Disclaimer: I own nothing in the MCU or anything drawn from the comics. Unfortunately. Lol. All characters belong to the amazing people over at Marvel! I'm just playing with them for a little bit.

Summary: Homecoming AU. "I swear…" he gasped out between his sobs. "I… I didn't kill Mr. Stark." When the argument after the ferry incident goes horribly awry, Tony is missing and presumed dead, and Spider-Man is suspect number one. Peter believes his mentor is alive out there, but he'll need help to find and save Tony from who truly wants him dead in time.

Author's Note (Important!): Hey, guys. I'm sorry for the really long wait with this chapter. I don't want to go too much into it, but I went through two difficult personal losses in late summer, and I'm still going through the process of getting back on my feet. I'm still working on healing and getting back to myself. But I still love this story, and I have every intention to finish it. I just can't promise quick updates. I have the notes and outlines for the last arc of this story, but I never know how it's going to be each day both creatively and personally. Some days are much easier or harder than others. So please just bear with me. But this story will be done! To everyone who's still favoriting, following, and reviewing, thank you so much! I'm glad everyone's been enjoying this story so much! It's been a blast to work on. I hope everyone is enjoying their New Year! I won't keep you guys any longer, here's the next chapter!

Chapter 27— From Siberia With Love

The drive was silent as Happy took Rhodey's car to bring Peter back home. Even the radio was kept off, as the Colonel had been insistent that they didn't touch his stations. The head of security sighed, glancing at the teen next to him. His gaze faltered when he noticed his jaw was clenched tightly, his lips set in a tight, thin line as he stared blankly out at the night. He sighed.

"I know you don't wanna hear it right now, but Steve's choice is really the best one, kid."

A beat passed before Peter looked back at him. "You know?" he wondered. Had the Captain told everyone before him?

Happy turned back to the road ahead of them. "Director Fury told me," he muttered.

Oh. At the thought of the director, the web-slinger slowly looked back out the window. So much for Fury wanting to talk to him about joining the Avengers initiative, then. It suddenly felt more and more like he was being tossed off the team altogether. Which he immediately tried to pass off as a stupid thought, but… maybe it wasn't…

The rest of the drive remained silent, and Happy let out a long low breath as he brought the car to a stop in front of Peter's apartment building and shut the car off. Neither of them moved for a moment until he looked back at his passenger. "It might feel like it, but it's nothing personal against you, Peter," he said. "No one thinks you can't do anything. This is strictly for your own safety. And for Tony's. You saw what happened to Clint. They don't want to take a chance and have something similar happen to you."

Peter nodded numbly, though he was only half-listening. "Right. Because I'm a reckless kid who's gonna get Mr. Stark into more trouble," he mumbled.

The head of security sighed. "No. That's not…" he began, though his words ended in a heavy sigh as his charge climbed out of the car and closed the door behind him. He shut his eyes tightly and kneaded his forehead, grumbling under his breath about patience and moody teenagers. At that moment, he was glad he hadn't settled down and had children, no matter how many times his mother had asked him when he would.

After a moment of deep breathing, Happy opened his own door and followed the web-slinger to the front door. "No one thinks that about you," he said evenly. "But there is a real risk to Tony, and you, if something should happen to you. So they have to be cautious."

The teen's shoulders dropped a bit before he nodded. "Yeah, I… I get it, Happy," he replied. Just how bad was this Hydra agent who had taken Tony? Everyone seemed incredibly on edge when it came to him… But then, he frowned when his older companion stepped into the lobby with him. "You don't have to go with me all the way to my front door, Happy…"

Happy arched an eyebrow, though his gaze flitted everywhere around them as they made for the elevators. "Considering an android had been following you around, and the people who took Tony are upping their game…"

"Yeah. Point taken." Peter sighed as he hit the up arrow. How long was that going to be held against him? They only had to wait a few seconds before the doors slid open with a quiet ding, and they both stepped inside the elevator. The ride up to the web-slinger's floor was tense, silent, and almost awkward, and the only time either of them said anything was when the head of security mumbled a quick, "It's gonna be okay, kid. You'll see."

