, to flee into the hallway and pretend that none of this is happening. But he can't leave Steve and Bucky - he can't - so he shoves his mother through the door and spins around to see what's happened, trying to keep her safe as best he can.
Two more assassins have dived into the room, one engaged with Steve and the other...
I built that, Tony thinks, utterly dumbfounded. He knows that gun. He designed that gun almost three years ago.
The Department of Defense had wanted a weapon without bullets and the challenge had excited his creativity. Tony had been proud of his solution, certain that his version would be the one produced. But the DOD had decided to go another way - that's what Howard told him - and Project Thunderstrike had been put on ice for good.
There should only be one prototype. One prototype safely locked away within Stark Industries. There shouldn't be a gun pointed at his older brother, energy crackling around its muzzle in an ever growing wave.
“What the fuck is that? Get out into the hall!” Bucky yells, ducking down behind the couch.
That isn't enough cover!
“Bucky, you have to move!”
Tony knows exactly what that gun can do. He designed it, he built it and he tested it; he's watched that weapon punch through walls.
So he throws himself at Bucky in sheer desperation when he sees the trigger start to fall. Tony slams into the other man with the full weight of his body and it feels like hitting concrete with his face. Bucky barely staggers, surprise more than the blow knocking him off balance and if he'd been expecting it, he wouldn't have moved at all. But that wobble is just enough for Tony to drag him to the floor, both of them hitting wood seconds before a blast of energy cuts the couch in two.
“Shit,” Bucky groans as Tony tries to blink away the afterimages. The word is laced with pain and moments later, the awful smell of burning flesh washes over him.
Tony pushes himself upright with a wince of his own. That's gonna leave a bruise. But his aches and pains are nothing compared to the wide swath of scorched flesh across Bucky's upper back. The brunet's clothes have melted away, the skin beneath still bubbling as he pants around gritted teeth and presses his forehead against the floor.
“Bucky! Buck, are you okay?!”
“I'm all right, Stevie! Get the gun!” Bucky shouts back, his voice still tight with pain.
“On it!” is the answer and Tony glances across the ruined couch just in time to watch Steve rugby tackle the last assassin off her feet.
She's not getting up. So he turns back to Bucky, doing what he can to help the other man stand up. Bucky is fucking heavy, solid muscle through and through, and every tiny movement makes him gasp in agony.
The sound stabs straight through Tony, a hard knot of guilt growing deep within his chest. His brother friend could have died in one blast of energy and it would have been his fault. It was his gun that did this damage, his design that's caused the other man such agony. Tony knows the pain won't last - although they never talk about it, normal humans don't survive being frozen and Bucky's enhanced healing is already kicking in - but he'll never forget the smell of roasted meat upon his tongue.
“Bucky! Hey, I got you,” Steve says, appearing on the man's other side and reaching out to take his weight. Tony's knees are wobbling already so he hands Bucky over and he's a little jealous of the ease with which the blond holds his friend up.
Bucky leans into Steve with a deep sigh, taking comfort for a moment before his eyes sharpen once again. But it looks like the most recent pair was the last of the assassins; there's no more shouts of danger or assholes bursting through the walls.
There's just Howard Stark, calmly strolling across the room with a briefcase in his hand. He stops by the newest body and looks down at Project Thunderstrike before raising one eyebrow. Tony's father clearly recognizes the weapon - he should, he helped to test it - but he doesn't seem surprised. He doesn't seem to care that a crazy ninja woman somehow got his son's design and used it for attempted murder. Howard only seems to care about the tech in his damn briefcase and Tony is struck by a sudden surge of rage and self-disgust.
It's been a long time since Tony's father was his hero, a long time since he could think of Howard without a hint of bitterness. And yet he's never doubted the values he was raised with. Tony was taught to think that nothing was more valuable than science, that there's no greater goal than bringing something new into the world. And he truly loves it. That's never been a lie.
