Guilt For Dreaming

Chapter 9: Get Me Off the Streets (Get Some Protection)

13 July 1977, 20:45

Tony sighed, not for the first time he wished that his fellow rich-brat Hope was with him at the interminable party. Unfortunately, she wasn’t even a twinkle in her parents’ eyes yet and even then, it was still about 10 years too early for the precocious genius to turn up in anything approaching her usual cynical form, so he was stuck here, alone. Making good with Howard’s friends and hangers on at yet another interminable society event. At least this particular soulless event was being held at Howard’s Manhattan penthouse rather than at yet another socialite’s playground.

Gods, he could really do with a drink right now. Tony eyed the adults with their champagne flutes, cocktails, and most of all the whisky tumblers with envy.

Initially, Tony had thought he might use the parties as an opportunity to hang out with Justin whilst it was still possible. However, as soon as Howard caught wind of who his “little friend” was, he’d forbidden Tony from talking to the Hammer scion at these events, invoking Stark secrets.

Last week’s party at the Rands’ had been spectacularly awful on several levels, not least because of the patronising way in which the ‘kids’ were all placed in a separate room from the adults. The awkward event had been made worse when Harold, the teenaged friend of Wendell Rand, had possessively decided that he hated Tony’s guts as he’d made his hesitant attempt to approach the older heir. Tony had hoped that the two teens would see past his age, and unlike Hammer, Rand Enterprises weren’t on Howard’s no-list - being into various aspects of the oil and chemicals industry with aspirations to med-tech. However, Harold had obviously seen Tony as a threat to whatever he was trying to do, and Wendell was a spineless wonder so Tony had met a dead end in his quest for tolerable company there.  

Tony had to admit, he hadn’t remembered Janet van Dyne being so fun; over the course of the previous couple of weeks he’d gradually realised that the socialite who seemingly went to every party was cynically witty, with a good eye for who was and wasn’t worth the time of day. Unfortunately Tony’s admiration for the woman had caught him out, once Howard had realised who he kept talking to at these things he’d dragged him away pretty quickly, muttering darkly about Pym stealing Stark secrets. To Tony’s mind she’d seemed worthy of the hero worship that Hope had bestowed upon her mother. Tony wasn’t sure when, or how it had happened, but he hoped (hah) that Hope got to keep her mum this time.

Howard had made it clear that Tony’s permission to go to Cambridge, an institution that Howard seemed to automatically disapprove of because it wasn’t American, hinged on Tony not showing him up to the people that ‘mattered’. As such his summer evenings, instead of being spent in the steady company of the Jarvises were to be spent like this. Being trotted out at these awful functions as a trophy of sorts to prove how much better than everyone else the Starks were. He had to act like a good little genius, and be charming not manic.

Tony was trying not to let the boredom show on his face, stuffed into an itchy suit, in a style that Tony just knew didn’t suit his current frame (unlike the ones he’d bought for himself) whilst avoiding Hammer’s eye. Tony had quietly taken Justin aside at the first event they’d both attended, and explained to him carefully what was going on in terms that the seven-year-old would understand. Fortunately, it seemed that Tony’s batshit (Tony was able to admit to himself when he’d done something stupid, he was an adult dammit) decision to protect H-Justin from the bullies at the school had earnt him a bit of leeway with the other boy. Whilst Tony had spent the past couple of weeks treated to the boy’s miserable looks from a distance, the Hammer scion had otherwise accepted the awkward situation with a level of mature equanimity that had honestly surprised him.

Unlike the previous events of their ilk this particular evening wasn’t a complete loss. Tony could tell that this particular party was a cover for something SHIELD related, adding a frisson of interest to the boredom. Aunty Peggy, Ana, Howard, and the Pym & Van Dyne duo were all in attendance. Something big was going down behind the scenes. Tony had done his best to snoop, but cute kid or no, he didn’t have access to JARVIS or FRIDAY and the spy-gang all had sharp eyes and experience on their side. Luckily, Aunty Peggy had been the one to catch him, not Howard, but nevertheless she’d gently but firmly turned Tony away from the secret meeting he’d been attempting to snoop on.

As such, Tony was limited to the more vacuous end of the social pool, and unfortunately, both Obadiah and the Stones were regulars at these “little soirees” that Howard kept dragging Tony along to. It was all Tony could do not to be overtly rude to either group, let alone act charming around the awful people that all seemed to want a piece of Stark Industries, and Howard’s heir apparent.

Despite the obvious restrictions on his movements, Tony did have one ace of sorts up his sleeve; his incredibly temperamental third eye. Tony’s second sight came erratically and uncontrollably, but continuing the established pattern, Tony did get the occasional glimpse of whatever reality this new sense was allowing him a keyhole into. Obadiah had been one of the guests who triggered it that evening, his eyes strange and frog-like, Obadiah’s skin taking on an unpleasant yellow tone – the colour closer to the exaggerated yellow of the Simpsons than the unhealthiness of jaundice. Tony suspected that there was something symbolic in what he was seeing, but as ever with all things m-word related, he lacked the vocabulary to read the language. Or even hazard an educated guess.

Janet Van Dyne’s… whatever, had been equally revealing when Tony had gotten a flash of it a couple of parties ago. Emblazoned on her chest, on what looked suspiciously like a farmhand’s uniform if the equipment was anything to go by, had been an ant inside a circle. Fortunately, in Janet’s case Tony had some background knowledge on his side. Tony knew that she’d been the previous wearer of the female ant-suit – The Wasp. He’d also been trying to read up on symbolism in the aftermath of awakening his third eye (with mixed success), Tony had genuinely laughed out loud when he’d stumbled across a book proclaiming the ant to be a symbol of both bravery and strength. Alongside the circle’s symbolism Tony just knew that Van Dyne had to be more than the socialite she seemed. Tony had no idea what the additional stuff around her meant, as far as he knew the Van Dynes had never been into farming – but Tony already knew that his sight or whatever didn’t really work how it was supposed to in all of the mumbo-jumbo books. Tony still wasn’t sure what Ben’s blue-painted other-self had meant, symbolically at least. However, the dangerous warrior that revelled in bloodshed had been clear as day to Tony at the time.      

Interesting distractions that his sight provided notwithstanding, the evening’s party had dragged on to such an extent that his seven-year-old body was on the verge of dropping off. No matter how frustrating he found his increased need for sleep, Tony was sorely tempted to vanish to the private rooms that were out of bounds to the guests. Perhaps he’d dig out the proto-Walkman he’d only remembered to stuff into his pockets at the last minute, and catch some shut-eye. Unfortunately, Howard hadn’t yet given his permission for Tony to leave, so despite his daydreams he was stuck, trying to be charming to patronising adults and snotty brats alike – though Tony privately thought that the two definitions were more interchangeable than either group realised.

Tony had spent much of the time being uncomfortably paraded around for the adults to coo over and doing his utmost to avoid Ty; Howard shooting Tony looks making it damned clear what would happen if he even contemplated acting up in front of them. For once Tony was missing the company of other children. Alas he was a good decade younger than most of the children of Howard’s peers, and he knew from past experience that Hope, and even Sharon weren’t due to show up for a decade.

Tony grabbed a glass of sparkling cider from one of the trays laid out explicitly for the children, for all that the beverage wasn’t alcoholic, a point had been made to serve it in the same champagne flutes that the adults were using. Tony sipped distastefully at the overly sweet concoction and eyed up the crowd, hoping that it was late enough that he’d be able to slip out without earning Howard’s ire.

The teenagers were beginning to get rowdy, staving off their tiredness with manic loudness, the few other children Tony’s ‘age’ (Tony groaned internally at that thought) were noticeably flagging. Catching his father’s eye Tony pulled what he hoped was a dignified questioning expression (it was actually shamelessly pleading), Howard scowled in response. Dammit.

Tony settled into his corner, away from the giggling women who were eyeing up the children with cheek-grabbing intentions clear in their gaze. Just as Tony settled in for the long haul, sudden darkness cut through the awkward high-society atmosphere like a knife, plunging the room into chaos. Someone screamed. There was the sound of breaking glass. Tony’s heart hammered in his chest, even with all of his experience in situations like these, a shot of adrenaline to the system is a hell of a jolt. Tony desperately tried to work out what was going on, blindly looking around in every direction, vainly trying to force his eyes to pierce through the cloying blackness.

Crash! Tony was forced into the centre of the room when someone tripped over the table he’d been huddled next to, champagne flutes and crockery smashed to the ground, splashing Tony in alcohol and food. Shit. If Howard saw him he’d be in for it.

Despite the initial panic, people seemed to calm down, there was much rustling and crashing bu-

“Nobody move!”

The pitch black of the room was briefly, blindingly, illuminated. Tony identified the noise as the sound of automatic gunfire. The adrenaline that had been waning spiked again. Tony’s heartbeat, already loud in his head, became a frantic drone yammering in his ears. Crap crap crap crap.

This time the screams were genuinely frightened. The crash of glass was loud, as inevitably, chaos ensued.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Someone crashed heavily into Tony, sending his small form sprawling on the floor. Tony hurriedly tried to haul himself up, avoiding stiletto heels and wryly hoping that whatever stickiness he’d landed in wouldn’t be too unpleasant when the lights came on. Tony temporarily gave up on that plan, when an adult sent him sprawling again. At least he hadn’t been trodden on. Yet.

There was another round of screams, Tony was very nearly trampled underfoot in the chaos. Despite the clear instructions people were panicking. Underneath the din Tony could hear Howard’s unmistakeable tones, raised in anger from the next room. For once his father’s bullheadedness was being aimed at someone else. Curling into a ball to avoid being crushed or impaled, Tony waited out the mad rush before trying to catch his bearings.

There was another brief burst of blinding gunfire.

“Are you deaf or dumb? Nobody goes anywhere.”

In the strobing erratic lighting provided by the gunfire, Tony realised that somehow, impossibly there were nearly as many armed men in there as guests – how? It was like something out of one of his nightmares. Oh. It was the waiters. The help. Everyone always ignored the help. Shit. This was why SI in his time had had such thorough vetting procedures.

Dammit, Tony hadn’t looked at the plans to this place in years, and even then, with nothing more than an eye to making the building safe for the surrounding properties. Careless. Stupid.

Tony’s breathing went ragged. The all too familiar lightheaded feeling overwhelming him. Tony couldn’t remember the current layout. Didn’t know if there was a safe room to shove the panicking guests into. Couldn’t see Maria, or Jarvis, or Ana or Peggy. Not in this blinding dark.

Heaving in a shaky breath, forcing himself to breathe in and out, Tony glanced around determinedly peering into the unyielding darkness trying to discern a way to help these people. High society trash or not Tony didn’t like the way this was going, and they were civilians. Even further from Cap’s loose definition of soldier than he’d ever been. In one smooth motion Tony casually bent down, reached for the half-finished stiletto dagger in his shoe, and rose to his feet. He’d have preferred to have gone for the daggers but the weapons were simultaneously awkwardly large for his pathetically small frame, horribly unexplainable, and sheathed in a rather obvious place.

In a balanced crouch Tony eyed up the gang warily, staring at the silhouetted forms that were moving confidently around the room as if it were daylight. If he didn’t know any better he’d say they were searching for something. Like a hound scenting its prey a masked head whipped around and stared straight at him,

“There!”

Crap. Of course. They were here for him. Tony really didn’t know why he expected any different, wasn’t that the definition of insanity? Tony could feel the blood rushing hotly in his head, his focus for once narrowing to this moment, directly in the here and now, instead of contemplating myriad different futures simultaneously. As one the gang began to close the distance. Where was everybody? He’d seen Aunt Peg earlier, Tony had been sure of i- When a tuxedoed thug got close enough Tony lunged – the sharp shard of adamantium clenched in his fist. The thug fell back, hot blood spurting from an arterial wound.

The scene was silhouetted surreally by the orange glow that had just started coming in from the windows. 

A hand clamped around his chest from behind. Tony lashed out automatically, the drumbeat loudly hammering in his ear once again turning to a near whine with the unpleasant shock of it. Unseen in the blackness one of the men had crept up behind him – Tony struggled madly, kicking, biting, elbowing. Trying to stab his inconspicuous blade somewhere vital.

After what felt like an eternity of wriggling like a worm on a hook Tony managed to hit something. Dammit, he lost the blade in the process, the unhandled shard yanked from his grip as his attacker staggered back.

“Shit! Shit! The little brat got Den!”

A huge fist appeared out of nowhere from the cloying blackness, the blow making Tony see stars. Blinking the afterimages out of his eyes Tony tried to stay upright, to put up a defence, anything.

“Shut up!”

Tony couldn’t tell if everything was blurry or not in the darkness, but from the way the world had suddenly gone woozy he wouldn’t be surprised if he was seeing double.

“But the little prick got Den!”

A hand clamped around his wrist and Tony felt his arm being twisted up behind his back. He hazily tried to stop it, to keep fighting until help arrived. It was futile. Despite all of his training, everything Ben had taught him about soft spots, grip, the man was three times his size and had an iron grip on him.

Tony struggled through the probable concussion, squirming, going limp, trying every dirty trick in his arsenal, but couldn’t find any leverage clamped as he was in his attacker’s arms. Inexorably his other wrist was forced behind him, and what felt like a zip tie bit into the soft skin. Where was everyone?!

“Quick, Rob grab the Ludes.”

A large hand roughly pinched his nose shut, and another forcibly opened his jaw – stuffing a pill inside the next moment.

“Swallow.”

Tony refused.

Tony tried to wriggle his head out of the unforgiving grasp. The hand holding his nostrils shut only tightened in response. The pair of hands grasping his wrists renewed their punishing grip – something crunched. Not his wrist thank gods, but… Oh – clasp twisted Tony’s watch, a precious lifeline of tech fell to the floor, the mangled remains of his silver bracelet following it with a clatter. They crunched unnoticed under a heavily booted foot in the continued struggle. Tony still doing everything he could to resist bound and groggy as he was.

As his vision blackened, Tony gasped in a quick breath of air – the meaty paw that had so easily restrained him a second ago darted into his mouth wielding another pill – this time the fingers pushed the back of his throat. Tony gagged and reflexively swallowed.

Oh shi-

Forgoing what little pride he had Tony started screaming at the top of his lungs,

“Help! Help!”

But it was no good. There were too many of them. And he was surrounded by useless screaming civilians. Tony hadn’t noticed during the struggle, but the hazy orange light filtering in through the windows had brightened up and had turned everything into differing shades of grey and black, the giggling cocktail dress clad women who’d been so well put-together just minutes before, ragged in their panic and unable to do anything to help in the face of the armed men in front of them.

Tony could feel whatever it was he’d been given working, piling pressure against his consciousness on top of the throbbing in his head. Despite himself Tony was drifting off- as the men beat a hasty retreat Tony fought off a different darkness.