Peter stepped out of the elevator first when it came to a stop, Happy a couple steps behind him, and reached into his suit coat pocket for his keys. "Okay, so… I think we're good now, Happy," he muttered.

"Yeah. We're good," Happy agreed. "So, I'll, uh, I'll see you in the morning for school."

The teen's brow furrowed. "I can take the subway…" he began.

"After what happened tonight? I don't think so," Happy hissed. "My car blew up. We don't know how many androids are wandering around out there. Someone almost died."

"Okay, okay, I get it… I'll see you in the morning, then." Peter found the right key, but before he could reach the lock, the door flew open to reveal a flustered May. Her narrowed eyes zeroed in on her nephew.

"There you are!" she snapped shrilly, frantically ushering him inside. "Do you have any idea what time it is, young man? You have school tomorrow, and when you weren't with Ned…"

Peter quickly glanced over his shoulder at Happy, whose eyes narrowed into slits as he mumbled, "I'm not taking the fall for you" out of the corner of his mouth since he knew the teen would still hear him. A grin spread across his face as he chuckled and turned back to his aunt.

"Sorry, May, I didn't mean to worry you," he told her. "I bumped into Happy while we were at the restaurant, and there was something we had to, uh, talk about concerning the, uh, the… internship."

May clicked her tongue and shook her head slightly in disapproval before she reached for her nephew to pull him the rest of the way into the apartment. "Always that damn internship," she grumbled. "You know how I feel about that…"

Happy glared at Peter before he gave a placating, on the verge of charming— or at least as charming as Happy Hogan could get with as grumpy as he was all the time— to the disgruntled woman. "Sorry about that, May," he muttered. "I lost track of time, and the kid had a rather important matter to get cleared up with us. It won't happen on a school night again."

Peter walked further into the apartment, depositing his suit coat over the back of the couch and his dress shoes under the low table in front of it. He let out a heavy breath and rubbed the back of his neck, hearing his aunt and the head of security still chatting amicably away by the front door.

"You're looking a little… disheveled there, Mr. Hogan. Are you okay?"

The web-slinger smirked to himself as he loosened the buttons on the collar and cuffs of his white dress shirt, wondering how the man would explain away his car blowing up in a Taco Bell parking lot.

"Well, you know… long day. What with the funeral and then internship work with a teenager…"

Peter bristled, though it wasn't the in-fun jab sent his way that Happy would know he'd hear. It was the… relaxed and at ease tone he wasn't used to hearing from the man. Usually he was so stressed out…

"I understand." His aunt's voice was unusually soft, almost tender. He'd often lightly told May she should go on a date every once in a while, and he was glad she was making a friend outside of her usually neighborhood crew, but… Happy? He still had no idea how that could have happened…

"Why don't you come inside for a few minutes?" she continued. "Have a drink? Relax for a minute."

Peter stiffened.

"Oh, no, I couldn't impose like that… I should really get heading back…"

Yes. Good job, Happy.

"I insist. Just for a few minutes. It looks like you could use one."

So, yeah, he'd noticed the head of security had a few more dark rings under his eyes than usual lately, but surely…

"All right. You win. Just one drink."

Crap. The web-slinger grimaced as he quickly scurried down the hallway to his room and shut the door behind him before he could hear any of Happy and May's awkward and just plain weird attempts at flirting. He let out a deep sigh of relief, leaning back against his door before his eyes snapped open. He had work to do.