Tony loves invention. He loves the joy of calculation and finding the perfect numbers, loves seeing what he's built start to function properly; but he's never really stopped to think about what happens afterwards.
Science for science's sake, that's his father's mantra. And today he's seen exactly where that mindset leads.
Who knows how many lives Tony's work has taken? How many mourning widows his inventions left behind? Stark Industries was built on weapon contracts; his family made its fortune selling tools of murder, and he'd been prepared to bathe his hands in that same sea of blood.
No fucking more. Tony is determined now to never be his father. He's determined now to build the Starks a different legacy.
Maybe the young man will never feel less guilty. Maybe these corpses and the thick smell of death will haunt his dreams for years. But Tony remembers how happy he felt when working on Steve's arm - building something that would help instead of hinder - and he knows exactly what the first step needs to be.
His fury drives him forward to stand next to Howard, joining him in staring down at Project Thunderstrike.
“You know I built that, don't you?” he asks tightly.
“Of course,” his father answers, either missing or ignoring the rage in Tony's voice. “We'll need to check the security on prototypes again. We must have had a leak.”
“That's it? Bucky nearly died because of one of my designs and - we must have had a leak - is all you have to say?”
“I'm afraid it happens, son,” Howard tells him, though he's too genteel to shrug. “Industrial espionage is a serious problem and we do our best to prevent it, but sometimes things slip through the cracks. You can't shove that genie back into the bottle and Bucky will be fine, so there's no point in crying. We can only try to protect what we have left and make sure that nothing else falls into the wrong hands.”
“You're right, father. We should definitely do that.”
Tony leans down and scoops Project Thunderstrike up off the floor. Then he spins around and with all the force that he can muster, socks Howard in the jaw. His father stumbles backwards, looking shocked for the first time as Tony rips the briefcase from his hand.
“What are you doing?! Do you know what that is?”
“I've got a pretty damn good guess,” he answers flatly. “And it's time to destroy it, father. We've both built too many weapons; it's time for this to end.”
Howard sputters protests but Tony just ignores him as tosses the briefcase to the ground and takes careful aim. When he pulls the trigger, Project Thunderstrike comes alive within his hands, lightning arcing forward to melt the briefcase where it lies. He shoots three times just to be certain until there's nothing left but a smoking crater in the floor.
Only then does Tony lower the weapon and turn to meet his father's eyes. He takes a grim satisfaction in the surprise on Howard's face, the absolute shock at his defiance that's stolen the man's voice.
Do you finally see me? Tony wonders. Do you finally see me instead of a carbon copy dancing on your strings?
“No more weapons,” he repeats, letting Project Thunderstrike drop out of his hand. “Stark Industries has profited from death for long enough.”
Tony knows it won't be easy. Despite Howard's silence now, change won't happen overnight. But when he looks across the room, he finds Steve and Bucky grinning at him proudly and a sense of reassurance settles in his bones. Captain-fucking-America and his sergeant are both in his corner and with his friends brothers to support him, Tony can fight anything.
Part 4: 1997
Fandom: Captain America/Avengers
Series: To Rewrite History
Pairings: [For the series]Very minor Steve/Bucky and Tony/Pepper
Ratings/Warnings: R for violence
Word Count: 3577 (11,843 so far)
Disclaimer: If I owned it it would be a family story
Summary: No one could have survived that fall, but for Steve they look.
Part 1: 1988
Part 2: 1989
1991
Tony hears the argument as soon as he opens the front door and he can't hold back a sigh. Freshly home from college where he's working on his Masters, he was hoping for a warm welcome. But it doesn't sound like he'll be getting that tonight. Not when Steve and his father are at each other's throats again.
“It's too dangerous and you know it!”
The voice booms through the foyer. Steve isn't yelling yet, but Tony can hear frustration laced through every word.
“We're just going to the opera, Cap,” his father answers and he just knows the man is smirking, one supercilious eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You need to relax.”
“You're not just going to the opera, Howard. We both know what's in that briefcase.”