“Aw shit it’s not working. It’s not working! Come on! Get the ether.”

“No!”

Tony renewed his struggles desperately wriggling like a hooked fish. The damp cloth descended on his face and he was dragged down into the black.

2 Weeks Earlier

Edwin eyed up Tony in disbelief, he’d heard that there had been an incident. Unfortunately, between Ana’s latest stay in the hospital and Howard’s demanding preparations for his annual trip to the Arctic, Edwin genuinely hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to spend a whole day driving to and from the northernmost area of Westchester that the school resided in. No matter how much he wished to take the time to do so. Especially given the increasingly outlandish reports Ben had been so gleefully feeding him. It was with no little amount of hastily repressed anger when Edwin realised that the school had most definitely played down the extent of the most recent, and thankfully last, bullying incident. Young Tony’s face was black and blue, his lip swollen and painfully scabbed, not to mention the swollen shut eye.

Edwin held his tongue, mindful of his charge’s strange behaviour the previous summer, and the shameful fact that between the appalling traffic and Howard’s behaviour taking a turn for the adolescent that morning; Edwin had arrived a full two hours late.

Fortunately for his already tattered nerves the staff member on site was Mr Leekie, who Edwin already knew since he’d been his primary source of information from the school – barring Ben’s erratic missives. The school’s all-round bureaucrat and student welfare officer, had been the one in charge of the numerous tests that Howard had demanded, and Tony himself had requested. Leekie shot Edwin a knowing, if sympathetic look, no doubt taking in Edwin’s harried expression in a glance.  

The thin young man’s kind smile as he turned to Edwin’s young charge, and, Edwin admitted, his charge too for these past nine months, was enough to reassure Edwin that there’d been at least one member of the faculty looking out for his son in everything but name. Edwin was man enough to admit to himself the truth in Ben’s words when he was face to face with the proof of them.

Edwin kept glancing awkwardly at the top of his charge’s head on the long drive home, ignoring the obvious signs of a recent beating, Tony held himself so differently now. Gone was the nervous little boy that he remembered, or even the strange skittish distance of the previous summer. No in that boy’s place sat a self-confident child, one who’d also grown a good half a foot taller in the meantime.

Whilst the hesitance and mumbled hellos weren’t unexpected, Edwin dearly hoped that Tony didn’t truly believe that he’d forgotten his birthday. This whole scheme had been Ana’s idea, and well, whilst he hadn’t agreed that it was a good idea, Edwin hadn’t had the heart to argue with his darling wife on affairs of the heart.

Catching Edwin by surprise, this stranger in Tony’s skin hadn’t behaved as Edwin had expected him to, at all. Instead of the enthusiastic hug he’d been expecting, and Edwin could kick himself for that erroneous expectation, given the fraught tension of those last months in the mansion, Young Tony had given him a world-weary look and climbed silently into the car.

Edwin had shared a long hopeless look with the still shockingly young Mr Leekie, put Tony’s luggage in the trunk and bade his farewells.

It had been all Edwin could do not to take his boy up in a hug and whisper assurances and tell him everything about the surprise waiting for him when he got home. But Edwin knew himself, if he started speaking first he’d keep rambling on and on, and tell Tony the whole plan, and Ana’s carefully constructed surprise would be completely ruined.

No better to keep quiet, and only talk about what Tony wanted to talk about. If the boy ever opened his mouth, that was. 

~~~~~~~

Tony had been afraid that the awkward silence that had somehow lasted the entire length of the journey back to the mansion had been a sign of things to come.

Tony would have attempted his usual tack with awkward social moments, blithely crashing his way through them, but his increasingly problematic Third Eye intervened. The image was only visible for an instant, but it was disturbing enough to effectively shut him up for the rest of the journey.

Jarvis had briefly been a man of 90, back bent double under the weight of the evil black demonic monkey that was chittering between his shoulder blades. The demonic little monster yammered and drooled noxious looking goo, as it lashed at Tony’s erstwhile father figure with its claws.

One blink later and the image was gone, flickering like the negative afterimage of a too bright light. Back to Jarvis concentrating on the road, straight backed and calm.

The impression that all was not well strengthened when Jarvis maintained his icy manner, only speaking to Tony to tersely ask him not to attempt to carry his luggage up to the house. (Whilst Tony had gotten used to his miniature proportions over the course of the past year, he’d forgotten that Jarvis wasn’t really aware of just what he and Ben had been doing. Tony was sure he’d have managed, but settled for keeping Jarvis in the dark about that little fact.)

Tony was beginning to fear for his ability to get through the time until October if things had gone this far to shit since he’d been gone. The exhaustion and permanent new twist to Jarvis’s jaw spoke of the fact that Ana must still be unwell. Damn. And Tony had thought that he’d planned out that letter so carefully. There was nothing for it, Tony would have to approach her himself. He only hoped that he wasn’t too late.

The mansion was just as he’d left it, nothing had changed. Still the same overbearing interior, the warmth of the summer sun doing little to alter Tony’s impression of gloom despite the large windows streaming bright hot sunlight into the entryway.

Jarvis made his way down to the staff kitchen, Tony followed him in surprised silence unsure why they were heading that way when his room was at the opposite end of the house.

Tony almost couldn’t bear looking at the back of Jarvis’s head, he knew that they hadn’t talked for ages, and things had been touch and go there before he’d left for school. But this hadn’t happened the first time around. The summer months had been just as they’d always been, right up unti- until the-

Tony’s head jerked up from his shoes in shock at the shouted, “SURPRISE!” that came loudly from the kitchen. Everyone was there, Maria, Ana, Aunty Peggy.

~~~~~~~

Edwin was gladdened by the look of stunned surprise on Tony’s face. It seemed that Ana had been right after all, he should never have doubted his darling wife. As Edwin had hoped, but hadn’t expected (not after the shameful cowardice he’d displayed once he realised his mistake), Tony’s face lit up even further when he realised that the large parcel that was his and Ana’s contribution to the small pile on the kitchen table was in fact a stack of LPs.

Frank at Jazzin’ Solos had really come through for him, Edwin had requested both hard rock, and David Bowie albums – something special.

In the end after waiting on tenterhooks for nearly a month as a mysterious order to the UK was put through Edwin had ended up with a choice selection of LPs, the eponymously named David Bowie – a blue spotted gatefold album with a curly haloed Bowie gazing out at the viewer on the cover and a bizarre set of illustrations covering much of the remaining space. The black disc with the Phillips label in the centre reminding Edwin strongly of home. The second album was a bit of a puzzler to Edwin, and yet another LP for Tony’s expanding collection that would have to be kept well away from Howard – or rather one of two copies was, somehow Edwin had allowed himself to be talked into buying both the UK and the US versions of the album on the basis that it was simultaneously Bowie and Hard Rock, apparently a vanishingly rare occurrence. The UK copy of the album in particular had been expensive, even more so than the earlier eponymously named David Bowie album, but then again Edwin hoped that the gift would go some way to being a suitable apology for his inability to do so much as visit during the school months.

The album in question was called The Man Who Sold The World, the US copy featured a bizarre childish comic book image of a cowboy who’d apparently shot a clock tower on the cover. However at least that version of the album would probably escape Howard’s notice if he ever saw it. The UK copy of the album was on a nasty textured card, though frankly that had been the least of his issues with it – next to the Mercury stamp on the cover David Bowie lounged with long hair wearing a dress. Edwin sincerely hoped that the album fitted the bill as well as Frank had claimed, for such a little thing it was causing him a lot of worry – and had already caused a lot of expense.

The next albums in the little package of collected discs that he and Ana had put together had been far cheaper/easier to acquire – consisting of Hunky Dory again by David Bowie, and still featuring an alarmingly ambiguously androgynous looking Bowie on the cover, and finally the discs that he hoped Tony would enjoy the most – The Idiot and Lust for Life by Iggy Pop. Both albums featured black and white images of the singer on the cover, and looked rather mundane to Edwin’s eye. However, Frank had reassured him that since ACDC was still an apparently non-existent entity, then other than The Man Who Sold The World these discs were probably the closest thing to the combination of hard rock and David Bowie that Edwin had requested that he would likely to find.

To Edwin’s profound relief, if the awed look on Tony’s young face was anything to go by, they’d made the right decision. It wouldn’t make up for the months spent apart, Edwin knew that. He’d spent the time that Howard had been purposefully keeping him busy trying to convince himself that he’d gone to boarding school, and he’d turned out fine. And the school Edwin had been shipped off to as a child had utilised the Fag System too, caning liberally applied, and playing serf to the older boys’ whims, all under the approving eye of the staff, and Edwin had flourished.

Tony reverently removed the wrapping paper, and his face lit up still further as he pored over the carefully selected albums. Edwin smiled at Ana, sharing in her joy that their boy was home, and, whilst she clearly shared his anger over the terribly swollen bruising, happy and mostly whole.

Somehow in the weeks spent planning this little affair with Ana’s capable help; his darling wife somehow still finding the energy to organise and plan the party with military precision from her hospital bed, Edwin’s arguments to himself had faltered. The resolve that he’d let Tony spend the time making his own friends, his own way, unhindered by unwelcome adult interference. All of Edwin’s arguments rang hollow.

Instead in between ferrying Ana to and from the numerous specialists’ appointments, all fruitlessly trying to work out what on earth was plaguing her, and the excess of busy-work that Howard had suddenly decided to dump on his lap in a rare moment of perceptive empathy on his old friend’s part to try and stop Edwin from drinking himself to death in the unwelcome quiet. Well, Edwin had suddenly found himself busy enough that it wasn’t just the certainty that his presence would be unwanted, but an actual inability to find the time to visit.

Edwin’s time since that argument with Ben had been spent being reminded explicitly just how demanding an employer Howard could be when he set his mind to it. Whilst Edwin’s assigned tasks hadn’t been quite at the demeaning level of exchange a silver bracelet for a slap of the old days, he’d still been run ragged. Edwin had been sent on errands all over the Five Boroughs, on one memorable day he’d travelled from the far end of Staten Island, back up to the northernmost part of the Bronx, only to have to travel down back down South to the warehouse areas of Brooklyn for a component that Howard had suddenly remembered that he ‘needed’ by the end of the day.

No. Between Ana’s frequent appointments and Howard’s sudden whims, Edwin’s heartfelt wish to visit his charge and find out just what the hell Ben was teaching him had been an unfulfilled one.

Edwin spotted Ana and Peggy both shooting each other significant glances out of the corner of his eye, if he hadn’t been keeping an eye out given Ana’s hints and suggestions, Edwin would probably have missed it. However, he’d known that Ana’s insistence that Peggy be there wasn’t entirely due to the fact that she felt that Tony was missing his godmother. Edwin should have known that his darling wouldn’t let the issue of whatever had been going on with their charge the previous summer lie forever.

The look of stunned happiness was still lighting up Tony’s black and blue face as he gently set aside the records and turned to the next much smaller parcel in the modest pile. Edwin held his breath when Tony unwrapped his mother’s gift, whilst Peggy and Ana had supervised somewhat, he was slightly wary of just what could produce that smug expression on Maria’s face. Fortunately, Maria’s gift proved to be a surprisingly thoughtful contribution, she’d carefully spent her time wintering in Italy compiling a book of family recipes gathered from her extended family in Sicily. Included in the list were such obscure delicacies as cannoli and sfogliatella as well as a whole host of seafood recipes from Venice – since even when it came to the Carbonell side of the family the Starks were from an improbable stock of cultures from all over the Mediterranean coast, with constant fond arguments about whether the Tuscan or Bologna’s version of a Margherita pizza could even come close to the legendary original from Naples.

(And even more arguments between the mostly ignored distant Catalonian branch of the family and the Venetian branch about which came first, tapas or cicchetti. Though apparently, the Spanish half of the family tended not to be invited to family gatherings or Christenings – something to do with who’s side they’d chosen during the whole unpleasant Spanish Civil War/collapse of Catalonian government and near parallel Fascist Government in Italy during the Mussolini era making that particular branch of the extended clan de facto black sheep. Though Edwin had honestly never quite worked out if being anarchist communists or fascist hating Mussolini-haters was supposed to be the position of shame given that both the Italian and Catalan branches of the extended Carbonell clan had fought to oppose the oppressive regimes they’d suddenly found themselves trying to exist under. Perhaps the Maggia linked branch of the family in Italy were the black sheep? Edwin was really unsure of the situation, he’d never been able to parse the sly allusions Maria had used to make in the old days, before the multiple failed attempts to have a child that Howard and Maria had anguished through, before they’d all but given up, and somehow the accidental miracle that had been Tony had happened.)

Edwin wished dearly that Maria would someday be able to find it within her to share this side of herself with her son, the warmth and fondness that shone from her eyes as she shared anecdotes about her latest trip home had Edwin wondering not for the first time how different Tony’s upbringing could have been if Howard hadn’t proven such a domineering head of his small family. The clan in Italy extended as far across Europe as the USSR to the East and Britain to the West. Edwin often felt that Tony could have been happy there, away from the fame and the weight of the Stark name. Safe in the more obscure power that came with the establishment, and anonymity, of old money in Europe.

Whilst the thoughtful gift had Ana and Peggy’s fingerprints all over it, Edwin could tell that Maria had put an awful lot of effort into gathering the tome together. The cookbook itself was a slightly odd mixture of professionally bound and type-set recipes faced with the hand-written originals carefully sandwiched into photo album-like clear sleeves – revealing the hastily scrawled Italian and Spanish instructions that had utilised a wide variety of mediums from napkins and pieces of scrap paper to, in one notable example, the back of a thick piece of wood, on the other side of which may or may not have been a painting by …Titian (Edwin’s eyes widened in horrified awe) if the signature on scrawled unobtrusively in the corner was to be believed.

The remaining present was a co-operative effort from Peggy and Howard, or so the hardened SHIELD agent had claimed. From the sudden absence of the brilliant smile that had so briefly lit up his young charge’s face, Edwin knew that Tony saw straight through the white lie. Peggy’s gift, and everyone in the cosy little kitchen knew that the gift was all Peggy’s doing, was a perfectly scaled down child-sized toolset. Everything that Tony could possibly need for his little projects was there, all adapted carefully so that little fingers could hold them comfortably.

Edwin wondered how on Earth Peggy had managed to get hold of such a thing, and the inner upper-middle class Englishman inside him, that still peered over his shoulder and judged everything that he did, even now decades after he’d thrown all of that away to save Ana and been forced to flee to America. Well, that side of himself tutted that she’d gone to such expense. The secretive habit of saving money and making do whenever it was possible to do so discreetly was difficult to ignore. Even now, or rather especially now that even Howard’s fortune was faltering in this long economic downturn of the 1970s.