Peter quickly changed into his pajamas before he stretched out on his bed with his laptop. He lifted the screen, pulling up Google. Black Widow had made Hydra files accessible to the public, after all, though by now it'd take a little bit of simple hacking to get what he wanted. Shouldn't be too bad. Why couldn't he just look up this high-level agent everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around him with? And if he could link him to the interim school psychologist, Steve would have to let him back on the search for Tony. He'd have to take him seriously as a member of the team. If he could lead them straight to who had taken Tony… as that android had strangely offered him to do…

However, searching for any information about a Hydra agent with the last name of Fennhoff presented him with an immediate problem. A man named Johann Fennhoff— which he was fairly certain was the name of the psychiatrist— had worked for Hydra. Had been partners with Johann Schmitt, the Red Skull. Formerly part of a group called Leviathan. He'd been a Soviet. Sounded promising.

That immediate problem, however, was he'd been born in 1882.

The web-slinger lightly pushed away his computer in frustration. Well, that was a dead end. From the information he'd quickly skimmed, there were no actual death reports for the man, nor was there any intel that he'd been captured. He was a mystery. But even with all that uncertainty, there was no way someone born in 1882 would still be alive, it was impossible. He'd probably just quietly passed away of old age, nothing else, and no one knew about it to report it.

Then again, the Captain had never said the first name of the man they were looking for. Maybe there was another Fennhoff in Hydra somewhere, someone whose records somehow hadn't made it into the info dump. It was unlikely, but it was possible.

And just like he expected, there was nothing to be found.

May and Happy's boisterous laughter echoed from down the hallway in the living room. Well, at least they were having a good time. Meanwhile, he was getting stuck in dead end after dead end…

The psychiatrist. There had to be something about him somewhere, right?

Peter worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration. A little fanagling through the school records later— a little harmless hacking could really go a long way— he got some background information on the man filling in for their school psychologist.

This Johann Fennhoff had been born in Austria— that would explain his slight accent— in 1946. Which would put him right around seventy years old, which wasn't too far off the mark that he'd expected. He'd served in the army there, having lost his brother in war. Previously married with a couple children, now divorced with adult children. Probably a grandfather. Multiple degrees in his profession. Used his skills for traumatized war veterans. Seemed to pass a background check with flying colors, not even seeming to have a parking ticket.

His record was almost too clean.

"Johann" had to be a somewhat common name where he was from. And maybe "Fennhoff" was, too…

Then who had he overheard Steve talking about?

The teen groaned, dropping his head to the keyboard. He was getting nowhere, and getting more questions than answers. Whoever the right mystery "Fennhoff" was, they certainly didn't want to be found…

… But if they found him, they'd find Tony…

Peter cursed under his breath as he looked back up at the monitor, squinting slightly in the glow. He lowered the brightness further, not able to shake the feeling that there was some sort of connection to his school psychologist that he was missing. Something big. Maybe… maybe he was related to the Hydra Fennhoff somehow? That could be… But still, what would that have to do with Tony's capture? Just because his relative had been part of an evil organization didn't mean that he was…

The web-slinger shut his eyes tightly, kneading his forehead. Too much too much too much too…

His aunt's cheerful laugh pulled him out of his weighted thoughts, and Peter took a deep breath as he opened his eyes again. There was a connection there, he just had to find it. Then maybe they could bring the billionaire home. He just had to…

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He knew just where to start, the opportunity was waiting for him, just within his grasp.

School started up again like normal the next day.

And he had an appointment.

Nastasha slipped into a dark, unused room of the Tower, Steve's tablet in hand. Now that Sam and Helen had assured them that Clint was at least somewhat stabilized— the amount of blood loss was still a primary concern that they'd have to watch carefully, even though they'd stitched and wrapped him up— she felt she could get away for a moment, and she was grateful to her friend for letting her borrow his device. Or rather their device, as she, the Captain, and Sam usually shared it for missions. Though she certainly used it the least.

The one thing she still wasn't sure about the archer's condition was the hearing loss he'd mentioned. It was something Helen had told her that she could gauge better once Clint regained consciousness, though an initial examination told her that she agreed with her that the most likely cause was severely ruptured eardrums.