Tony follows the sounds of arguing through to the drawing room where he finds exactly what he expected: Steve and his father squaring off across the table, neither man willing to back down while Bucky and Maria watch from the sidelines. Howard is dressed to the nines in a fine tuxedo and Tony's mother is wearing a gorgeous gown to match.
However, while Tony's father is staring down his nose at Steve just as expected, Maria Stark is staying out of it. She's standing by the window with a glass of rosé in her right hand and Bucky at her side. The two of them are chatting calmly, though the brunet has one eye on the fight and is clearly ready to step in if things come to blows.
And honestly, that seems pretty likely as his father smirks, “I don't see why you care. You're retired aren't you?”
“To protect us! And to protect everyone else from those damn experiments,” the blond snaps back. “I've read the files, Howard; how many lives have you broken along the way already? And that's only with the scraps that you could salvage from the war.”
That makes Tony startle. He's not naive enough to think that Stark Industries hasn't done some shady things - they make weapons after all - but he's never heard about anything like that. Steve and Howard both ignore his quiet gasp, but his mother notices. She rushes over to hug him tightly, her smile lighting up the room.
“It's good to see you, darling. If you'd told us you were coming, I would have sent the car,” his mother says, pulling away to look him up and down. “Are you eating enough? You seem too skinny and I know you often forget when you're working in the lab.”
“I'm all right, I promise,” Tony says with a kiss on her cheek. “I caught an early train because I wanted to surprise you. But maybe I should have waited. What's going on here anyway?”
“To be honest, dear, I'm not quite sure. Your father surprised me with last minute tickets to the opera and you know how I love La Bohème.”
“Father bought tickets to the opera? And remembered?”
“It is rather out of character,” his mother agrees easily. “But he has been trying to be better so I thought I should give him the benefit of the doubt. However, Steve became quite worried when he heard. He said he needed to make some phone calls and then stormed back into the room a few minutes later. They have been fighting ever since.”
“We caught a rumor through the grapevine,” Bucky explains before Tony can even ask. “Also known as Peggy Carter; that gal knows everything. Your father plans to hand off his latest project to the Pentagon tonight and there's a lot of people who'd like to get their hands on it.”
“What kind of people?”
“Ones that you don't want to mess with. We know the Soviets have agents here on US soil, but for this they'll send the best,” the brunet tells him and suddenly Tony can see the sniper. He can see the man who walked out of a prison camp and went straight back to war again. “The most ruthless, the most deadly, the ones who don't flinch when told that no one should make it out alive.”
“Shit,” Tony mutters, fear licking down his spine. “What can we do? What should we do?”
“We've got Peggy sending backup and we've been trying to get Howard to call off the opera jaunt. We know you've got a panic room; it'd be better for everyone if we got you hunkered down in there. But Howard's being stubborn.”
“Yeah, what else is new?” Tony snorts and Bucky is kind enough not to mention the hint of panic in his voice. He's grown up knowing that there were people who didn't like the Starks, that people sometimes hate him for his name alone. But this is the first time he's been faced with anyone who actually wants him dead. Not even as a target; these people want to kill him as a fucking afterthought.
“Howard! Put aside your ego and think about your life,” Steve shouts, finally losing his temper. “Think about your family instead of your damn pride!”
When Tony looks over, the blond is grabbing his father by the shoulders, frustration on his face. His expression screams: I want to shake you until your teeth rattle, and the young man knows that feeling well.
But shouting now won't help and Tony glances back at Bucky, ready to volunteer for anything that will keep his mother safe.
Except Bucky is staring out the windows of the drawing room. His eyes are narrowed, dangerous, as he tries to pierce the darkness and Tony feels a chill run down his spine. Something's out there? Fuck, what could be out there?
“Steve! We're out of time!”
Before he can ask what's going on, Bucky bursts into motion, grabbing Tony and his mother around their waists and dragging them down behind the couch.
