Thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me. It's been an interesting one for me, sometimes a tough one, but most of you have been wonderful with the overwhelming support.

I reached 1000 kudos on AO3 with this last chapter, and I am coming close to 350 kudos. When I started writing this story, I had no idea if anyone would read it. It was my first solo Marvel piece, and it was an idea I'd not seen done before. I didn't think many if any of you would enjoy it. Most of you have been amazingly kind and the number of you that stop to review each chapter have made all the hard work worthwhile.

I will be back tomorrow with Story II which is called Hold On A Second Longer, and it will cover the recovery time from With Great Power to Story III in which we have a version of Peter I have never seen but can't wait to share with you all.

One last time, thank you and I hope you enjoy the final instalment of this story.

32. The Rescue

Rhodey stood behind the couch where Pepper and Happy sat, all eyes fixed on the hologram in front of them, which displayed the live feed of Tony's suit. It was moving jerkily as Tony paced up and down in the Quinjet.

"You need to buckle in, Tony," Steve called from the cockpit. "We're almost there."

They could all hear Tony's deep sigh through the comms connection, and Pepper spoke up, her voice pleading. "Tony, please."

"Okay," Tony said, voice tense.

The feed moved as he sat down beside Wanda and buckled himself in. Opposite him, T'Challa sat, hands on his knees, his face the only thing that wasn't covered by his Black Panther suit.

"This is way up there in the crazy things I've seen," Happy muttered.

"I've seen worse," Pepper replied. "This is leading somewhere good, though. We never had confidence in that before."

"It is," Rhodey agreed, eyes moving to the stairs that would lead him up to Morgan's room where she slept peacefully, having had her bedtime story read by Happy and been tucked in by Pepper while Rhodey stood guard downstairs.

Part of him hated that he was here, but at the same time, he blessed the fact he was. The only other way he could feel confident in Pepper and Morgan's safety was if Tony was here instead, and that was never an option.

They were going to get Peter back; the Avengers were there with The Black Panther to save him. Rhodey would probably be excess baggage there anyway. His suit was amazing in open combat, but inside The Raft, with only the sedation guns to put people out, he'd be limited.

"T'Challa, it's time," Steve said.

T'Challa pressed a finger to his ear and said, "Shuri, now."

Though they could not see outside through Tony's view, T'Challa nodded, and Steve called, "It's coming up. They're going to know we're coming, so we've got to be prepared. And don't forget, no killing."

"We know," Tony said bitterly.

"For Peter," Wanda murmured, and Tony's gaze moved to her, and the view bobbed as he nodded.

"We're down," Steve said.

Everyone got out of their seats, gathered the guns weapons T'Challa had bought for them and walked to the rear as the ramp lowered.

Pepper's hands clasped on her lap, and Happy leaned forwards.

Tony went first, down the ramp and towards the door. He was wearing his suit but had one hand free of the gauntlets so he could hold the gun.

He reached the door, and with a single blast of a thruster, he blew it open and rushed inside. Two uniformed Marshalls appeared, guns raised and firing, and the bullets bounced off of Tony's armor.

Pepper gasped and placed her hands over her face, and Happy wrapped a hand around her shoulders and pulled her close.

Rhodey swallowed hard as Tony said, "That was your first mistake," and with two blasts of his gun, the Marshalls were knocked out.

It had begun.

Steve fell into step beside Tony as they walked along the hall. They'd faced only a few marshals so far, but Steve knew they were waiting, preparing for them.

He had his shield held across his chest and his gun in the other hand. He had to hurry to keep up with Tony. Though he understood his urgency and felt it, too, he wished he'd be a little more careful. Tony was the safest from bullets in his suit, but the rest of them were vulnerable.

"Easy, Tony," he said. "Stick with us."

Tony scoffed. "It's Peter."

"Tony…" Pepper moaned through the comms, the connection between Home Base and Tony's suit making it clear to them all.

"It is Queens," Steve agreed. "And it's all of us. Wait—" He held up a hand as the sound of footsteps reached him. "They're coming."

He and Tony raised their sedation guns and prepared themselves, but the footsteps had stopped ahead of them where there was a turn in the hall. They were waiting beyond it.

"The hell with this," Tony said bitterly, rushing ahead.

Steve rushed after him, hearing the two humming sounds and then thuds as Tony shot whoever he'd found. He turned the corner and saw two Marshals unconscious on the floor.

They'd come to a hallway with doors leading off of it, and he assessed a moment before saying, "Okay, we've got to split up. We're all on comms. If you find Peter, call us in. Do the same if you get into trouble. And remember…"

"No killing," Bruce intoned. "We know."