After the earlier scare involving the person she trusted more than anyone else in the world, she needed a moment to bring herself back down to earth. To regain her bearings.

She needed to track down Fennhoff. No matter what. After all he'd done over so many years… He needed to feel the same pain he'd inflicted on Clint. And more.

Natasha sat on the corner of the bed, deciding to leave the lights off as she turned on the tablet. She could see well enough with the traces of moonlight filtering in through the blinds over the window and the glow coming from the screen. That was all she would need, anyway. She took a quick, slightly shuddering breath as she logged into her rarely used Skype account. It was the first time she could actually recall using it aside from the test call with Steve when she'd set it up. Her gaze passed over the few contacts she had— all accounts set up privately for them by T'Challa— until she came to the one she wanted. Her brow furrowed when she saw he wasn't online. Of course he wasn't. Not when she had questions where answers could possibly help track down the mad doctor and rescue their teammate. Why would he be?

The assassin hesitated. She really needed that information. She selected the contact she needed and typed out a quick message, hitting sent before she could change her mind. Simple. To the point.

Have some questions regarding Fennhoff. Call me.

Natasha set the tablet aside and started to work on stretching out her arm and leg muscles. Stiff. Everything was so stiff, so sore, so tense. She just needed to relax, to focus. But watching Clint's heart stop… watching him die… It had thrown her more than she cared to admit. More than she cared to show anyone. He was her best friend, her closest confidant, her other half. She wasn't sure what she'd ever do without him. To come so close to losing him like that…

She shook her head, forcing away the thought. She couldn't allow herself to think about it. Clint was alive. That was the reality. She had to remain focused on that tangible fact. Clint was still drawing breath. Maybe not on his own yet, but it was a breath nevertheless. Clint's heart was still beating. Maybe it was unevenly, weakly, maybe a bit too fast or too slow at times, but a beat was still a beat. Clint was alive. And that was all that mattered. That was something that could be worked with.

Clint was alive. She had to focus on that. She had to focus on tracking down Fennhoff. She had to…

A quiet ringing sound brought her out of her thoughts. She froze. That was fast. She glanced over at the tablet, seeing the screen had lit up with the incoming Skype call, the name she'd wanted to reach easily visible in bold lettering. She let it ring a couple more times before she slowly reached over and picked up the device, staring at his name for a moment longer. This had probably been a bad idea, she couldn't say for sure, but it was too late now. While she could simply ignore the call, could pretend it had been a mistake or that the call wasn't incoming, she still needed those damned answers.

Unable to do anything else, she accepted the call. After all, she'd been the one to ask him for it.

For a minute, all she could see was herself on the screen, staring back at her. Her gaze faltered when she saw how exhausted and awful she looked. Her face was paler than usual. There were heavy bags under her eyes. Her lips were a bit chapped and raw from how often she'd chewed at them over the past couple of days. Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed from tears. Her gaze was dim, faraway. He was going to notice, there was no way he wouldn't notice. He'd always been attentive to her, at least during the times where he could be. And that sort of time was all that he had now. But it was too late to back out now.

A quiet rustling through the speaker, and maybe the sound of the high-pitched laughter of children, told her that the call had connected. She frowned, starting to fiddle with the settings. "Hello?" Natasha asked, making sure the video setting was turned on. It was. "Can you hear me?"

Silence, except for the background noise. She sighed, forgetting how frustrating Skype could be to get to work properly.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" she tried again.

More silence. Then…

"I can hear you." His voice was quiet. Soft. Just as she knew it so well. "Hold on…"

The screen then darkened for a second, replaced with what appeared to be the interior of a small tent. It was one she recognized from when she, Steve, and Sam would rest in Wakanda. The three of them had been in that tent more than once. A small smile appeared at the corner of her lips despite herself.