There's a sound of breaking glass and then the roar of an explosion, flames licking above his head close enough to feel the heat.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“Both of you, stay down!”
And then Bucky is moving to engage a black-clad man aiming a gun in their direction, the weapon yanked off target even as the trigger's pulled. The sound of the bullets firing is deafening, a short burst that sets Tony's ears to ringing as he does his best to block his mother's body with his own.
He can't track the fight; it's too fast - too brutal. Bucky dodges around the stranger's blows, untouchable as water while every motion of his arms cracks skin and bone beneath his fists. Then there's a knife in his left hand, a sleek and deadly blade that he pulls out of nowhere and sinks into the other's chest. Bucky grabs the intruder's weapon as it falls from nerveless fingers, bringing it to bear in one smooth move and firing again.
The muzzle flashes before Tony's eyes, black and menacing and for a moment he thinks that Bucky is shooting straight at him. But there's a grunt of pain above him, just barely audible over the crack of gunfire, and something wet and warm is spilling across his face.
Oh god, he thinks, trying not to taste it, trying not to move as a body falls across his lap. The man is dead already, a jagged crater of flesh and bone blasted through his head, and it takes everything Tony has not to throw up right then. He can feel the stranger's blood still sliding down his skin, his vision going grey around the edges as a chunk of brain matter drips onto his hand.
Someone lets out a whimper, a shriek behind clenched teeth and he's not sure whether the sound came out of him. Tony's mother is shaking at his side, trembling so hard that her teeth are rattling and he just can't seem to breathe.
“Hey, Tony, come on. I need you to stay with me.”
The weight pinning him down disappears as Bucky tosses the corpse aside one-handed, another streak of blood splattering across the wall. Tony doesn't recognize the man who fires another shot over the couch to a gurgle and a thud, but he knows the hand there on his shoulder. The brunet's eyes are sharp, but his touch is gentle, a familiar lifeline that Tony latches onto desperately. Because Bucky will keep them safe - he'll do it or die trying - and that's a promise he can feel down to his bones.
“Up, get up,” the other man is urging as he pulls him to his feet. Tony keeps his mother close, hiding her face against his chest so she doesn't have to look.
But he can't stop himself from staring at the utter wreckage of his family's drawing room. One of the windows is blown out, the curtains still on fire and glass strewn across the floor. And in the middle, there stands Steve, half a dozen bodies lying at his feet.
There stands Captain-fucking-America, going toe-to-toe with an assassin and not backing down an inch.
Where did these assholes come from? 1-800-Rent-a-Villain? Tony wonders just a touch hysterically. The man that Steve is fighting is dressed head to toe in leather and bristling with knives. However, none of those blades can help him when the blond lunges forward to wrap one hand around his neck.
Instead there's a screech of metal, two different knives deflecting off Steve's metal arm. Tony is torn between pride at its resiliency and irritation at the knowledge that he'll need to buff that out. But then it's back to horror as Steve slams his enemy into the floor and the sickening crunch of bone reaches Tony's ears.
He gags at the sound, bile rising in his throat and he probably would have thrown up if Bucky hadn't reappeared there are his side. The hand on his shoulder grounds him enough to tear his eyes away from his friend, his brother, beating someone to a pulp.
Instead his gaze falls on his father and somehow that's even worse. Because Howard looks unruffled, standing calmly amidst the carnage his experiments have caused. The man actually checks his watch when Steve finishes his last opponent and stands up again, blood dripping from his knuckles to the floor.
“Is that the last of them?” he asks, sounding almost bored. “We should still make the hand-off time if we leave now.”
Howard could be asking about the weather for all the interest in his voice and Tony just doesn't understand. Was his father always like this? More interested in science than living flesh and blood. He doesn't expect the man to weep over their enemies, but Howard doesn't seem to care at all. The man hasn't even looked in his direction, hasn't bothered to check that his wife and son are still alive.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
The words feel ripped from Tony's mouth and it takes him a second to realize that he didn't scream them out. It was Steve who rounded on his father and jabbed a finger into his chest, leaving a crimson streak across his tie.