Edwin hastily gave Tony a beaming grin before turning to fetch the cake, a homemade effort that had taken days to put together – especially given how difficult it had suddenly become to find time to himself. The multi-tiered chocolate monstrosity towered stickily, though that was at least partially due to the encrusting of Turkish delight around the edges. Edwin and Ana had both been startled the previous summer when their charge had shown a new delight in the cloying gelatinous substance, but they’d been willing to go the extra mile if it would help welcome Tony home.

To Edwin’s gratification the beaming awe returned to the boy’s face as he spotted the confection, Ana took charge,

“Now darling we couldn’t come to your school for your Birthday.” Ana’s tone was all apologies, before suddenly turning dark, “Stupid snobbish rules.” And just as suddenly, “So we waited and tried to make your welcome home party extra special!”

Winking theatrically at Tony Ana started up the hastily composed rewrite of Happy Birthday;

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Homeday to you! Happy Homeday dear Tony! Happy Belated Birthday to you!”

The singing was comically out of time, none of the adults had thought to practice their changes to the song, so there was no plan about just how they’d attempt to cram that extra word in there. Ana tried to rush ‘belated’ into the verse as quickly as possible, Peggy tried to stick to the rhythm of the music, Maria was singing the song to a different tune entirely something lyrical with a distinctly European rhythm, and Edwin hadn’t a clue how to slot the word in and just awkwardly kept singing voice gone completely flat with embarrassment.

Tony had burst out into delighted laughter and Edwin knew that all was well with the world. At least for now. Edwin’s mood bubbled ebulliently when Tony revealed that he felt well enough at ease with them that he was willing to joke,

“Happy Birthday! Once rejected now accepted… By meeee! And Hector a trifecta! Ricky Baker!”

Edwin shared an amused but wholly puzzled look with first Ana, then Peggy who both looked equally confused.

“Riiiccckkky! Baaakeeer!”

A fond smile grew on Edwin’s lips, he didn’t have a clue what on earth the dear boy was talking about, or rather singing about. However, Edwin found that he didn’t much care when he spotted the huge grin and warm sparkle in those beloved brown eyes. As the little quintet shared the oversized cake Edwin caught Peggy shooting Tony yet another considering stare.

~~~~~~~

Once the small gathering ended Tony spent the afternoon listening avidly to the new additions to his LP collection. Or rather he had the time to put one disc on the deck’s platter by the time the chaos of the party was sorted out. Jarvis had insisted that he needed to tidy up the mess, with Peggy insisting that she help and that Ana should remain seated. Maria had gratefully edged away to go and lie down, but not before giving Tony an all-encompassing hug that Tony hadn’t even been aware he’d been missing.

There were so many new additions to Tony’s burgeoning collection that he didn’t really have time to listen to much of the music, or form an opinion on the discs. Well, beyond admiring the album artwork, with the small selection spread out around him. That and noticing the surprising hard rock, nay heavy metal aspirations of The Man Who Sold the World, and having a good long childish giggle about the particular song verse that had Bowie fellating the devil in hell.

The title of the next song, Black Country Rock, nearly had Tony devolving into a very different set of giggles as it reminded him forcibly of a mental image from a talking heads documentary he’d only half paid attention to, years ago. Specifically, the vision of tanned teenagers, who’d previously been enjoying the surf-rock stylings of California Sound, lazing on a beach trying really hard to get into the mindset of heavy metal. Aka, surfer dudes in sunny California trying to emulate the grim pounding of the drop hammers, and black soot stained atmosphere of the Black Country, to really ‘get’ industrial Birmingham and the North of England. (SI’s restructuring of an old BSA factory in Birmingham had enabled Tony to confront that reality face to face as a teen – it had been eye-opening. Skies grey, even when there wasn’t a cloud in sight.)

Tony had to force himself not to spiral into the now familiar whirl of chaotic imagery as Bowie touched on some very dark subjects during the course of the next song. Something about the Heavy Metal genre touched on exposed nerves that hadn’t been there when Tony had first discovered his love for the genre in the 80s. Despite the lingering ache that threatened to overwhelm him, Tony felt that he owed it to himself to enjoy the album. He was not going to let the Avengers, and all of the shit that came with them, dictate his taste in music.

As the disc spun onwards, switching from a song set in an insane asylum, to a soldier just back from a war finding civilian life impossible and going on a shooting rampage, Tony looked down at the small horde of music he’d been gifted with with something akin to awe. He hadn’t really noticed during the course of the year, but he’d been envious of H-Justin’s burgeoning collection, even with the other boy’s all too enthusiastic willingness to share. That mild jealousy came into focus with his access effectively revoked. Now, with his small selection that had just broken into the double digits laid out before him (Most of it consisting of David Bowie, an artist, that until Jarvis’s well-meaning, but thoroughly uncomprehending gifts began, Tony had only been vaguely aware of in a ‘Best Of’ sense.) Tony could feel the urge to thank Jarvis welling up. Naïve as the gifts were, they were genuinely heartfelt. And, if Tony were to admit it to himself, he genuinely enjoyed Bowie these days.

The selection of new LPs was slightly daunting, Bowie in a dress notwithstanding, Tony wasn’t sure what to listen to next. The two new Iggy Pop albums were especially intriguing, given that Justin had genuinely tended more towards acts like The Osmonds, The Runaways and other teeny-bopper fare, his selection of actual listenable rock for its own sake had been sporadic and accidental at best.

Despite his attempts to avoid the train of thought the song forced Tony’s brain back into darker territory. In light of Steve’s all too frequent hit first, ask questions later approach to any and all confrontations in his life, Tony had to admit that he found Bowie’s unerring detached accuracy particularly worrying. Lounging in a dress or not, the song hit upon something that Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to examine too closely.

Tony’s impression that Heavy Metal’s dark themes were newly unfriendly territory was reconfirmed when the next song on the album proved to be all about a murderous AI begging humanity not to let it burn the world.

“…don’t let me stay, my logic says burn, so send me away…” Eesh.

A strangely familiar red haze ate at the edges of Tony’s vision as the implications hit him, memories of Ultron’s gleaming red eyes threatening to overwhelm him. Thankfully the next track, a thoroughly vacuous song, which Bowie only seemed to be guest-starring in, cut in and shook him out of the threatening flashes. Pulling Tony back from an edge he didn’t think he’d be able to claw his way back from.

Tony regained his calm in time to be thoroughly surprised when the final track revealed itself to be a song he’d associated with the shoegaze band Nirvana and the 90s, turned out to have been written in 1970. Tony felt even more foolish when he realised that it was the eponymous track on the damnedly fascinating, yet insane, heavy metal album. Tony was determined to give the album a fair shot, Bowie and Heavy Metal were a combination that, by rights, he should adore.

Unfortunately, the surprisingly disturbing LP was the only disc Tony had the time to listen to that afternoon, the intriguing black and white images of the Iggy Pop albums and the two new additions to Tony’s ever-growing selection of Bowie having to wait for another day. Tony regretfully packed everything away carefully in his trunk before dashing off to join the adults to try to wheedle some SHIELD tales out of Aunty Peggy.

                                                                  ~~~~~~~

It was only at the evening meal that the proverbial bomb was dropped, Peggy was here to stay for the entirety of summer. Tony had been absolutely stunned when he realised that Peggy had actually come to stay for the summer not just one of her usual flying visits, the previously delicious spaghetti vongole that had come straight out of Maria’s recipe book almost went ignored that evening, as plans for the summer were made. Tony wasn’t naïve enough to imagine that she was only there for him, but still it was nice. There was obviously something SHIELD related going on, but Tony was damned if he knew what it was.

The next day was blissful, Peggy and Ana both seemed determined to spend time with him. In fact, all of the adults in their small household did, between their desire to ‘check-up’ on how Tony’s self-defence training was going, Maria insisting that she teach him how to cook some of the dishes in his new book, and Jarvis plying him with all of his favourite dishes Tony almost didn’t have the time to notice Howard’s absence.

The day after Howard dropped his own bomb, summoning Tony to his study Howard laid down the law.

“Good work on the grades Anthony.”

Tony was instantly suspicious, Howard never offered complements freely. There was always a catch.

Howard looked up from his paperwork and glared, oh, he was expected to reply.

“Th-Thank you sir.”

Howard’s eyes narrowed. Shit. What else had he been expected to say there?

“Yes. Well. Good grades or no there’s no excuse to be letting the Stark name be dredged through mud.”

Tony blinked, nervously unaware of what Howard was referring to. His father gestured impatiently at Tony’s face, oh. Yes. That.

Tony swallowed and nodded vigorously, hoping that the jerky gesture would pass for ready compliance.

“Yes sir.”

Howard leaned back seemingly satisfied,

“As soon as the swelling goes down.” Tony’s back prickled with dread, the swelling not the bruising, “I expect you to join me at the necessary society events to keep the Stark name on the right tongues.”

No. Surely not.

“I’ll get the staff to cover up what you’ve done to yourself, and you will behave with the dignity and composure expected of a Stark. You will nod politely and make the company look good to our investors do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

Tony hoped that his reluctance wasn’t coming across in his voice, but from the scowl that suddenly appeared on Howard’s face he hadn’t succeeded in keeping his opinion to himself.

Howard’s tone turned falsely airy,

“If you are to earn the permission required to go to Cambridge, and your St Cedd’s…” Howard spat the name, “you will do as I say.”

Shit.

“Yes sir…”

“Good boy. Your face permitting, the first event is tomorrow evening.”

If Tony wanted to go to Cambridge in October he had to do exactly what Howard said.

~~~~~~~

Tony’s days were filled with pleasantly busy hours, despite Howard’s commands regarding his evenings. Mornings spent cooking with either Jarvis or Maria – depending on whether or not Maria felt up to spending the long hours on her feet. Somehow Tony and his mother had never gotten around to spending time with each other in quite this way the first time around, Tony found it bizarre that they were bonding over an activity as mundane and boring as cooking of all things. However, Maria’s often ignored scientific bent meant that his mother was able to impart on Tony the significance of the purposeful vagueness in recipes, where no one had ever managed to do so before. Whilst Tony didn’t think he’d ever understand the people who waxed lyrical about soul food, and cooking from the heart, with his mother’s gentle coaching Tony slowly began to appreciate the joy of actually being able to cook for the people he loved without the dish turning into a charred mess.

Tony was grateful for the opportunity to spend time with his mother. They’d never had this shared time the first time around, their first hesitant steps to building a relationship beyond the early simplicity of mother and extremely young child, were cut short just as they were beginning. But at every moment, Tony saw ample signs of the woman that he’d idolised after her death, the kind but firm woman who wouldn’t take any shit from the staff, but who would be the first to offer a shoulder to cry on, and a provide a secretive cheque when they were having financial troubles, or offer up access to the finest doctors’ money could buy. Tony was gratified to find that the woman he’d built up wasn’t a myth, but a real flesh and blood human being, who cared deeply about others despite her own problems. It was a relief after the years’ worth of nagging fear that the woman in his mind was entirely fictional, given that Tony had only seen his mother at the depths of one of her worst depressive bouts when he’d arrived in this strange new world of his.

After the inevitable long lunches, as Tony’s close knit little family of choice gathered to share the latest concoction he and Maria had put together that morning, his afternoons were filled with learning how to use the numerous armed and unarmed sparring techniques that Peggy deemed appropriate for a child.

Between his newly long evenings, and his own desire to spend as much time as possible in Aunty Peggy’s, Ana’s, and Jarvis’s company, Tony was exhausted.

Peggy insisted on teaching Tony the basics of how to use the laughable wooden sai, a set of tonfas she’d brought with her, and the extendable baton that reminded Tony uncomfortably of Tasha’s specialised weapons. The set of glorified sticks turned out to be deceptively complex weapons. Peggy patiently showed him how to use the tonfas to brace his forearms, the rigidity of the wood enhancing his blows and allowing Tony to block hers in turn without (much) risk of bruising. The extendable baton was a lesson in tactics; a whole separate set to the ones that Tony had gradually come to rely on under Ben’s tutelage.

During their sessions Peggy was patient and calm, but shared a surprising amount of her teaching technique with Ben. Every now and again she’d let the hardened warrior out from behind the mask of kindly stern Aunty that she’d always carefully worn in Tony’s presence. Her tendency to occasionally show Tony the technique by using it on him, rather than her usual method of slowly walking him through every little movement of the action had Tony beginning to wonder why he’d never seen that side of her before.

During their third session with the tonfas, Peggy surprised him by switching her grip from the handles perpendicular to the main shaft of the weapon to the shaft itself. Suddenly Peggy’s reach was a foot longer, and she had hooks as well as bludgeons.

Tony blinked, momentarily stunned by the change in style, before taking the lesson to heart.

The sai were more difficult to pick up quickly than the other two new introductions, not because the techniques to wield the strangely shaped knives were more complicated, but because Peggy was more cautious about hurting Tony with even these blunt wooden practice knives.

Despite that care, Peggy had almost broken Tony’s arm when he’d been distracted by his increasingly intrusive Third Eye mid-spar. For a moment Peggy’s heart shone clearly in her chest, strong and large – the obvious cracks long since healed over and somehow adding to the overall beauty of the image. Especially with the ghosts of whatever links Peggy shared disappearing into all corners of the room, Tony only knew what the bonds were when he’d realised that one of the brightest thickest threads tied directly to him. Tony had been driven nearly to tears when he realised that his own chest was the other end of that connection. Peggy had reamed Tony out for his inattention, but with the aftermath of the beautiful image seared into Tony’s brain, he found he didn’t much care.

Sadly, after a couple of weeks of lessons, it was clear to Tony that Peggy was here to take over sparring duties from Ana and Jarvis. Ana was in no shape to spar, aware of Jarvis’s eyes on the back of his neck the whole time Tony had ended up paying so much attention to her rather than Peggy’s instructions that Peggy had huffed impatiently and swapped to the hand to hand techniques that had him automatically using the turtle of Fury. Point taken Tony started paying attention to her teachings, but as soon as their time was up Tony sidled over to Ana. Peggy had taken the hint and ushered Jarvis away. The petite redhead was exhausted, her already pale skin translucent white, despite Ana’s steady gentle smile and willingness to let Tony climb up into her lap, Ana was clearly very ill. Sickening as the thought was, the fact that she still had a healthy head of hair was information enough to Tony. The doctors hadn’t identified the problem, and the chemotherapy hadn’t started.

Tony watched Edwin leave the room, Peggy distracting him and shooting Tony a look that said ‘behave’, and took his chance,

“Um… Ana?” 

“Yes dear?”

Ana’s tone was fond, but the exhaustion shone through underscoring everything,

“Have you.” Tony swallowed. He almost couldn’t bring himself to say it, the rock that had suddenly taken residence in his throat blocking his airway. If he said it out loud, it would be real. “Have you considered that it might be ovarian cancer?”

There. He’d said it. It was hateful, but he had to.