And then he was there when he lifted his own tablet, looking back at her. His steely eyes were tired, as hers were. Her gaze briefly flitted over the cloth covering what remained of his left metallic arm, still not quite used to it being gone. But he appeared much more content without it, without that constant reminder of what damage, what death, that arm had caused. It was a better look for him. His long dark hair was in what looked like some sort of messy bun, and while it was off-center and had loose strands falling out of it all over the place, she had to admit it was… kind of cute.

Seeming to guess what she was looking at, Bucky chuckled quietly. "That group of kids got to it," he mumbled in explanation. "They love playing with it, and I don't have the heart to tell them no, even though Shuri says I can."

Natasha smiled faintly in return. "I can't say I blame them," she said, trying to add a little teasing into her tone. It was nice to see the former assassin so calm and relaxed. To see that he trusted her enough… again… to take his mask he wore to protect himself off. Even if it was just for a little while. "You've got a good mane to play with there." She remembered that well.

Bucky returned the look, his gaze dropping briefly, before he frowned as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The little light, playful ambiance that had been there ever so briefly between them shattered. "Now… You said you had some questions about Fennhoff?" he asked. He shook his head slightly as he met her gaze again. "I'm sorry, but I told Steve everything I remember about him. If there's anything else I can come up with that could be helpful, I'll let one of you know."

The assassin tried not to show how she inwardly deflated as her gaze faltered. There had to be something else… she had to find the doctor. "Are you absolutely sure?" she pressed. "There isn't anything else? It's imperative we find him."

"I would tell you if there was," Bucky told her earnestly. "But at the moment…" He paused. "I know how much you want to find Stark. How you need to before, even if you do find him, you won't be bringing your friend back since there's nothing left of him. But my ties to Fennhoff have nothing to do with Stark. Other than, of course… his parents. Fennhoff knew about that order I had. But I don't know where he'd take Stark now."

"Then why did you call?" Natasha hated how sharp, how piercing, how almost accusatory her voice was. It wasn't his fault. But she couldn't help it. She needed answers. And she didn't like to admit it, but she didn't know where else she could look for them. The man she was chatting with knew Fennhoff best.

Bucky sighed, his gaze faltering. "Because I figured there was a reason for you to ask about him," he replied. "What did he do now?"

Natasha's breath quietly hitched. It never failed to surprise her how easily he could read her. How well he knew her. Though with all the time they'd spent together while he'd trained her while she was in the Red Room, during all those moments they were able to steal for themselves, away from the looming gaze of Hydra, when it had only been them… She was relieved it all hadn't been taken away from him with the mind wiping, the conditioning… That he remembered, too. Like she'd been afraid he hadn't.

The former assassin's brow furrowed with concern. His gaze passed over her pale face, the dark rings under her eyes, studying them. "Natalia," he murmured. Softly. Gently.

That name. He was the only one who ever called her that now, the only one she allowed to even say it. It's how he knew her best, and if she were being honest, she liked that it was something that just the two of them could share.

But hearing that name from him, as she took a moment to force herself to slow her emotions down as she thought about why she'd felt she needed to call him to begin with, caused a fresh line of tears to form in her eyes. She immediately looked down, hoping he wouldn't see them. Though it wouldn't surprise her if he knew they were there.

"It's Clint," she muttered, hating that her words were a bit shakier than she wanted them to be. There was no question that he would catch that. "Fennhoff… he almost killed Clint."

Bucky frowned. "Barton?" he asked. "Is he all right?"

Natasha took a deep breath, blinking her tears away and forcing herself to reign in her emotions, before she turned back to the screen. To meet his concerned gaze. She forced the slight tremble in her hands to still so the tablet would stop shaking. "I don't know," she finally answered. "His heart stopped once already. They got it restarted, but it's still touch and go. Despite Sam's optimism. Something's wrong with his ears… He's not in good shape."

"I'm sorry." The ex-assassin's frown deepened. "Are you all right, Natalia?"

She took a moment to consider her answer. None of this felt all right. She wouldn't be all right until Fennhoff was finally caught or dead for good. But she had no choice. She had to be all right. For Clint. For Tony. For all of them.