Steve took the right door while Wanda went left. He found himself in a new hall with doors leading off. This place was a maze. He remembered searching for a long time to find his friends the last time he was here, and he was glad there were more of them this time.

His senses picked up movement to the right, and he kicked open the door and found what he supposed was usually a break room for the team that worked here. There was no one at the table, drinking the coffees or eating the food still plated on the table, but there was someone there. He looked left and right and saw the gun pointed at him. He lifted his shield, which took the bullet with a pinging sound, and then shot his own. The man collapsed, and he moved on.

"We're under attack," The man said. "We need you. You need to protect—Khusela. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded jerkily.

The man tugged off the headpiece that held the ECT pads to his skin and pulled the rubber wedge from his mouth.

"Do you comply?" The man asked.

"I comply," Peter rasped.

The man unstrapped him and yanked him upright, but Peter felt boneless, having been strapped down and shocked for so long, and he slumped sideways.

"I thought this would be a problem," The man said. "I've got something for it, though."

He rooted in his breast pocket and pulled out a needle and syringe that he jabbed into Peter's upper arm.

Peter felt the sting and then a burn that spread up his arm, across his chest to his heart, which began to race. His whole body juddered, and he felt a surge of strength and energy. He immediately slipped off of the table and squared his stance for battle.

He looked at his wrists, noting that something was missing there, but he couldn't remember what. He couldn't remember much. He knew his name was Peter. He knew he had to obey, comply, and he knew he had to protect. They were the things that were clear in his mind. The rest had slipped away in the pain and electric shocks that had rolled over him for what felt like forever.

He had lost a part of himself, he knew, but that did not feel important.

"The people that are coming for us are the enemy," the man said. "You must stop them. They are a threat to Ross. Do you know what that means?"

Peter nodded and said, "Khusela i-ross."

"Exactly. And to do that, you must kill."

Peter flinched, something in his mind crying out in protest, but it was warring with the heaviness that came with his commands. He was made to protect, to fight. He was Ross's weapon. If the man said to kill for Ross, it was what he must do.

The man dragged him to the door and said, "Stay in front of me. Defend me for Ross."

"I comply," Peter replied.

The man eased open the door and pushed Peter out. There were men running past, the man placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "Not in that uniform. The Avengers are the threat. Do you know who the Avengers are?"

Peter considered a moment, a memory tickling at the edges of his mind and then slipping away. "No."

The man snorted. "That's inconvenient. No one in that uniform. Any other person. You will know them."

"I will," Peter agreed.

They edged along a hall, hearing shouts, hums, and thuds ahead of them, though they were far away as the sounds were distant. They moved further, and then a cry came and the man pushed open a door and tugged him inside, then slammed it and slid across a bolt.

"We'll lie low a moment," he said. "Let them pass. You can hear them, can't you?"

Peter nodded.

"When it is quiet out there, I want you to tell me. We are going straight ahead, looking for stairs. When we reach the stairs, we go up, understand?"

"Yes," Peter said.

"Good."

Peter listened carefully, hearing the sound of footsteps running past, and then he heard a shout outside that made something in his chest twinge. It was a voice that tickled his mind, almost familiar, and it was shouting a word that he felt should have a connection to him but didn't quite meet at the center. "Queens! Where are you!"

"I'm—" Peter started to call back, and the man's hand clapped over his mouth.

"No," he growled. "Ukulangazelela! Amandla! Thobela! Isigcawu!"

The words reached into Peter again, and his mind went blank. It felt better to be blank, less confusing. He liked the feeling of the words as they took away the pressure in his chest.

"I comply," he murmured, words muffled by the man's hand.

"Ukulangazelela! Amandla! Amanzi! Iglasi!"

Outside the door, there was a shout, and then a second voice shouted, "Steve, in here! Quick!"

There was a loud bang, and the door shook.

The man said something in a language that Peter didn't recognize that sounded like a curse and grabbed Peter, pinning his tight against his chest. "Kill on sight," he commanded. "No matter what the uniform. You must protect me—Khusela!"

"I will," Peter said, raising the gun to the door, prepared to shoot the moment it opened.

There was another crash, voices shouting beyond it, a someone said, "Queens!"

"He's in there," another replied. "Steve, we've got to get in there!"

There was a curse, and then the loudest bang and the door flew open.

A man rushed in, he was wearing a blue suit with red and white stripes across the stomach and a white star barely visible above the shield, which was quickly brought up to deflect the bullets the man holding Peter rained on him.

"Shoot, Peter!" he commanded.

"Queens," the man in the suit said. "It's me. It's Brooklyn."

Peter looked at the man, searching for a connection, and then lifted the gun. It felt heavy in his hand, and his finger twitched on the trigger. Then his attention was diverted as another rushed in behind him, a man with long hair, a strong jaw, and what looked like a metal arm.