It was clear that Jarvis hadn’t passed on his letter. Damn the man. Tony was coming to loathe the man’s beloved overprotective streak.

Ana didn’t pale, with her current complexion that was impossible, but she did look even more tired than she had already. 

“No. I hadn’t.” There was a long pause, even Ana’s automatic stroking of his hair had stilled, “Thank you, Tony dear.”

Hearing Ana thanking him for literally telling her about her death sentence was almost more than Tony could bear, but he would not cry. He would not add his own grief to the weight that rested so heavily on her too thin shoulders.

Tony desperately hoped that he’d done the right thing. Ana hugged him tighter as if sensing that Tony was just as upset by the possible diagnosis as she was, Tony latched on and pretended that he was comforting her rather than the other way around.

~~~~~~~

In spite of all of the joyful chaos that was taking up so much of his time, Tony finally had a breakthrough with the barrier that had been preventing him from producing any repulsor tech during that first week back. He’d fled to the squash court to avoid Ana’s kind gaze, Maria was in Manhattan organising another Maria Stark Foundation shindig that particular morning. For all that he knew that he was being unfair, Tony couldn’t stand the thought of spending the time cooking under the Jarvises patient, and too sad, eyes. Tony was trying to ignore the festering guilt over his actions, building excuses that sounded hollow even in the privacy of his own head. Even though Tony was revelling in the unexpected attention after the pleasant surprise of the party, Tony had immediately fallen back onto his habit of the previous summer of avoiding the adults in his life wherever possible. The frequent mornings cooking with Maria, and full-afternoons from Peggy’s determination to teach him self-defence notwithstanding… Tony was still a middle-aged man in mind and soul, and still chafed at the restrictions the well-meaning adults in his life kept trying to place on him. He’d been holed up inside the squash court cum workshop, taking advantage of the fact that neither Maria nor Jarvis were around, and ended up staring blankly at the fluorescent tubing that lined the walls above the large square windows that let the hot summer light inside.

New York had gotten increasingly hot in the past couple of weeks, temperatures soaring to such an extent that the weather had swapped from easing Maria’s usual homesickness to actually making her feel unwell. Tony couldn’t say that he blamed her, his hair was plastered uncomfortably to the back of his neck, and sweat trickled down his spine, when his t-shirt wasn’t practically glued uncomfortably to his skin that was.

The blank white relatively cool light source reminded Tony once again just how basic the repulsor tech actually was. The science behind the repulsors was deceptively simple, paralleling the tech behind EL-panels and wires, repulsors relied on an energy emitting coating, protected from the outside air by a physical barrier, and fed an AC current by whatever power source was available – be it an arc reactor or something cruder. 

The new repulsor watch was far bulkier than Tony would have liked, Tony’s ample experience in cobbling together arc reactors from scrap metal notwithstanding, he simply didn’t have the parts to make anything smaller – or with enough power to deliver anything more powerful than a stun grenade or a flashbang.

Between the lack of power, and the thing’s obvious bulky not-just-a-watchness Tony reluctantly shelved the project, taking the thing to pieces and storing the slightly dubious repulsor panels amongst the LPs in his trunk. Instead Tony spent the time holed up in his secretive workshop making his modified Widow’s Bites more efficient. As it was, with the backwards transistors that relied on the ancient valve technology, the watch couldn’t actually give out that many charges before the power source needed replacing.

Tony’s continued frustration with the lack of tech and tools in this backwards era provided him with enough creative energy that he hit upon an idea of just how to maintain his relative anonymity as the owner of Arc Technologies. Taking a page out of the internet era’s book, Tony decided to set up a dead drop situation with the lawyers the next chance he got. He’d store the patented designs with the law firm, with strict instructions to supply the information to the R&D guys at Arc at a pre-set date.

The scheme wasn’t fool proof by any means, and was full of opportunity for exploitation in its current form. However, it was a start, and Tony was sure that Ben would have a twist of his own to add to dissuade people from trying to make a quick buck.

~~~~~~~

Ana glanced at her darling Edwin, as they both waited impatiently for the news. Ana hadn’t told her dear husband just where she’d gotten the idea from, the tightening of his jaw when she’d mentioned that she’d found the worst-case-scenario in a medical tome had been bad enough without mentioning that it had been poor Tony who’d pointed her towards the unpleasant, but given her symptoms, horribly likely diagnosis.

The doctor finally called them over, from the expression on the small woman’s face Ana knew.

“Mrs Jarvis? I’m Doctor Anwara Perera, I’ll be your oncologist. Would you like your husband to come in with you?”

Ana took one look at her darling, and saw through his ill-fitting mask of stiff-upper-lipped strength. Edwin never had worn the expectations of British manliness well, he was trying to be brave for her again. Ana could see it clearly in the unshed tears in his eyes, and the tense line of his jaw.

Ana carefully assessed her husband, trying to discern if he had the strength to get through this. He’d tried to shoulder this burden once before, Ana remembered wryly where that had gotten them – several long, wasted months that they could have been spending enjoying each other’s company lost to painful tension and bitter recriminations.

No Ana decided, she wouldn’t subject her husband to the added burden of having to live up to his own expectations of strength in front of this doctor. Whatever the news, Ana would tell him in private. Ana turned to Edwin, plastering a loving smile on her face as she tried desperately to convey how much she loved him with her eyes,

“No. I’d rather my darling didn’t have to sit through all of this medical talk.”

The doctor looked nervous,

“Are you sure Mrs Jarvis?”

“Quite sure, thank you.”

Hugging Edwin tightly Ana kissed him just below his eye and whispered for their ears only,

“I love you darling.” In a louder voice she continued, “I’ll be back in a minute. I’ll tell you if there’s any news. But I thought I should spare you having to sit through yet another ‘we don’t know’.”

Edwin chuckled wetly at the mocking tone Ana placed on the impression. Ana shot him one last look before she entered the office with the doctor, embedding that moment of hope in her brain.

“Mrs Jarvis, please, take a seat.”

After several long unnecessary minutes of pleasantries, the dark-haired woman finally broke the news,

“You were right. It’s ovarian cancer. We at Goldwater wish to extend our sincerest apologies for the length of time it took to gain a diagnosis…”

Ana found herself focussing tightly on the nervous woman’s mouth,

“…The extensive uterine and fallopian scarring alongside the unusual structure of the tissue made it extremely difficult to gain a clear idea of what we were looking for…”

For the next twenty minutes Ana’s world tunnelled into concentrating on the medical terminology and her prognosis. Her spine ramrod straight as she absorbed the information, and how they’d best move forward. Ana would have to relay this information to Edwin after all, carefully filtered so that he wouldn’t break down and decide to solely take their shared burden on as his own. Ana would be strong enough for the both of them.

~~~~~~~

Between Howard’s demands, and Tony’s suddenly full days with Aunty Peggy and Maria, he didn’t spend much time at all with the Jarvises in those first, increasingly unbearably hot weeks of the summer holidays. As the temperature rose, so did Howard’s temper. And Tony was finding it more and more difficult to live up to his father’s expectations of how he should behave at the numerous awful high society parties that he was being forced to attend.

Tony’s vague intentions to do as Ben had told him, and meditate on that dusty lump of rock were all but forgotten in the face of the unexpected fullness of his schedule. The rock lay in the bottom of Tony’s trunk, alongside the school books and Wand of Watoomb, ignored in favour of the few LPs that Tony actually owned.

Towards the end of the second sweltering week back at the mansion Ana and Jarvis suddenly had a striking change in mood, gone was the melancholy pensive tension replaced instead by a painful mixture of relief and resignation. So, they had their diagnosis, Tony could only hope that this time it hadn’t come too late. Of course, despite the fact that it was obvious from the shift in the atmosphere none of the adults deigned to let Tony in on the situation. At first Tony felt quietly resentful about the usual wilful blindness on display – that is until Ana gently took him aside after a less than successful teaching session with Peggy (Tony just could not get used to the way the sais were essentially stilettos with tines) crouched down and made sure in terms that even a child could understand, that Tony knew precisely what the situation was.

~~~~~~~~

13 July 1977, 22:30

Tony struggled back to consciousness.

“Quick he’s waking up – what the hell he’s had enough ether to knock out an elephant.”

“Get the ludes!”

Tony struggled desperately, but again it was futile. He was feeling strange, uncoordinated, groggy. Besides Tony was seven, he was small for seven.

Once again, his jaw was forcibly cracked open and a couple of pills were pushed down his throat. Tony couldn’t even hack them back up – they stuck around long enough to make sure that the evil little things made their way to his stomach before leaving the room.

“Don’t you dare sick up kid. Stan will be right here.”

Presumably, Stan, grinned nastily.

“He’ll give you a kicking if you do. Sides we’ll only leave you locked in here lying in your own spew. It’s the least you deserve after what you did at the party. If it were up to me you’d get more than a kicking.”

‘Stan’ opened his mouth and added,

“Yeah – and give you more Ludes too. ‘Sno point kid.”

Rough faces smiled down smugly at him as they slammed the door shut in his face.

Tony stared around the cramped little room in dismay – waiting for the drugs to kick in in despair. Contemplating vomiting anyway, despite the visible lack of coating on the things meaning he’d probably already had a significant dose anyway.

Tony fought off the lulling soporific sensation that wanted to pull him under again with desperate ferocity. Godammit he was a Stark. Stark men are made of Iron. Tony would not let whatever the hell he’d been given drag him under, he’d wasted most of the 90s snorting mountains of medical-grade cocaine, amongst other things. If Tony’d gained nothing else during that wasted decade it was a prodigious tolerance for narcotics – he could take whatever this was. He could. He had to.

Tony only then remembered to do an inventory of his body, two hands, two feet, ten fingers, ten toes. There was a brief moment of adrenaline fuelled panic when Tony realised that he was covered in blood, but that moment passed, when as he plucked at his ruined jacket, Tony realised that it couldn’t possibly belong to him.

Just as Tony was about to give in, to lay back down, on the hard-concrete floor of the tiny cupboard, Stan peered back in and had him jumping up in fright. The large man chuckled as Tony’s heart hammered in his ears. Christ, with the distinct lack of attempts lately Tony had thought he’d gotten away from all of this crap.

~~~~~~~~

Peggy eyed up the carnage with a practiced eye, the usually plush shag rug in the centre of the room was covered in broken glass, and sodden with a mixture of alcohol and blood. Peggy wasn’t sure if Howard would laugh or be apoplectic at the scene, she never could tell which way he’d swing these days. Peggy made doubly sure that her cocktail dress was covered by the lab coat she’d hastily scrounged from Howard’s small workshop, and that her rubber gloves covered her jewellery.

Blood.

And that led directly to her main clue, one of the home invaders, who’d been a full half of the damned wait-staff, was sprawled dead on the carpet. The man had bled heavily from a low gut wound, it would have been a slow lingering death. That would explain the other injury - the man’s own teammates had shot him in the head, one bullet to the base of his skull at point blank range. They’d rather he was dead than either slow them down, or worse blab everything to an interested party.

Making sure to take a quick photo of the man with her new Arc Camera first, the self-developing-film a godsend, Peggy clinically rolled the man over with her toe, grimacing as her Biba sandal came into contact with the man’s blood. Damn, she hoped it would wash out. Sometimes, Peggy really hated the shit that came with being a SHIELD agent. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have gotten quite this involved with a scene. But this was no ordinary scene, and even if Howard had objected (he hadn’t), Peggy was technically the only agent present who was even vaguely qualified to investigate a scene.

 The dead man rolled stiffly over onto his back, rigor mortis was already beginning to set-in given the unusual, even for this time of year, heat. There was a shard of metal protruding from the man’s stomach, dispassionately Peggy noted that she had been right, it looked like a sucking wound. Mouth clenching in distaste at her self-assigned task, Peggy squatted down next to the corpse and examined it more closely.

At this close proximity the stench of shit, soured blood, and the already unpleasant reek of death was noticeable. They’d have to get the body out of here fairly quickly, in this heat a well-bled steak would go rotten within hours, let alone a carcass that still contained its blood and gizzards.   

Peggy pulled the balaclava off his head, wincing when the move made the man’s minced grey matter slop messily onto the shag pile. There would be no rescuing that rug. She didn’t recognise the face, the man looked perfectly average, sandy brown hair, grey eyes. Peggy snapped off a quick photo anyway, peering out at the not-quite-black orange haze that was the New York skyline in the power cut, she considered that they’d be able to work out who the hell he was later.

Peggy carefully inspected the corpse for any visible identifiers, but found nothing obvious. Sighing, and regretting it immediately as the ever-present stench of shit and death made its way to the back of her throat Peggy got on with the job she’d been avoiding. Making sure that there was nothing to cut herself on Peggy took a firm grip on the slither of metal and pulled it out. The suddenly far stronger waft of faeces and bile went ignored as Peggy noticed that the little blade had pulled free far more easily than she’d been expecting. Peggy held it up to the light, there was nothing visibly remarkable about the shard, barring the obvious fact that Tony had been the one to put it there.

Tony

Peggy pushed that thought back into its compartment. Get the job done, panic later. Snapping yet another photo Peggy realised that she’d have to ask Howard what was special about the blade, something about the metal just felt unusual to her, but damned if she knew what. Peggy resolved that if she could manage it she would get a handle added to the makeshift stiletto, for Tony’s sake. If the fool boy had only asked her she’d have given him a decent blade dammit! He shouldn’t have had to have been carrying around this ridiculous useless knife.

Peggy stopped herself from wiping at her eyes in the brink of time, remembering the gore on her rubber coated fingers when they were an inch from her face. Setting the accusatory knife aside for the moment Peggy continued with the unpleasant task of undressing the corpse, hoping that he would give up some of his secrets.

~~~~~~~

Once Stan was sure that Tony wasn’t about to spit out the pills he left, giving Tony a cheery, but menacing, little wave as he slammed the door to his cupboard shut.

To Tony’s surprise he managed, barely, to stay awake. After what felt like an absolute age of fighting off the urge to sleep, the urge passed. Vanished as if it had never been in the first place.

Huh.

Not in the mood to look a gift horse in the mouth Tony started looking around the cel- no it wasn’t a cell. He was locked inside a broom cupboard. Oh for fuck’s sake, did they have any idea who they were messing wi- oh. Of course, they didn’t. It was 1976, not 2008, or even the aftermath of the 1993 kidnapping and the self-defence trial. Tony didn’t yet have the reputation for taking apart his would-be hostage takers that he’d earnt himself.

Tony sat in the middle of the tiny little room and giggled. He felt strangely euphoric. Tony hugged himself, and only then noticed that 1) he felt amazing everything was tingly and his previously itchy suit was gloriously rough against his now hypersensitive skin and 2) he still had his knives. The idiots hadn’t even searched him. Tony giggled again. The noise bubbling up out of him unheeded.