"I'm fine, James," she told him with a tight smile. She knew he'd see right through it, but she also knew he wouldn't question it. "His family will be here probably tomorrow. I just want to get the son of a bitch responsible."

A gleam flashed through Bucky's eyes. She was really the only one who called him by his first name. But all too soon, the look was gone. "It's a move that isn't making much sense for Fennhoff," he muttered thoughtfully. Right back to business, which she was grateful for. She didn't want to dwell on anything else. She could work with this. He knew her well. "Barton has nothing to do with Stark, aside from being a friend and ally to him."

"It could have been an act of opportunity," Natasha suggested. "He led a recon mission to an old abandoned Hydra base. Someone who worked for Fennhoff was waiting for them there. He probably wants as many of us taken out as possible. But… as you know, he doesn't do anything without a reason."

"Does he have a personal tie with Barton?" Bucky wondered. "He never said much about him, if anything." The doctor's complaints, his rage, had always been, for the most part, directed at Howard Stark and Steve Rogers. At least that he had heard.

Natasha briefly hesitated before she nodded. She couldn't hold back, not if it helped Bucky remember something important that they could use. "Back when Fennhoff wanted me for Hydra, Clint got in the way and recruited me for S.H.I.E.L.D. instead," she explained. "He always blamed him for taking me away. He killed Clint's brother as retribution, but you know Fennhoff better than anyone. You know how he doesn't like being even. He has to be ahead."

Bucky nodded as he tensed slightly. He remembered well how angry the doctor had been when he'd failed to get one of the Black Widows. "I was always glad he never pulled you into that hell," he murmured, mainly to himself. "I was relieved to hear you'd gotten away... Before they took that away from me, too, that is."

The assassin's gaze faltered. But maybe I could have saved you. Then we both would have been free. Like we both used to dream about.

It was a thought, a regret, she didn't dare speak. For however short a time they'd had it, they'd found what could have been love with each other. She'd only wanted him as a distraction at first, nothing more. But he'd been the first person she'd ever been able to say she'd loved before she'd decided it was simply a notion for children, the first person who'd made her feel anything, even as he'd helped to shape her into the killing machine she was. The first person who had made her feel safe and secure, and whose safety, whose life, had meant more to her than her own. The first person who'd made her fear death, not for herself but if it had decided to come and claim him. The first person to have made her feel human, much like she had him. And they had both been punished for it. But she would have still saved him from that life if Fennhoff had gotten his hands on her, and if she'd been able. She was just relieved that Steve had been able to break him out of Hydra's clutches. Even if it meant they'd missed their chance to truly try with each other with no one to punish them for it.

"So you don't think that what happened to Clint had anything to do with Stark?" she pressed instead. Her voice cracked the tiniest bit on the last word.

Bucky shook his head. "I don't," he confirmed.

"I know you said that you don't know where Fennhoff took Stark, but do you have any idea why he would?" Natasha asked.

"I've been thinking about that since Steve called to ask the same thing," Bucky answered quietly. "I'm surprised Fennhoff targeted Stark honestly."

The assassin nodded slightly. "Because of… what happened with Steve and Fennhoff?"

Bucky met her gaze. "He told you?"

"Some of the details of their encounter, yes," Natasha told him. She sighed. "Of both of their encounters with Fennhoff. After that, I would have assumed that Steve would have been his first target. Not Stark."

"He could never shut up about Steve," Bucky replied. "Even before that encounter where we'd thought Fennhoff might have been lost." He paused, his brow furrowing. "The only reason I can think of why he would take Stark is to lure Steve to him. You three have been taking on missions in the Middle East. Hydra isn't nearly what it once was, he may not have had the resources to search for him. So they took Stark to lure him out of hiding. But…" He hesitated, his gaze faltering.

"Siberia?" Natasha guessed.

"Siberia," Bucky agreed quietly. "And I know Fennhoff knows about what happened, about that falling out between Steve and Stark since he directed Zemo."