"Shoot!" the man gripping him shouted.

Peter stared at the two men, torn between complying and something in his mind that screamed at him to stop and pressure built in his chest.

"Not enough," the man holding him said. "Shoot, boy!"

The long-haired man flinched, and the man with the shield said, "You've got one round left, right. That's a seventeen clip."

The man laughed. "One is all I need."

Peter felt something cold and hard press against his temple, and he knew, even without being able to turn to see, that the man had turned the gun on him.

"Shoot them, or I shoot you, Peter," he said.

Peter raised the gun, aiming at the long-haired man's head, and then he stopped, time seemed to stop as something in his mind seemed to break away. He felt both free and terrified at the same time as if he was two people.

He knew what he needed to do and what the words commanded him to do, but he knew what was right. With a shaking hand, he turned the gun, brought it to his chin and pressed the muzzle into his skin, aiming to send a shot straight into his brain.

"No."

"Tony! Get in here!" Steve bellowed in his comms. "Queens, don't do it!"

The obvious terror in Steve's voice made Tony's heart skip a beat and then race, and he sprinted up the hall, searching for a sign of Steve or Peter and shouting his name. "Friday, where is he?" he shouted.

"Take the left," Friday commanded. "Straight for twenty feet and then right."

Tony obeyed, his breaths coming quick as he ran, and then he saw an open door and heard a voice within saying, "Lower the gun! Obey me!" urgently.

Tony skidded into the room, brushing Steve and Barnes aside, and his eyes took in the horror inside.

Peter was held against a man's chest, his emaciated physical appearance barely registering with the gun he was pressing to the hollow of his throat. His eyes looked oddly determined, the rainbows of his irises blazing with life, and then they widened as Tony came into view and shed his faceplate.

"Peter," he breathed. "No!"

He heard Pepper's gasp through the comms connection to Home Base and a groan of pain that he thought was Happy.

Peter's eyes fixed on him, and his lips parted on a whisper of, "Tony?"

"Yes," Tony said, the word coming on a sob. "It's me. I'm here. I've got you. Please, lower the gun."

"No," the man holding him said. "Shoot them."

"No," Rhodey groaned in his ear. "Tony, you've got to..."

The man holding Peter jerked him, the gun slipping on Peter's throat, and said in a command, "Shoot!"

Peter's eyes moved from Tony's desperate face to Steve and Barnes, both of whom seemed to be holding their breath, and then something flared in his face and he moved. He jerked in the man's hold, his elbow driving back into the man's stomach, and then his fist coming to his throat.

The man fell back, hand clutching his neck as he rasped and gulped for air through his crushed windpipe, and Peter collapsed forward.

Steve was in front of him at once, catching him and lowering him to the ground and holding him against his chest as Barnes snatched the gun from his hand and then lifted the man that had held Peter in the air, his metal hand around the man's throat.

He stared at the man with hatred in his eyes and snarled, "Ngengafanele ukuba umchukumise."

"UngowakwaRoss ngoku," he rasped in reply.

Barnes made a quick motion with his wrist, breaking the man's neck with a satisfying snap, and throwing him into the corner of the room.

"Queens, hey, look at me," Steve was saying. "Focus on me. We've got you. Look, Tony's here."

His name snapped Tony out of his shocked inertia, and he shed the suit and rushed forward, knees buckling in front of Peter and his hands snatching him out of Steve's arms and pulling him against his chest, hand coming to his back and face pressed against his matted hair.

"I'm here, Pete," he said, the words coming weak and shaky. "I'm here." He eased him back so he could look into his eyes as he said, "You're safe."

Peter's head gave a shake, and his dry and cracked lips moved weakly as he whispered. "I don't think I am..." His eyes, large in his gaunt face and heavily shadowed, rolled back as he became limp.

"Pete! No!" Tony said, patting his cheek. "Wake up!"

Peter's head flopped back over his arm, and his breaths came weakly. Tony stared at him in horror, his son's weak breaths parting his cracked lips, and then a voice spoke in Tony's mind, so quiet he had to lean close to hear it, and he knew it at once as he'd heard it before on the battlefield where Peter saved them all.

It repeated the word as tears slipped down Tony's face, and he whispered his agreement to Peter's declaration. "You are. You always are."

"Worthy..."

So... That is the end of With Great Power. Admittedly, it's an evil place to end, but the next story is ready to go. Before you click out and fume over the cliffhanger ending, please take a moment to let me know what you thought. You have all been so amazing with the feedback for this story, and I've never wanted to hear your thoughts more.

Until the next story…

Clowns or Midgets xxx