So his watch was gone – no biggie.

Tony drew the largest of his two remaining adamantium daggers and spent more time than he’d care to admit admiring the oily play of the harsh fluorescent lighting on the blue tinged blade. Pretty.  

Tony giggled again. And quickly clapped his hands over his mouth, nearly stabbing himself in the head in the process as he momentarily forgot about the dagger in his left hand.

Oops.

Trying to be quiet, Tony wobbled to his feet, using the handy wall that was oh so handily next to him to haul himself up. Realising distantly that his balance was completely shot, and that the floor seemed to be jumping around like a mad thing. Tony landed back on his ass, and considered the problem, idly doodling the atomic structure of Vibranium in the polished concrete of the floor he was sat on with the knife in his hands, the impossibly sharp blade cutting deeply into the hard material with ease.

~~~~~~~~

Edwin felt the helpless rage building up. They’d tried to phone the police but the switchboard was down. Everything was down.

The city was in absolute darkness and poor Tony had been taken.

Edwin started out of the window at the distant orange glow in a detached horror.

Tony was out in this.

His dear boy, he’d only been back for a couple of weeks and already this.

The rather pathetic police presence that had turned up to investigate the incident had Edwin quaking with rage. At least until dear Peggy had taken him aside and explained in no uncertain terms that there were no police in New York at the moment, and that they’d been lucky that they’d even gotten this kind of response.

It was chaos out on the streets below. And the much-diminished police force, weakened by decades of underfunding, and the current near-bankruptcy of the city itself… Well the police weren’t available tonight.

Edwin stared at the deceptive peace presented by the island of Manhattan to the orange glow that ominously appeared over the river, before seeming to surround them – Brooklyn, The Bronx, Harlem, Hudson – no matter what direction he stared out at the horizon from there was that damnable orange glow.

The city was in turmoil.

And poor Tony, his charge, had been vanished into the heart of it.

Edwin clenched a fist and tried not to let his turmoil upset the guests as he gently but firmly ushered them away from the chaos of the private rooms back into the ‘public’ areas of the penthouse. The responsibility of making sure that the stranded socialites were kept calm had fallen solely to him, more’s the pity. Edwin would have dearly liked to be out on the streets, like the old days, with Peggy, knocking heads and leaving no stone unturned until they had Young Tony safe and sound in their arms again.

Unfortunately, from the tense lines of both Peggy and his darling Ana’s spines even they were struggling to make any sense out of the chaos out there. Especially since the blackout was total. Not even the phones were operating. 

~~~~~~~

Tony ran out of space when he was halfway through his diagram of the atomic structure of Uru, well the theoretical structure. It was impossible to synthesize on Earth. The diagrams surrounded Tony, the floor and walls surrounding him covered in neat atomic structures, with the energy levels and other subatomic details carefully sketched in in Tony’s untidy scrawl. Tony couldn’t reach high enough to finish the structure. Somehow Tony had forgotten that he’d lost more than a metre. In a fit of pique Tony dashed the knife through the images he’d just spent so long carefully etching into the concrete. Panting Tony dropped back to the floor, succumbing to the pull of gravity. Blinking as the world shifted Tony remembered that he was supposed to be doing something, Tony made a final particularly deep gash through the Vibranium structure that dominated the tiny floor space of his closet, rendering the images completely incomprehensible, and staggered upright again.

Tony walked the two steps up to the heavy industrial door, untouched by the diagrams, for some reason Tony had been under the impression that it was important that he didn’t make noises on the door. Tony glanced at the gouged and pitted concrete surrounding him, freshly remembered dagger in hand, and simply cut out the lock. The thick dense metal of the industrial jamb parted like tissue paper before the razor edge of the adamantium, the hardened industrial steel of the doorjamb putting up no more resistance than butter. The lock fell out of the door with a loud clunk. Tony giggled again at the incongruous sight of a locked lock still attached to the jamb lying on the floor.

He pushed open the heavy door.

~~~~~~~

Despite all of their resources, all of their training. In the face of this chaos, Peggy Carter, Agent of SHIELD felt absolutely helpless. After getting through her fruitless inspection of the corpse, and acquiring Mr Jarvis’s assistance to herd the panicked guests out of the room that had been the focus of the evening’s events the enormity of what they were facing had hit her.

New York was in darkness, the city ablaze. 

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Despite having access to Howard’s equipment, communications were basically non-existent. The blackout catastrophic enough that even the phone lines had gone down. Peggy had managed to get through to one of the SHIELD offices outside of the extensive radius of the power cut, but it would be hours before they could get here and provide any assistance.

The SHIELD offices within the blackout zone were dark. Both literally and in the communications sense, Peggy could only hope that Howard’s tech was holding. Some of the individuals contained within those facilities could do unspeakable damage if they got out. Even with SHIELD tech and the Stark designed radios all agents carried as a matter of course, communications were spotty and limited. All of the emergency channels that could still operate were swamped. And the police were doing nothing.

Somehow, they’d managed to get in contact with the local police, Peggy wasn’t sure what technological marvel Howard had pulled out of his arse, but she could have kissed the infuriating man when that small glimmer of hope had sparkled in the form of an impossible connection. The brief blossoming of hope had been punctured sharply when the promised officer finally arrived two hours later. Despite the seriousness of the situation that had just gone down, and the terse professional manner in which the events had been relayed, only one member of New York’s finest had deigned to show up. And even then, Peggy could tell that the nervous fool was itching to get back to the safety of his station.

So far, the only information Peggy had to work with was what she’d gathered for herself from the corpse in the other room. Peggy had been unwilling to ask it of Mr Jarvis, well aware of his fragility in situations such as these, but fortunately Ana had once again proven just why she was considered a highly capable agent. The usually vivacious woman had slipped away from her husband, tending to the socialites huddled in the private rooms of the penthouse, claiming fatigue. Ana had materialised next to Peggy just as she’d been wondering how they’d deal with the corpse. The pair of women had proceeded to roll the man up in the already ruined carpet and roughly shove him inside the large ice box – rather than open the powerless freezer in this weather.

Mr Jarvis had complained as soon as he found out that he’d have no more ice to placate the guests with, but Peggy honestly couldn’t care less in that moment. Her focus had once again switched to trying to work out if there was any way to get Tony back. With the already tense atmosphere in the city due to the Son of Sam murders, and the intense sticky heatwave. Peggy knew that it was going to be an evening of riots. Not everyone sitting around cheerfully trying to emulate the can-do attitude of the ‘65 Blackout or anything approaching London’s so-called Blitz Spirit.

Christ.

With Mr Jarvis droning on in background, the high tones he always adopted when he was nervous on full display, Peggy shared an enraged glance with Ana, noting that her fellow agent clearly felt the same way about the situation.

Whoever had done this, and right under their noses too, would pay.

There was only the small obstacle of backup generators barely running, and the emergency switchboard being completely jammed to work around. Not to mention the riots in the streets, and the apparent refusal of New York’s ‘finest’ to go out and actually keep the peace in the streets.

That was no big deal, right?

Peggy could see the grim determination tightening Ana’s jaw as her fellow agent and godparent made call after call to the SHIELD offices that were reachable, desperately trying to get a handle on the insane situation.

~~~~~~~

The next few minutes were a blur of action that Tony could never quite remember clearly. Memories lost to a haze of motion and seasickness, vague impressions of action and too slow reaction. Stan turned, mouth open in surprise, the giant of a man seeming to move in slow motion. The two stared at each other for a long moment, Tony distracted by the halo of swirling lights surrounding the giant of a man’s head. Stan turned back, mouth opening, and Tony rushed forward hoping to forestall the thug from getting in touch with his compatriots. A burst of urgency seemed to come from nowhere, the easily amused lethargy that had defined his whole being a moment ago evaporating like water on a hot day.

Ducking under the man’s arms as he lunged forward, Tony twisted. Somehow, after a confusion of movement, Tony managed to end up on the man’s shoulders in a bizarre parody of a father giving his son a piggyback. Stan was trying to throw him off without hurting him, Tony doing his level best to strangle the man with his legs in a poor mimicry of Nat’s signature move. Tony was clinging onto the man’s nose with one hand trying to speed the process along. As the meaty fist reached up again to try and gently pry him off, Tony petulantly hit Stan on the head, hard, with the butt of the handle. Oh, he’d forgotten the dagg-

To Tony’s shock in the next moment he ended up flat on his back on the floor, Stan the mountain out cold beside him. Huh, he hadn’t expected to actually win that fight. Tony left Stan lying unconscious on the floor just outside his cell or rather, the storage cupboard. He’d spent a few fruitless minutes trying to drag the man’s gently snoring body inside, to hide the evidence. But their differing weights made the attempt worthless.

Tony rapidly ran down the corridor, and pushed his way through the large industrial doors at the end. The awakened sense of urgency pushing him into the unknown.

~~~~~~~

Howard was busying himself shouting at anyone and everyone who was stupid enough to come near. Peggy was wasting her time trying to get in touch with the people at the little agency that she still thought Maria knew nothing about. Cute. Maria had taken the time to read the agent’s preliminary assessment of the corpse, but there was nothing useful there.

Back straight Maria lifted her purloined radio and made the call to the Bensonhurst neighbourhood. The quiet area was about as far from the glamour of Manhattan as it was possible to get in Brooklyn without ending up in Coney or the sea.

“Giro? My bambino has been taken.”

Maria allowed the full force of her rage to seep into her voice. She knew from bitter experience that Howard was unlikely to do anything productive when people threatened his family, more likely to fall back on outlandish threats than actually negotiate his way through the situation.

Giro sighed on the other end of the line, Maria didn’t make it a secret that she didn’t approve of her cousin’s ‘low’ links to the NY Mafia. She much preferred the family’s Mafia ties remain within the bounds of Europe, and well away from the bitter fierce rivalry with the ridiculously named ‘Maggia’ gangs that roamed the streets on this side of the Atlantic. However, for her dear Bambino she was willing to lower her dealings to New York’s street level.

“I’ll call the family. Get our boots on the street.”

Slipping into the fluent mix of Italian and Catalan that she used when she was visiting home Maria continued to relay the necessary information at speed. Not for the first time she regretted not taking the time to teach Tony Catalan, whilst it wasn’t the language of her home it was the language of their family. But despite the way her darling bambino had taken to Italian, picking up the language like a fish to water, somehow there’d never seemed to be any time.

Pursing her lips tightly Maria debated with herself before passing on another key piece of information,

“The little boys at the SSR- sorry ’SHIELD’”, the disdain practically dripped from her voice, “have gotten themselves involved.”

Giro’s remonstration to be careful fell flat.

“Yes, yes I know.”

Maria pushed away his misgivings with an irritated wave of her hand. Nevertheless, even with the high likelihood of SHIELD interference, it was about time that the idiotic Americans who were no doubt involved in this pathetic plot learnt why the Martinelli family were one of the most feared crime-syndicates in Europe.

No one messed with her family. No one.

~~~~~

Tony had intended to disable the guard he literally stumbled across outside the door. He’d wanted to hit a tendon or a ligament or …something.

Tony brought up the dagger as the oafish guy turned, mouth opening to let out a cry of warning.

Blood spurted everywhere. It was so shiny and red. Oh… The man’s hand was on the floor. It reminded Tony of the Addams Family. Giggling at the remembered image of the sassy hand Tony turned to point out the similarity to the wailing man.

Oops. There went the intestines, glistening and slick. Oh no. He hadn’t meant to do that. Still giggling, the bright colours of the fluorescent lights merging into oil slick patterns, Tony tried to push the man’s guts back inside, making matters …messier as he yet again forgot he was wielding a dagger.

The guts chattered up at him, steaming and stinking with visions of neon lights and graffiti, strangely monochromatic black and white skulls and JESUS!! Purple velvet, and disco lighting, flashes of silver and the smell of hot sugar and the sea, and red so much red all colliding and looming up out of the horror. Tony blinked owlish at the swirling chaotic imagery, brain skittering away from the horror of the coils laid out before him and wandered on.

Tony meandered down the dark corridor with its flickering fluorescent lighting and chipped flaking paintwork in that peculiar industrial blue and cream, trailing blood and other viscera. The knife was making such pretty lines in the wall.

Besides, his future was in the offal.

~~~~~~

Edwin paced uselessly in the dark office that had been commandeered as a command centre, someone had acquired a stash of candles and set them strategically throughout around the room. The darkness was still oppressive, but the dim candlelight was preferable to the orange glow that emanated from the windows.

The city was still burning.

Edwin noted the distinct lack of blues and twos, the police were still notable by their absence. This chaos had been going on for six hours now, and still he could see the ant-like people down below looting and fighting.

Running his hand through his dishevelled hair, Edwin collected his breath and continued on his way to fetch the promised champagne. It was a thankless task, but it was still his responsibility to stop the socialites from rioting, if it cost Howard the contents of his liquor cabinet so be it.

Lord knew where the man himself had gone, Howard had vanished when yet another interchangeable SHIELD agent had shown up and started whispering frantically in his ear. At first Edwin had thought that there’d been a breakthrough, that they’d found Young Tony. But no – from the tightening of the skin around Peggy’s mouth, and the fire blazing in Ana’s tired eyes that hadn’t been it at all.

Edwin plastered on a grin as he heaved open the double doors to the large open plan space that held the remaining guests, time to make good. God he resented his job sometimes.

~~~~~~~

There was a generator running somewhere, Tony could feel it vibrating through the walls. He giggled at the sensation and peered wide-eyed up at the lens glare from the light above him. Everything was so shiny.

He’d finally reached the end of the corridor – Tony turned back around when the minor resistance the wall had been providing the knife suddenly vanished leaving him unbalanced in the crossroads. A deep groove was etched into the concrete wall, Tony’s trail disappearing behind him around a bend.

Tony blinked and staggered around, still struggling with his balance.

Should he go left, or right?

Indecisive, no idea of what lay ahead, Tony gave into the unusually strong urge and twirled around until he felt dizzy… Dizzier. Tony enjoyed the new disorientation merging with the disjointedness he’d already been feeling.