Natasha shifted positions on the bed. "So why would Fennhoff take that chance?" she mused. "Because it's leaving a lot to chance for Fennhoff to just assume that Steve would come looking for Stark… What if we'd been somewhere where he couldn't see the news? What if he just… didn't come for him because of what happened between them?"

A wry smile slowly spread across Bucky's face. "I think you know as well as I do that no matter what happened between them, Steve would look for Stark if he knew he were in danger," he muttered. "He can't help himself if someone's in trouble or if a situation's headed south."

"That's why we love him," Natasha quipped quietly. "But still, it…" Her sentence trailed off as her eyes widened.

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "What is it, Natalia?"

"Fennhoff's called out Steve," she whispered. "How could I forget that?"

"He what?"

Natasha met his gaze. "When the body was found down at the harbor, when we initially thought it was Stark… there was an invitation left with him. For Steve," she explained. "And when we saw the hacked security feed from the warehouse that Clint led the recon mission to, Fennhoff left a message for him there…"

Bucky's gaze darkened. "So it is Steve he wants…"

Natasha ran a stressed hand over her face. "But why?"

"You mean aside from revenge for what happened between them?" Bucky posed.

"Well, yeah…" Natasha groaned in frustration. "There has to be more to it than that… something he wants… Why else would he go through all this trouble to get Steve if that's who he wanted from the start?"

No response.

The assassin raised her gaze back to the screen, seeing the call was starting to glitch. "Damn," she hissed, shaking the tablet slightly. "James? Can you hear me?"

Another moment passed before she heard him. "You're starting to break up," he told her. "But I can mostly hear you."

"Okay." Natasha sat up straighter. "So why go through the trouble of taking Stark if he just wanted revenge on Steve?"

"Howard."

Natasha frowned. "Come again?"

Bucky sighed. "As obsessed with Steve as Fennhoff was, he was just as obsessed, just as angry, with Howard Stark," he said. His voice was fading in and out also, and the assassin strained her ears to catch as much of what he was saying as she could. "And I know I know why… it's buried in all these memories somewhere… I just can't…"

Natasha's features softened when she could detect the loathing in his tone. "Don't force it, James," she murmured. "That's the worst thing you can do. It'll come."

"I'm sorry, Natalia."

"Nothing to be sorry about," she reassured him. "We'll catch the son of a bitch, we'll find Stark, we'll keep him from getting to Steve, and we'll get to the bottom of everything that's going on. If you happen to remember that detail about Howard in the meantime, you tell me. Okay?"

Bucky nodded, though she could see the disappointed look in his eyes. "Okay," he agreed.

Natasha's brow furrowed. Howard Stark. What role did the late genius have to play in all this? If they could only figure that connection out, they might have all the answers needed for the pieces to fit together. To find and rescue Tony. To keep Steve safe and out of the mad doctor's grasp…

"Fennhoff may already be getting into Steve's head."

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "That's what I was afraid of," he muttered. "Taking Stark could be playing a role in that, also. To distract Steve, and the rest of you, from what's actually happening. Promise me you'll keep an eye on him? A close eye. If Fennhoff gets his hands on him, too…"

"I promise, James. We won't let him go alone." Natasha inclined her head ever so slightly. "Do you know what Fennhoff could want with him? Steve? Other than getting back at him for what he did?"

"I have a possible reason," Bucky said. "Aside from Steve himself, Fennhoff was obsessed with—!"

The screen skipped before the screen cut to black, bringing up her contacts screen again. The call had been cut off.

Natasha nearly threw the tablet in her frustration but refrained, knowing the untraceable device would be needed. She cursed the app. Why did it have to cut off when she was about to get a potentially crucial answer she needed?

A quiet beep came from the tablet, a notification for a text message from Bucky popping up on the screen. She leaned forward as she opened it to read over the message, finding it short, to the point.

Her eyes widened.