“There's not going to be a hand-off! Peggy is coming here to make sure that you're protected, you and your family!” the blond growls. “I know you love them, Howard, but you're shit at showing it. How could you bring that here and put them both in danger? How can that damn serum still be your main priority?”
“You and Barnes are here. Why would I worry?” his father answers, raising one eyebrow. “I know that we'll be fine.”
“Cold-hearted motherfucker,” Bucky mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to hear. Then there's a hand on Tony's arm and instructions in his ear. “Head over to the door. Steve will deal with Howard, but I want to get you somewhere more protected until Peggy's folks arrive.”
The other man nudges Tony until he finally gets moving, holding his mother close and focusing on the door in front of him. It's good to have a goal, something to keep him from thinking about everything he's heard. He doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to process this.
“Steve! Watch out!”
Tony half stumbles at the shout, his heart kicking back up to double time. He's almost to the door now and he wants so badly just to run, to flee into the hallway and pretend that none of this is happening. But he can't leave Steve and Bucky - he can't - so he shoves his mother through the door and spins around to see what's happened, trying to keep her safe as best he can.
Two more assassins have dived into the room, one engaged with Steve and the other...
I built that, Tony thinks, utterly dumbfounded. He knows that gun. He designed that gun almost three years ago.
The Department of Defense had wanted a weapon without bullets and the challenge had excited his creativity. Tony had been proud of his solution, certain that his version would be the one produced. But the DOD had decided to go another way - that's what Howard told him - and Project Thunderstrike had been put on ice for good.
There should only be one prototype. One prototype safely locked away within Stark Industries. There shouldn't be a gun pointed at his older brother, energy crackling around its muzzle in an ever growing wave.
“What the fuck is that? Get out into the hall!” Bucky yells, ducking down behind the couch.
That isn't enough cover!
“Bucky, you have to move!”
Tony knows exactly what that gun can do. He designed it, he built it and he tested it; he's watched that weapon punch through walls.
So he throws himself at Bucky in sheer desperation when he sees the trigger start to fall. Tony slams into the other man with the full weight of his body and it feels like hitting concrete with his face. Bucky barely staggers, surprise more than the blow knocking him off balance and if he'd been expecting it, he wouldn't have moved at all. But that wobble is just enough for Tony to drag him to the floor, both of them hitting wood seconds before a blast of energy cuts the couch in two.
“Shit,” Bucky groans as Tony tries to blink away the afterimages. The word is laced with pain and moments later, the awful smell of burning flesh washes over him.
Tony pushes himself upright with a wince of his own. That's gonna leave a bruise. But his aches and pains are nothing compared to the wide swath of scorched flesh across Bucky's upper back. The brunet's clothes have melted away, the skin beneath still bubbling as he pants around gritted teeth and presses his forehead against the floor.
“Bucky! Buck, are you okay?!”
“I'm all right, Stevie! Get the gun!” Bucky shouts back, his voice still tight with pain.
“On it!” is the answer and Tony glances across the ruined couch just in time to watch Steve rugby tackle the last assassin off her feet.
She's not getting up. So he turns back to Bucky, doing what he can to help the other man stand up. Bucky is fucking heavy, solid muscle through and through, and every tiny movement makes him gasp in agony.
The sound stabs straight through Tony, a hard knot of guilt growing deep within his chest. His brother friend could have died in one blast of energy and it would have been his fault. It was his gun that did this damage, his design that's caused the other man such agony. Tony knows the pain won't last - although they never talk about it, normal humans don't survive being frozen and Bucky's enhanced healing is already kicking in - but he'll never forget the smell of roasted meat upon his tongue.
“Bucky! Hey, I got you,” Steve says, appearing on the man's other side and reaching out to take his weight. Tony's knees are wobbling already so he hands Bucky over and he's a little jealous of the ease with which the blond holds his friend up.