Ignoring the little voice shouting at him that he was being an idiot Tony all but fell left – using the knife to regain his precarious balance against the wall and staggered on.

~~~~~~~

Howard couldn’t believe how helpless he was. Best tech in the world. One of the most efficient espionage organisations on the planet at his fingertips. All of it useless in the face of this blackout. God dammit.

He’d vented loudly at the latest pathetic SHIELD underling to report into Peggy with yet another report of “No news.” It had only been when Howard noticed the looks of annoyed pity on the other agent’s faces that he’d gotten hold of himself and managed to stalk out of the room clutching the tattered remains of his dignity to himself like a cloak.

Stark men are made of iron.

Howard re-emerged from the back room, in the brief moment he’d taken fetching a drink he put on a brave face, as he’d done with every previous threat against his family that he’d come up against. The familiarity of the situation did not make it easier to face. If anything, that familiarity made it harder every time. Every time something like this happened it became that much harder not to freeze, to scream the world down, not to let the fears and the doubts, the nagging insistence that this would be the time that he finally lost them. Lost this new family that he’d built for himself out of the ashes of the old.

Howard grew up on Lower East Side, had immigrated to New York whilst he was still in his mother’s stomach in 1917. With the fall of the German war machine imminent the Staercks had gotten out of the country and hastily dropped the Germanic twang to their surname. The newly renamed Starks never looked back on the motherland with fondness; Howard’s father never quite getting over the actions he’d carried out in the name of Kaiser and country in the Great War. Their small family, Howard, his older brother Morgan, and his parents had been lucky to get into the newly built tenement housing block that had gone up in the area just a year before. They burnt through most of the family money to make the expensive journey.

At least by the time they’d gotten into the building they were a small family. Howard would never know, as it just wasn’t something that people talked about in those days, but Howard Stark was the eighth child in the family. The youngest sibling by three years he’d been an unexpected but welcome addition to a burgeoning clan that included three teenaged daughters who helped their mother’s sewing, and three adult sons who were helping to erect the great social apartment blocks that were transforming the slums of New York city into somewhere with a modicum of the infrastructure needed in a modern metropolis. There was a reason the trip had cost them so much with ten family members to transport across the great gulf of the Atlantic.

By the end of 1918 only Morgan and Howard remained of their generation. The youthful strength of the young adults’ immune systems a death sentence in the great Influenza Pandemic, not that anyone had understood why youth was such a vulnerability at the time.

The great depression hit everyone for six in 1929. Even with two incomes, Howard’s mother working night and day sewing shirtwaists, the family only had enough money to send one of the siblings to school, Howard as the obvious brain had been chosen despite being the younger sibling. To Morgan’s growing resentment, Howard proved amply that it was money well-invested. Often Howard was the main-breadwinner in the household, despite the fact that he was still just a schoolboy.

Whenever times got particularly hard, his father would get out his Iron Cross - Earnt during the inevitable fall of the German Empire, whenever the family would argue about the difficult monetary decisions they were facing. He would gesture at the medal, and say,

“Stark men are made of Iron.”

Howard took the lesson to heart. He had to be strong for the rest of the family.

Howard had been nearly 16 when their cousins had fled the mounting horrors in 1933, horrors that would take the rest of the world several long years to notice. They'd used up all the money they had scrimped and saved, sold off everything in the house that was anything approaching valuable, and still, it hadn't been enough.

Howard’s father had been the only member of the Staercks with enough money to buy his passage across the Atlantic in the pre-depression era, the only war hero with an Iron Cross and the respectable income to match it. The Staerck clan on the European side of the Atlantic had been sprawling, Howard’s father’s many siblings had each had children of their own. For all that Howard had never met any of them, he’d always been distantly aware that he had many many cousins. With the hyper-inflation that came with the depression the Weimar side of the family had even less of a hope, only one of the extended families managed to save up enough to make the crossing before things got desperately bad, and the crossing closed. Even then, they’d only had enough to buy a ticket for his tall but shy cousin Arno, and his mother. Arno, as the youngest had been the lone sibling in their family of four children selected to flee Germany.

The family had barely been able to support the new additions to their household, on the meagre income gained from Howard’s father’s fruit-stall in the neighbourhood market, and his mother’s shirtwaist sewing they’d been making barely making enough to send Howard to school. With the new mouths to feed there wasn’t enough. Even before the unexpected additions it had already been looking unlikely that Howard would ever make it to university, unless he could earn himself a full scholarship. Still, unlike Morgan, who’d been forced into employment at 14, Howard had his cleverness to fall back on. His inventions earned him enough that he put himself through night school to finish his basic education. Howard’s inventions earnt him enough attention that he rapidly secured his place as a member of the international scientific community. Arno hadn’t been so lucky, basically an adult the boy had to make a living of his own despite the fact that he barely spoke a word of English, and was obviously a Kraut and a Jew in a city that was hostile to both. He quickly fell in with the Manfredis alongside Morgan. The boy’s cousin earning him a place as a member of the Maggia clan’s foot soldiers.

Three long years of starvation and being spat at on the streets of New York later, even their slum of a neighbourhood not safe for the wave of immigrants that the ‘real’ New Yorker’s resented so much, Arno’s father had finally managed to get word to them in the Land of the Free. Already Arno’s siblings were lost to him. Lost to the Nazi war machine. Despite Howard’s attempts to earn enough money to gain safe passage, he hadn’t saved the money quickly enough. Arno’s father was never heard from again. Howard’s father was never the same either, something haunted and dead staring out of his brown eyes, eyes that had once sparkled with life now flat. The same terrifying flatness that had used to mark his father’s bad days of irrational temper, jumping at shadows and the slightest noise, now marked all of them. Howard never learned what it was that his father had seen in The Great War, or the specifics of what had been in his uncle’s missive. He was never sure if that was better or worse. The not knowing. Unsure if the horrors his imagination dreamt up were a match to whatever horrors had caused those lifeless eyes.

The radio spoke of alliances, Germany and Italy becoming allies didn’t disturb anyone. Except for his father, who emerged from his shell to become taciturn and sullen. Beatings and the now too familiar refrain, Stark men are made of Iron, became commonplace in their tiny Lower East Side apartment. The Germany-Japan pact provoked the previously gentle man into such a rage that Howard and his mother had been forced to flee the tiny subdivided one-room apartment that they hot-bunked with the rest of the family.

They’d been lucky not to get kicked out of their building on Lower East Side, in the dwindling Jewish community that had been priced out of Manhattan into the wider Five Boroughs. It had been the height of the depression aftermath, damned lucky not to be occupying one of the shanty towns dubbed Hoovervilles that still littered even this the greatest city in America. They’d been damned lucky. It was only the fact that their landlord was an old Imperialist, who was impressed by the Iron Cross that had saved them, and from the shamefaced look on his father’s face he knew it.

Stark men are made of iron became more than a phrase spoken for luck, or out of duty that day, but a prayer.

The Starks did everything they could to distance themselves from their Jewish ties. In public, at least. Being Jewish in New York was invitation to be beaten up, so they followed their traditions only within the privacy of their own home. Morgan forgoing his skullcap, to Arno’s approval – Arno argued that anything that marked them out as a Jew was to be avoided in the face of the identifying armbands that he’d been forced to wear in Germany. 

News filtered across the Atlantic from Europe, in March 1938 the news that Germany had invaded Austria was met largely with indifference by the local population. Howard, by then 20, redoubled his efforts to both make a living and make a difference to the world at large. No longer relying on the international conferences that his genius gave him access to, instead becoming proactive in his efforts to save his people. In 1939, using the seed-money that Morgan and Arno provided, and the money he’d been saving in a futile attempt to save his cousins, Howard founded Stark Industries. Immediately making a name for the company in the weapon’s market as he desperately started trying to find ways to end the war, and hopefully save the relatives he’d never met. The world was descending into chaos and no one cared.

With every atrocity that the Nazis committed, Howard became more dedicated to finding weaponry that would end the war once and for all, to find the bigger stick. Over 90% of the money Stark Industries was making was being plugged straight back into R&D – Howard didn’t think anyone would believe it if they found out he was still living in his old tenement block with his extended family. Oh, he’d rented the apartments on either side of their original, but that had been the extent of his personal spending.   

An outbreak of influenza in their tenement block at the end of 1939 put an end to the Stark household. It seemed that the Stark luck that had somehow enabled him to live through the 1918 outbreak had returned to ask for the payment due. Howard had been busily rescuing Erskine from the monstrous Johann Schmidt, the seemingly simple task forcing him to spend nearly six months chasing the camps Esrkine was moved to across occupied Europe. In the end, Howard had taken a pilot’s license in a fit of pure frustration, miraculously getting the brilliant man out of the hell he’d been trapped in with the wonders of aeronautics. That mission had been the one that introduced him to Peggy Carter, the capable woman brilliant in her efficiency.

By the time Howard managed complete the mission and get home in the spring his family was already long buried, the apartments filled with new tenants. Even the Iron Cross was gone. Though Howard’s father had hidden the medal away in shame once news of Hitler’s actions had reached them on this side of the Atlantic, it was one of the few possessions that Howard had hoped to remember the man by. The landlord had sold their belongings to pay for the funeral. Howard couldn’t bring himself to be angry, it was all he could do not to break down at the apologetic look on the old man’s face, Stark men are made of iron.

Howard threw himself into desperately trying to provide a pure energy source that would act as a catalyst to the reaction and prevent another monster like Schmidt. With the money he had been using to support his family, to try and help Arno and Morgan get away from a life with the Maggia, Howard started drinking, spending his money on frivolous things purely because he could, to plug the hole in his heart.

He still wasn’t convinced the trade had been worth it, he’d saved the world but lost his family. In the tumultuous years that followed Howard sold their tenement apartment, stole himself 10kg of Vibranium from Wakanda, and met and lost Steve Rogers. Despite the things he’d lived through, he’d lost so many people, Howard soldiered on continuing in his self-assigned mission to end the war, and save the world. Make it safe again, if not for his family then for his people.

Stark men are made of iron.

Finow had been a blow, seeing the horrors one of his inventions had wrought first hand had been sobering. Howard had been convinced that he’d never make something as flawed as Erskine. Thought himself clever enough to avoid the blackness that many scientists knew, but never talked about. The discoveries that could just as easily be used to end the world as help it. Howard stopped practicing the tenements of his faith even in private after that unwanted revelation. Relying instead on the old mantra, Stark men are made of iron, to pull him through the dark days.

Howard had helped save the world twice over, losing his super soldier friend in the process. Howard’s remaining time in the war had been divided between helping the international effort in Los Alamos, and providing specialised weaponry in Europe. He’d helped save the world again with the Manhattan project. Despite old Oppenheimer’s depression, and the current cold war they were all living through, Howard had no doubts that the Manhattan Project had saved them all.

Just as Edwin had been there for Howard, Howard had been for Edwin as the allies pushed into German territory and retook the region with the collapse of the Nazi war machine. The allied retaking of the camps at Ettersburg had further shattered something inside him, the starved skeletal prisoners in Buchenwald and the POW camp barely recognisable as human anymore. In a vengeful rage the Allied troops had forced the civilians in the nearby town to witness what their incivility had wrought. Edwin had been icily contemptuous of the civilian’s reactions.

Howard had kept his promise to Edwin in the aftermath of that awful week, a number of the newly freed prisoners had died in their care, bodies incapable of processing the food they’d been given. It wasn’t until one of the prisoners had spoken up, a skeletal Brit who’d somehow survived the care of the ‘doctors’ in the ‘research’ block, uh – Adamson? The starved POW had spoken up, with the knowledge of just what to give to someone who’d been starving in order to safely reintroduce food to neglected systems that the prisoners had stopped dropping like flies. If it weren’t for the man’s obvious state of ill-treatment (Howard honestly hadn’t been sure how the man was still alive), the man’s knowledge would have earnt him a one-way trip to the interrogation chambers. Hell, it very nearly did, if the other victims of the place hadn’t spoken up for him the newly formed SSR would have happily secreted the man away for enhanced ‘debriefing’.

Howard had celebrated VE-Day with Peggy in London. The irony of that joyous day hadn’t escaped him when he’d continued working to free everyone in the months that followed. The skeletal prisoners were fresh in his mind, as Peggy pushed him into the Thames, his distraction meaning that he temporarily forgot how to swim and had to be rescued spluttering from the fetid river.

Those final months after Germany’s surrender had been spent in a mad frenzy of math and drowning the things he’d seen, and caused, in alcohol. By the time he met Maria, brilliant but brittle Maria, intellect shining brighter than any atom cloud, he’d already re-forged himself into iron. Recognised her brittleness as a mirror for his own. By the time Japan had surrendered, he and Maria had forged an unbreakable bond. Working in close quarters for those long desperate final months of the conflict, forcing the math to work out.

Oh, he’d tried to drown everything in the pleasures of the skin, but eventually that shared misery had drawn him back to Maria like iron seeking a magnet.

Howard knocked back the glass of scotch he’d been nursing and renewed his efforts to get the SHIELD information network working. Despite Peggy running the operation from the other room with her usual terrifying efficiency, somehow Howard could tell that it was up to the boy now. Howard could only hope that his efforts to teach Tony how to be iron had been lessons absorbed. Unlike Howard, who’d had time to find his feet, Tony would need to be iron from the very moment he entered the world stage.

~~~~~~

Tony followed the crazily swirling lights down the hallway, still relying on the wall for balance, and came upon a large open space.

In slow motion, he turned as there was a shout of alarm. Five men, who appeared to have been playing poker were staring at him in shock – still in slow motion they leapt back from the table, scrambling to their feet and groping for weapons. Playing cards scattered across the concrete floor.

Tony stared at their actions owlishly.

“He’s got a knife!”

Tony stared down at his dagger, blinking owlishly as he once again remembered that he was holding it. Oh right. One of the other men started a panicked monologue, his rapid voice thin and high with stress,

“That’s blood. There’s too much blood. Is the kid hurt? Oh shit we won’t get paid if the brats hur-”

“Shut up!”

“Shit!”

“It’s not his blood is it? It’s not his blood. Crap… Look at the little monster.”

Breaking the frozen tableau Tony staggered over to the group, his movements erratic and difficult to predict – even to himself. To his dazed surprise the men did not try to shoot him. Huh. He didn’t think he’d have hesita- oh right. An evil grin split his face, brat body to the rescue again. The first man spoke up again, voice low and exaggeratedly calm,

“Why don’t you put down the knife kid? We don’t want to hurt you.”

He was holding one hand out palm up in a gesture that had Tony thinking automatically about the whine of repulsors,

“Why?”

Tony swayed as he responded, genuinely puzzled by the request. Why would he do that?

One of the other men spoke up, false bravado an obvious front, betrayed by his darting eyes and the sweat beginning to trickle down his temple,

“You’ve brought a knife to a gunfight.”

Tony grinned, he got that reference.

“Er Bob, he’s looking at me…”

That was panicked whiner again, Tony stared at him for a long drawn out moment trying to work out what he’d walked in on. Tony could feel that his brain wasn’t quite firing right, but he couldn’t begin to model his usual behaviour, not under the cloying influence of whatever he’d been given.

The nervous voice of the one who’d pushed the sodden cloth to his face drew Tony’s gaze, the man had previously been silent up until then. Tony could see chittering snake-like fluttering around the guy’s head, their movements somehow reminiscent of the parasitic remora in those nature documentaries that Bruce had been so inexplicably fond of. Huh.