Fennhoff was obsessed with recreating Erskine's serum.

16 December. 1991.

Tony's heart skipped a beat as his breath caught in his chest, his eyes widening as he stared at the security footage. His body tensed, his hands shook.

16 December…

He watched Howard and Maria Stark walk out the door, climb into their car. He crossed his arms over his chest. How could he know it'd be the last time he'd ever see them…?

He should have said he loved them, loved Howard… He'd never had another chance...

… 1991…

A metal hand gleamed as it reached for his throat.

The billionaire gasped as he stumbled back from the computer monitor and collapsed into the snow piled behind him when he saw the familiar car crash into the tree, flames and smoke billowing from it. A thin line of tears filled his eyes as he stared at the screen intently from his safe distance, waiting… just waiting… for that tell-tale motorcycle to approach… for the gleam of that metal arm…

"... T-Tony…"

A rush of ice flooded his veins. He hadn't expected the familiar voice to come from behind him.

"... To… Tony…"

The computer monitor crackled.

A beat passed before Tony slowly turned to look over his shoulder, not really wanting to see what he knew he was going to see.

He was lying stretched out in the snow behind him, pressed up on one arm. His impeccable suit was torn and tattered. His white hair was tussled and dirtied. Blood stained the right side of his wrinkled face, a small line of it trickling out of his nose. His breathing was harsh, labored, and his eyes were dim as he looked back at him, startled.

"... D-Dad…"

Tony only hesitated briefly before he started to crawl toward the prone form of Howard Stark. The accident had done its damage. He needed help, and quickly.

But… where was the car…? Why was the older man here in Siberia with him…? Where was…?

Howard's eyes widened as he shook his head the closer Tony got to him, holding out his hand to keep him away. The action caused the billionaire to pause, a quiet sigh escaping him. Even now, when the situation was dire, his dad didn't…

But what surprised him was he realized the look on the other man's face wasn't scorn. It was concern. Fear.

"... What… what are you doing here…?" Howard gasped out. "... You… you can't be here… T-Tony, run... run before it's too late. Before he..."

"Who?" Tony asked in just above a whisper. Every muscle tensed, every sense on high alert. "Dad, who?" But he had an inkling just who the other man was referring to.

Howard swallowed hard, his face crumpling as he briefly shook his head. "... To… Tony… run… He…"

The billionaire flinched when he heard a heavy footstep behind him, not having the time to react before he was shoved forcefully out of the way. He landed hard in the snow swirling around them, looking up in time to see the gleam of the metal arm that reached out and secured a hold around Howard's throat. The older man's eyes widened while pain crossed his face as he clawed desperately at the fingers closing off his airway but not having the strength.

Barnes.

Tony clenched his jaw as he started to push himself to his knees, his own movements slowed by the pain that wracked his frame. He cursed his depleting strength as he watched the pair struggle, knowing he had to get there to help his father. But before he could make any moves toward the assassin, he caught another figure out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turned back toward the computer monitor, prepared to lash out, prepared to defend himself, but he found he couldn't move. His hazel eyes widened in horror as the realization slowly dawned on him.

Captain Steve Rogers was leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. His light eyes were set intently on Barnes, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he watched his best friend strangle the life out of Howard Stark.

The early morning sun filtered in through the office window.

Parker, Peter. 11:15.

A small smile spread across Fennhoff's face as he sat behind his desk at Midtown High, looking over his schedule of that day's appointments.

Parker. The Spiderling.

Their second meeting was one he was looking forward to with great interest.

It was time to move to the next phase. It was time to make another move on the board. To continue this game.

The doctor's grin broadened, tracing his wrinkled finger over the boy's name.

Soon, Parker.

This was going to be most enjoyable, indeed.

Author's Note: So, we're moving into the last arc of this story, and the next phase of Fennhoff's game! No one's safe. How's it gonna play out? We'll find out! Thanks for reading! Your reviews are much appreciated. Thank you!