Bucky leans into Steve with a deep sigh, taking comfort for a moment before his eyes sharpen once again. But it looks like the most recent pair was the last of the assassins; there's no more shouts of danger or assholes bursting through the walls.
There's just Howard Stark, calmly strolling across the room with a briefcase in his hand. He stops by the newest body and looks down at Project Thunderstrike before raising one eyebrow. Tony's father clearly recognizes the weapon - he should, he helped to test it - but he doesn't seem surprised. He doesn't seem to care that a crazy ninja woman somehow got his son's design and used it for attempted murder. Howard only seems to care about the tech in his damn briefcase and Tony is struck by a sudden surge of rage and self-disgust.
It's been a long time since Tony's father was his hero, a long time since he could think of Howard without a hint of bitterness. And yet he's never doubted the values he was raised with. Tony was taught to think that nothing was more valuable than science, that there's no greater goal than bringing something new into the world. And he truly loves it. That's never been a lie.
Tony loves invention. He loves the joy of calculation and finding the perfect numbers, loves seeing what he's built start to function properly; but he's never really stopped to think about what happens afterwards.
Science for science's sake, that's his father's mantra. And today he's seen exactly where that mindset leads.
Who knows how many lives Tony's work has taken? How many mourning widows his inventions left behind? Stark Industries was built on weapon contracts; his family made its fortune selling tools of murder, and he'd been prepared to bathe his hands in that same sea of blood.
No fucking more. Tony is determined now to never be his father. He's determined now to build the Starks a different legacy.
Maybe the young man will never feel less guilty. Maybe these corpses and the thick smell of death will haunt his dreams for years. But Tony remembers how happy he felt when working on Steve's arm - building something that would help instead of hinder - and he knows exactly what the first step needs to be.
His fury drives him forward to stand next to Howard, joining him in staring down at Project Thunderstrike.
“You know I built that, don't you?” he asks tightly.
“Of course,” his father answers, either missing or ignoring the rage in Tony's voice. “We'll need to check the security on prototypes again. We must have had a leak.”
“That's it? Bucky nearly died because of one of my designs and - we must have had a leak - is all you have to say?”
“I'm afraid it happens, son,” Howard tells him, though he's too genteel to shrug. “Industrial espionage is a serious problem and we do our best to prevent it, but sometimes things slip through the cracks. You can't shove that genie back into the bottle and Bucky will be fine, so there's no point in crying. We can only try to protect what we have left and make sure that nothing else falls into the wrong hands.”
“You're right, father. We should definitely do that.”
Tony leans down and scoops Project Thunderstrike up off the floor. Then he spins around and with all the force that he can muster, socks Howard in the jaw. His father stumbles backwards, looking shocked for the first time as Tony rips the briefcase from his hand.
“What are you doing?! Do you know what that is?”
“I've got a pretty damn good guess,” he answers flatly. “And it's time to destroy it, father. We've both built too many weapons; it's time for this to end.”
Howard sputters protests but Tony just ignores him as tosses the briefcase to the ground and takes careful aim. When he pulls the trigger, Project Thunderstrike comes alive within his hands, lightning arcing forward to melt the briefcase where it lies. He shoots three times just to be certain until there's nothing left but a smoking crater in the floor.
Only then does Tony lower the weapon and turn to meet his father's eyes. He takes a grim satisfaction in the surprise on Howard's face, the absolute shock at his defiance that's stolen the man's voice.
Do you finally see me? Tony wonders. Do you finally see me instead of a carbon copy dancing on your strings?
“No more weapons,” he repeats, letting Project Thunderstrike drop out of his hand. “Stark Industries has profited from death for long enough.”
Tony knows it won't be easy. Despite Howard's silence now, change won't happen overnight. But when he looks across the room, he finds Steve and Bucky grinning at him proudly and a sense of reassurance settles in his bones. Captain-fucking-America and his sergeant are both in his corner and with his friends brothers to support him, Tony can fight anything.
Part 4: 1997