Blinking against the glare of the inexplicable new light, Tony peered around at the other men in the room, sure enough each of the men had his own strange cluster of hangers on. It was weird, but Tony could somehow tell that the things were parasites. The strange vision switched to the, by now horribly familiar sight of their inner-selves, Stan was now a huge anxious looking humanoid rhinoceros. Tony giggled at the incongruous sight.

Strangely the men all took a hurried step back.

Tony followed their gaze – oh right. The knife. He kept forgetting about that.

Tony lunged and the world descended into chaos.

~~~~~~~~

Edwin couldn’t believe that he was still stuck here caring for these ghastly new-money ingrates.

Pym had just asked him for a cola to mix with his champagne. For goodness sake. If you were going to demand one of the most expensive beverages in the house you could at least have the decency to drink it properly.

Edwin was still waiting with baited breath for the moment they noticed that there was no more ice. Thankfully the expense of the cava was a popular lure.

Despite the earlier chaos in the candlelit space, all was calm.

Edwin had to ruefully concede that Janet Van Dyne had been a great help, well, alright, perhaps not all American new-money was worthless. Though Edwin found the woman’s ‘charms’ irritatingly American more often than not, perhaps he was biased if the amused looks Ana had always shot him in the woman’s presence were anything to go by.

Besides – Edwin was aware that Howard was courting the Pyms for more than their money. Though Edwin was damned if he knew what the attraction actually was.

~~~~~~

Tony burst out of the warehouse doors and into pitch blackness, trailing viscera and panicked shouts. For a long dreadful moment, Tony panicked thinking that he must have taken a wrong turn, he was still in the warehouse, or worse he’d gone blind – it was dark with his eyes closed and open.

Thankfully he glanced up – framed by a dimly orange lit sky was the Manhattan Bridge.

Oh thank fuck. He was still in New York.

Balance still all gone Tony stumbled forward in the blackness, hands extended to try and counteract the disorienting darkness – and the rainbow blur that still edged his vision. Tony hastily wiped the gore off the dagger he was still wielding and sheathed it in the holster that the crooks hadn’t thought to look for. If he could only make it to the nearest SI property he’d be saf- oh wait a minute. No. That wasn’t right. Shit. The nearest place was Howard’s penthouse and that was all the way in Upper East Side, overlooking Central Park’s huge reservoir. It was slightly north of the more famous glitz and glamour of central Manhattan and Broadway, but affluent as anything, far south enough to be well away from Harlem and well into the cultured museum dense territory that kept it clear of the touristy crap that plagued the area where Trump had plunked his tasteless tower.

The distant shouts from the warehouse got louder. Trying vainly to run, when it was all he could do to remain upright, with the world still jumping around like a trampoline on steroids, Tony rushed down the eerily abandoned streets of Dumbo. Trying desperately not to think of the pink elephants the neighbourhood’s name conjured up.

Tony knew where he was now, if he could only make it to the bridge quickly enough he might stand a chance of getting away. Tony initially tried to stick to the shadows, before his addled brain sluggishly pointed out that Dumbo was made up entirely of shadow.

His surroundings were still pitch black. From the darkness of the distant, disquietingly unfamiliar, squat skyline above him, Tony guessed that it extended throughout New York. Being furtive was of no use here, the eerily empty streets of the abandoned looking industrial neighbourhood intensely echoed every sound, and Tony didn’t have the motor coordination right then to manage quiet, let alone the silence that the nagging tiny rational corner of his mind was insisting on.

No. It was better to run.

~~~~~~~

Peggy felt like tearing her hair out – despite the reputation she’d quite literally given blood sweat and tears to build for herself, every now and then she still had to come up against a dinosaur like the one she was trying to tiptoe around when working with SHIELD’s Rochester branch.

The fool on the other end of the line was trying to ream into her about proper use of SHIELD resources on a night like this, as if she wasn’t already painfully aware of her multiple responsibilities this chaotic evening. But goddammit she didn’t have the time to waste – Howard would make sure that the idiot paid for this delay, Tony Stark was her godson, and son of the non-Executive co-founder of SHIELD from the ashes of the SSR. If anyone deserved a manhunt for his kid it was Howard.

The man himself was busy putting out SHIELD’s other fires – metaphorical and all too literal. The least she could do was help him get his son back.

Not for the first time Peggy cursed the blackout – without it’s interference, tracking Tony down should have been easy enough. Peggy had been gratified to see that the boy had taken to wearing the bracelet she’d sent him months ago. Hell, it should still have been easy enough to trace the signal that the subtle little bangle was emitting. However, for all of her foresight, Peggy hadn’t realised that, alongside all over methods of communication, the tracking relays would be so much dead weight sat clogging up Howard’s office.

Peggy had experienced a veritable roller coaster of emotion as she first cursed her own stupidity for being so slow, the self-directed anger washed away by the elation that Tony was only a scan away, followed shortly by the crushing disappointment, verging on despair – as Peggy realised that alongside nearly everything else, there wasn’t enough power to start the tracking algorithm inside the huge valved console that lurked next to the flagging SHIELD communications desk.

~~~~~~

Tony blindly ran onto the famous bridge that connected Manhattan to Brooklyn, knowing in the back of his mind that it was a stupid idea but too panicked to care. It was pitch black here too. Tony panted harshly at the foot of the pedestrian access point to the bridge, and remembered to listen for pursuit in a distant sort of way.

He knew roughly where he was – but only because of the bridge, the rest of the landscape was foreign and alien in this strange black night. The neighbourhood of Dumbo should have been full of trendy cafes, upper-class galleries and hipsters, not this desolate barren wasteland of empty shells of industrial buildings.

Tony had zagged his way to this point, instead of taking the direct route that had been so obvious and inviting he’d stuck to side streets. Even in the euphoric haze of the drugs, trying to keep at least one block between the surviving men and himself.

Tony peered suspiciously into the black, speaking of which, where were they?

As if reading his mind, a body jumped out from the lee of the structure. Shit! In the flickering vision, which Tony still couldn’t decide whether it was drug related or his third eye, Rhino man loomed out suddenly. They’d beaten him here.

Tony had only spotted the man because of the faint glow his other sight was giving him, had he been spotted? A flicker of remora movement behind the Rhino man revealed that nervous-runs-his-mouth was tucked away further under the bridge ramp, a veritable cloud of spiritual hangers on surrounding him.

Doing his best to be utterly still Tony sized the duo up and tried to quietly back away. His brain recoiling in horror at his awful lack of balance. The exercise had brought the assessing part of Tony’s mind closer to the surface from where the drug had buried it, but he still couldn’t get his limbs to cooperate properly.

Tony managed to back sideways by about two metres before he was spotted.

“There! Look we got the brat! Bob was right!”

Tony took off at the closest approximation he could get to a dead sprint; the floor was still giving the occasional wild buckle underneath him. A rush of air, and the sudden feeling that his hair had been flattened told Tony that he’d just narrowly escaped someone’s grasping hands.

 He wasn’t going to make it.

Tony zagged desperately, for once grateful for his small form when he managed to easily slip through the barrier that separated the boarded-off pedestrian walkway from the main sidewalk. For some reason pedestrian access was shut. For once choosing not to question his luck, Tony wriggled through the narrow gap in the hoarding, not stopping to gloat at the loud angry cursing coming from the other side of it. Tony dashed down the walkway.

Sudden close footsteps alerted Tony to his mistake, the pedestrian access may be shut, but the road wasn’t. Sure enough, Nervous and Rhino were awkwardly clambering over the precarious gap between the road and foot areas. Crap.

Tony sprinted, unheeding the scraped skin on his palms, when inevitably, his shaky balance failed him. Through the haze of the drugs his blood was pounding in his ears, adrenaline doing its best to burn through the artificial euphoria.

Tony waited until he heard a clang, a muffled curse, and the start-up of heavy footfall before he executed his hasty plan. He leapt for the barrier that separated the decrepit and pitted pedestrian walkway from the road, scrambling to make the crossing more quickly than his pursuers had managed.

There was a heart stopping moment when Tony thought he was going to fall into the river below, an unexpected inexplicable gap between the two sections of the bridge almost making him miss his intended handhold. It was only when he crashed to the train tracks that Tony realised his mistake. He was in the subway. Shit how could he have forgotten that he was on the lower deck.  

There was a sudden burst of loud swearing from close behind him as his pursuers realised what had just happened. Tony forcibly stopped the panicked thoughts about becoming a greasy smear on some poor train driver’s windscreen and rushed further into the darkness.

Zigzagging from walkway to train tracks wherever possible and more than once hiding in the through-way hoping desperately that the idiots wouldn’t think to peer inside. At one point, Tony was forced to scramble desperately up the iron trellis, and crouch on the worker’s access gangway that hung from the great suspension cables praying that his pursuers wouldn’t look up, and that his precarious drug-ruined balance wouldn’t give out. Unbelieving that the pair directly below him couldn’t hear the thunderous roar of his heart or his ragged breathing, it was so loud. If it weren’t for the overhang Tony would have seriously contemplated risking the road on the deck above, but there was no way he’d manage to clamber around the ledge.

There was another hairy moment when Tony was scrambling through the barrier that separated the tracks from the pedestrian walkway again – a meaty paw suddenly latched onto the collar of his posh little jacket, nearly throttling him. Tony managed to shrug out of the sticky blazer quickly enough that Nerves couldn’t grab him, and fled down the walkway taking advantage of their tangled confusion to escape from their sight and risk one of the maintenance walkways instead.

For now, his pursuers were still on the bridge. Tony had sneakily, impossibly slipped into the same place of shelter on the opposite side of the river from that which Rhino and Nerves had been hoping to ambush him at. Taking a moment, panting behind a seemingly abandoned placard proclaiming, “Fear City” with a skull peering out of it, Tony caught his breath and tried to think.

Tony glanced up and stopped dead at the sight that confronted him, the Twin Towers loomed over the unfamiliar skyline. More dominating than he ever remembered them being, in all likelihood because the rest of the damned skyline simply wasn’t there yet. The gap – that hole in the centre of New York wasn’t there yet. No – instead the rest of the skyline wasn’t there yet. Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen New York looking so… Flat before.

As he raced up the grimy streets of Lower East Side, Tony kept a careful eye-out for any sign that he was being followed. All the while noticing all of the subtle, and not so subtle differences between this version of the city he had such a love/hate relationship with and the one he’d known. Somehow, miraculously, considering it was literally a straight line, Tony had managed to lose the pair on the bridge. They must still think he was hiding there.

The familiar bustling streets were near-empty, people were clearly staying indoors. Tony couldn’t say he blamed them, the darkness that had been his friend moments before made everything strange and frightening now. Finding a rare spark of familiarity, Tony made it into China Town. Whilst superficially the place looked pretty much the same as it always had, Tony could see that there was a too familiar look of neglect about the place.

Tony hadn’t wanted to take the obvious route. His slowly returning tactical mind automatically making him choose a more roundabout path than the relatively quick diagonal he’d have cut if he’d taken Bowery all the way up to Broadway. He was already wondering if that choice had been a mistake. But if he hadn’t actually managed to shake his pursuers, Tony didn’t want them to be able to cut him off by guessing where he was going.

That’s if they hadn’t already worked it out for themselves. Howard’s penthouse just north of Central Park was such an obvious destination that Tony hoped it was too obvious.

As he hastily made his way up away from the obvious choice of Bowery towards the East Village, purposefully heading in the ‘wrong’ direction, Tony’s mind started meandering down strange alleys, the strange mixture of euphoria and hyper now-ness that the drugs were forcing his brain into making his thoughts strange and unfamiliar. Even as Tony realised that, he felt more intensely himself than he ever had before. He wryly thought about the TV stereotype that New York was absolutely full of alleyways that you could conveniently escape and/or hide down. Yeah right, the city was built on a grid mostly consisting of wide multi-laned roads, or failing that, roads wide enough for cars and delivery trucks to make their way down at any rate. Tony thought there were probably a grand total of two alleyways in the entirety of the city. Of course, he could really do with one of those fictional alleyways right now. Tony had no idea where his would-be kidnappers were, or if they’d even noticed that he’d gone.

He needed to get off the streets.

Out of sight.

Hidden.

Of course, 1970s New York was even seedier than Tony’s memories of even the dankest areas of New York in the modern era. He’d managed to bypass the long slow regeneration of the city that had started with that weird society of gardeners in the 80s, almost completely avoiding the East Coast once he’d discovered the joys of Hell-A, plentiful sunshine, booze, and cocaine.

He wondered how he’d missed all of this… desolation last summer. Oh, of course, Jarvis had probably shielded him from the worst of it. Though Tony ruefully wondered how the hell that had even worked. Had he really been that wrapped up in his own head? That oblivious?

Scoffing Tony admitted that he had been. It was obvious that he had been. This air of run-down neglect didn’t just show up overnight. This was New York after years, perhaps even decades, of neglect.

Tony made it up to East Houston Street and let himself pause at the crossroads, catching his breath. He’d just sprinted nearly ¾ of a kilometre away from the bridge crossing, he could probably afford to give himself a moment. Besides he had sight-lines in every direction from here.

Making a mental note to thank Ben for all of that cross-country training he’d been forcing him through, Tony resolved to make his way towards the richer neighbourhoods in Midtown. Perhaps he’d be able to find help amongst the skyscrapers and the glister of Broadway. Stumbling northwards Tony dragged his sorry hide in the vague direction of Central Park, already cursing himself for choosing this zigzagging route. If the rest of the city was as unfamiliar as this strangely empty Chinatown Tony didn’t want to think about how much better his pursuers might know his home city than he did right now. 

~~~~~~~

Maria’s contacts within the Brooklyn branch of the extended Martinelli family had paid off. Her little Bambino had been taken to Dumbo. Dumbo! Didn’t the fools know that Brooklyn was home to a huge Italian population? Whilst the vast majority of said population were law abiding citizens, they all knew all too well that the police weren’t always the most efficient authority to turn to when things went bad. It was only a couple of short decades after the mass immigration of Italians fleeing Mussolini’s clutches, and anti-Italian feelings still ran high in some precincts. For all that, thanks to her father, Maria was technically known as an old-money Spanish girl and socialite, she still had strong ties to her mother’s side of the family. She knew bitterly from the way the extended Martinelli clan were treated by the contemptuous Irish American cops who’d gotten to Brooklyn a paltry decade before, how fair the system was in the Free World.

For all that her Carbonell surname had earnt her the quiet scorn of her relatives back home in Valencia. In the US, a whole continent away from the disdain of her Barcelonan family for her Italian roots, her father’s quick acquisition of legitimate money, and Maria’s ability to be the truly legitimate face of the family’s business had more than earnt her position at the table. 

Resisting the urge to spit contemptuously, Maria paid close attention to the report from Giro’s boy. His little sniffer squad had found the warehouse where her Bambino had been taken, and… cleaned up. Maria had tsked at the knowledge that Giro’s boys had cleaned up someone else’s incompetence, but the calculating logical side of herself that she tried so hard to silence nowadays, pointed out the benefits of doing so. Maria would have preferred it if the boys had left the scum to rot where they lay – but she understood the need to keep things from the authorities. Especially when the authorities included Howard’s little toy soldiers with their nearly compulsive need to keep things from everyone.

After all it wouldn’t do for blatant evidence of a crime to be found on their turf.

They’d caught up with two remaining members of the gang, frantically searching Manhattan bridge for her darling Tesoro. From the warehouse in Dumbo it had been pathetically easy to find them. In total, they’d apprehended three surviving members from a group that appeared to have initially numbered 30. Thirty. Amateurs. That was far too large a group for something as simple as a kidnap job.

The boys had found just over a dozen men, in various states of mortally injured to dead - including one individual who’d somehow been eviscerated. It all pointed towards the small-minded fools having had a violent argument, and her precious bambino having escaped in the confusion. Maria had been surprised by the small number of bullet-wound fatalities, there were seven dead from bullet holes but ten had been viciously slashed. Including the aforementioned intestinally-challenged individual. If it hadn’t been so impossible Maria would have bought the protests from the survivors that her bambino had done it all, but it was far more likely that the gang had turned on each other.

Maria blanched at the knowledge that it meant that 10 kidnappers were still out there, and if the sobbing tales wailed at Giro’s best enhanced debriefer were true, well they were all out combing the streets of New York looking for her son.

Even as their captives continued to sing like birds, Maria’s boys were rapidly running down the ones who’d escaped the carnage. No one messed with the Martinellis. No one. It was about time the Mafia pointed out that her darling bambino counted among their number, for all that Maria was trying desperately to keep that side of herself from him, it was the least she could do to point out the folly of attacking one of theirs to the criminal netherworld.

~~~~~~

It was getting darker the further he fled from the orange glow on the Brooklyn side of the river. Ordinarily the dark held no terrors for Tony, however he was visibly vulnerable, and alone - a young small-for-his-age boy wandering around in one of the seediest parts of New York.

Tony was tiring enough from his escape that he was beginning to regret madly dashing off into the night. Whatever they’d given him was beginning to wear off, leaving only a vague ache and a lingering nausea behind. The new aches reminding Tony once again of the cost the adrenaline had exacted. Tony was flagging he knew it. In the end, Tony decided to chance fair-hopping on the subway, he hurried up the metal stairs to the platform suspended above the street, and checking surreptitiously to see if anyone was in the ticket booth, wormed his way through the barrier.

Ignoring the way that the low-light levels were flickering improbably between pitch darkness and the swirly twinkles that his third eye seemed to specialise in, Tony rapidly worked his way down to the platform. Just as he reached the subway platform, a pile that he’d taken to be the same unidentifiable detritus that seemingly littered the whole city sat up and revealed itself to be a wrinkled toothless old man, he wheezed out in a surprisingly loud voice;

“Hey boy you don’t wanta be getting on the muggers express do ye?”

Cackling maliciously as Tony finally took notice of his surroundings - the utter desertion of the station, and the complete lack of power that usually hummed in the lines. There’d been a reason he’d gotten away with his half-mad scramble across the usually live tracks on the bridge.

Tony fled the station – even in his alarm making sure to keep moving away from Dumbo and the bloody mess he only half-remembered leaving behind. He ran back down the old cast iron stairs and was sourly disappointed when he finally got past the quiet Union Square Park and reached Broadway. It was late enough that despite the obvious affluence still on display, everything was shut tight. Tony knew that there had to be people inside the locked buildings, he’d discovered first hand that all of the transport networks in the city were down. Tony hammered against a few doors making his agitated way up the street. No one answered. Damn. He was alone.

Tony again eschewed the obvious path, the echoing blackness of Broadway making him wary of taking the quickest route and continued north up Park Avenue. Even at this time of night there were enough people around on the busy street that Tony hoped they wouldn’t try anything.

~~~~~~~

Ana glared at her subordinate. The new SHIELD recruits were letting the side down, flapping around like green FBI recruits, rather than the seasoned agents that they’d been personally selected for being. For all that she and Peggy made a fantastic team, there was only so much they could do when surrounded by charlatans and idiots.

She was being unfair, Ana could tell that her temper was getting the better of her. The terrified looks her subordinates were giving her wasn’t the only clue, Peggy had pursed her lips at her in private reproach (after all they couldn’t be seen bickering in front of the junior agents) Ana had toned it down a notch with a herculean effort. However, she wasn’t convinced it was worth it. Morale was one thing, efficiency – or a distinct lack thereof was quite another.

The so-called boys in blue were refusing aid.

Her usually reliable network of SHIELD informants was in chaos, the informants were still there, but they had no way to relay that information quickly. Even Howard’s technology was struggling with the strain of suddenly being the only exchange open in the entirety of the Five Boroughs. The system had been designed with the future-proofing and increasing demand in mind, but not at hundreds of times more than its usual capacity.

Ana battered back the pain and nausea and refocused on reaching out to her network of eyes in the city. Someone had to have seen something. Her improbable group of gang members from across the city, youths from the Bronx, Hell’s Kitchen, East Side, Harlem, across the river in New Jersey even as far afield as Rochester, upstate.

If Edwin had had any clue that the young men and women who frequently nodded at her in quiet respect on the street weren’t showing the attention due to a respectable housewife, but to their commanding officer. No, their gang leader. He’d be balking if he knew and likely wouldn’t look at her the same way ever again.

The guerrilla techniques she’d learnt when Budapest had been occupied by the axis forces were proving useful this evening.

Technology had failed them.

But they still had their people.

~~~~~~~~

The subway was dead. And despite the, eerie to Tony’s 21^st century outlook, lack of cars compared to the city he was used to – he’d already witnessed just what happened at a junction when the traffic lights weren’t working. Tony had seen the aftermath of two crashes already, drivers shouting loudly at each over as pedestrians watched on from the sidewalk.

Despite the ever-present threat of the people from the warehouse finding him, Tony was slowing down as the excitement wore off, the cheques his body had cashed earlier bouncing when the debts came due. Tony looked down and cursed his tight dress shoes as he felt yet another new blister forming on a blister. The stupid slippery things made running awkward too, not that he’d noticed when his own inner ear had betrayed him so thoroughly earlier.

Tony couldn’t quite believe how little help there was to be had as he struggled his way up the length of Broadway. He had no idea what time it was, but surely a little kid all alone would garner some second looks, offers of aid? Something? Of course, from the fact that the majority of people he saw weren’t yet adults themselves, Tony thought ruefully that perhaps he had his answer.

Tony gradually realised that there was a distinct lack of pursuit. He didn’t think he’d been lucky enough to shake them on the bridge, for all that he’d managed to make it across the vast span. And yet Tony had somehow traversed several neighbourhoods without anyone jumping out at him.

Tony wondered what in the world had happened, or if his pursuers were simply cleverer than he was giving them credit for. Despite the unexpected calm Tony was jumpy, every adult he passed was a potential kidnapper. Every loud noise a sign that they were catching up with him. Tony was aware that the hypervigilance was tiring him out far faster than the rapid pace of his march up the street was accounting for, but he couldn’t help it. His paranoia (it’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you) was insisting that that couldn’t be it, that the two Home Alone-lite pursuers couldn’t have been the extent of it all, after the organised armed group Tony had witnessed at the party.

~~~~~~~

Giro’s boys had caught up with the fools that had dared to take her bambino. Proving to Maria (not that there’d ever been any doubt) once and for all that the Martinelli Mafia were worth maintaining her connections with. The seven remaining members of the group had clearly been the brains behind the operation, armed with military grade handguns and the semi-automatics that had been so effective earlier in the night, they put up a staunch resistance once they’d realised what was happening. Giro had lost several of his men when they’d taken the scum down, with extreme prejudice.

The surviving members of the ragtag group that had been hastily gathered to snatch her son had been picked up on Broadway. Giro’s men had gotten the truth out of them, they’d drugged her bambino with Quaaludes and Ether – and still they maintained that her son had cut most of them down. Maria wasn’t sure whether to feel proud or horrified at that revelation. Surely Margaret’s little lessons weren’t that serious?

One decisive demonstration of the ‘ginger beer trick’ later and the greenest of the elite surviving members of the gang had sung like his life depended on it. It hadn’t of course, either way his fate was sealed, but the rapid confirmation that the gang were all accounted for, and that her bambino was still missing had been worth giving up the childish but effective technique she’d learnt from her father to the mobsters.

The remaining members of the group had pursued her son across the Manhattan Bridge, but lost him in the interconnecting chaos that was the subway, pedestrian and vehicular access. They’d split up doubling back into Brooklyn and taking the Brooklyn and Williamsburg bridges in an effort to herd her bambino, but their tactics had left them vulnerable to Giro’s boys. Their scattered forces not a match for his foot soldiers, even as the remaining members of the kidnapping crew that Roxxon (and unbeknownst to the majority of the gang, the Red Room) had hired had proved just why they’d survived her Tesoro’s apparently vicious escape. They were pretty certain that Tony was on the Manhattan side of the river, and had been heading towards the penthouse to cut him off when her boys had caught up with them.

Maria could only hope that her son was alright, lost as he was in New York. Even as she tersely gave the nod to Giro to give him permission to dispose of the kidnappers however he saw fit. She couldn’t help but wonder if her bambino was frightened, wandering all alone in the vastness of Manhattan.

~~~~~~~

If Tony had thought that the visible signs of pimping were bad, this street declaring that “Christ died for our SINS!!!!!!” and “In times like these CHRIST is what you need” were even more startling. The general run-down grot of the city surprised him, but the famous viaduct and the grandness of the appropriately named Grand Central Station were reassuringly familiar despite the strange almost post-war atmosphere of their surroundings. The only thing missing was The Ave- Stark Tower. The old Pan Am tower still standing proud on the site that Tony had acquired in the 00s.

Tony eyed up the yellow taxis, that even in this chaos with the traffic lights dead, were still busily taking fares. Tony was tempted. But he had no money. And besides – he had no idea who he could trust. Anyone could be working for the people who’d taken him, Tony continued with his forced march, ignoring the incongruous religious signage that was warring with the disco posters plastered all over the place.

Tony cut up 43^rd Street and continued the long trek northwards. He was really beginning to think that he’d made a serious mistake when he’d chosen to avoid the obvious long straight route up Madison Avenue. The path he’d zigged and zagged that damn near took him to the wrong side of Broadway, that had seemed so very clever before had only tired Tony out.

~~~~~~~

Tony was accosted on his hellish trek across Manhattan outside a nightclub. Well, at least he thought it was a nightclub – it was hard to tell with everyone relying on flashlights and candles for lighting. The place was no Studio 54 (a venue that Tony remembered from his time to be the ex-nightclub/recording studio infamous for its booze, drugs, and the stars that had graced its doors over the years) but it was clearly affluent enough to have mostly escaped the chaos that reigned in the poorer neighbourhoods.

“Aw! Lookit the cute kid!”

The gruff and altogether grouchy, “Yeah, yeah.” From the companion of the high-pitched squeal made Tony chuckle in nostalgia.

“No seriously. He’s so adorable. And alone. Doesn’t he look alone? Do you think he’s lost?”

The scenario that Tony had been half hoping for and half dreading had finally started. Before Tony could think of how to escape the situation a loud call was shouted at him from across the street,

“Hey! Kid! Are you lost?”

Tony tried to keep walking, pretend that he wasn’t the kid in question, or that he hadn’t heard them.

“Hey! Kid! Are you ok?”

Footsteps ran up behind him, a hand fell hesitantly on Tony’s shoulder,

“Kid?”

Heaving in a rattling breath Tony slowly allowed himself to be turned to face the person who’d taken an unwanted interest. Towering above him, but not looming, was a young black teenager wearing the most seventies outfit Tony had encountered. Tony barely resisted the urge to laugh in her face - she was a kid herself, but it wouldn’t be at all fair to her.

Tony eyed her up, as she inspected him in turn. Alongside a meticulously cared-for afro, the perfect sphere of hair beautifully dense and glossy, the young woman was wearing a fitted mustard yellow suit – huge flares billowed around her feet, a meticulously tailored matching jacket cinched in just-so at her waist, the huge lapels contrasting with the pointed lack of shoulder pads. Towering platform heels in a soft brown barely added the height she needed to not trip on her own trousers, the only part of her outfit that didn’t quite seem to fit was the turquoise crocheted crop-top. Tony was facing the epitome of disco cool, and he found up close that it was indeed cool.

Behind her, still on the other side of the street was her companion, looking unenthusiastically at Tony. He was less well-attired, obviously dressed for a night working that hadn’t come. As well as the cigarette he was industriously puffing on, the man was wearing a suit that was a near match for the teenaged girl’s, in a rich brown, but paired incongruously with his ensemble of shiny pointed shoes, open shirt, and artfully tied cravat, were the large above-elbow length gloves that spoke of restaurants and food preparation. For all of the tired world-weariness in the grizzled man’s gaze, Tony could tell that the old guy was alright. Though it may have been something to do with the way he briefly glowed the safe blue-white colour that Tony associated with the arc reactor that did it.

As if called over by Tony’s attention on him, the man resignedly made his way across the darkened street, proffering a long-fingered hand as he reached the pair still eyeing each other.

“I’m Jerome Williams – this here madam is my daughter Ayleen.”

“Dad!”

Ayleen’s voice was aggrieved, full of teenaged embarrassment and whine.

“Ayleen.”

Jerome matched her tone for tone, Tony unsuccessfully stifled a snort.

“What you doing out all alone at this hour son?”

“I’m fine. I know where I’m going.”

“Don’t you,” the man’s voice briefly took on a mocking falsetto, “‘I’m fine’ me young man. I know a lost kiddo when I see one, I’m a parent. I have a hard-enough time keeping track of my own, but I’ve got the eyes for it son, and you look lost.”

Despite his protests, Tony found himself being gently ushered inside the slightly seedy looking place,

“C’mon let’s get you inside where you can tell us all about how you’re not lost.”

Tony felt himself being ushered inside, something inexorable about the kindness these strangers were offering him,

“This here’s my juice bar, so there’s no alcohol, got that?”

“…Okay?”

Tony didn’t understand whatever point the tall man was trying to make. The cultural currency he was obviously expected to understand completely foreign to him, even with the benefit of a year to try and work out the differences forty years had wrought.

“So there’s no point going looking for it. You won’t find any.”

Tony glared and opened his mouth to say something cutting, before following Mr Williams’ pointed gaze. Ah, Tony was wearing the sticky remains of his evening wear, evening wear that still stank of the alcohol he’d landed in at the party. The party that felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. Tony was relieved to find that there wasn’t much visible blood, since most of it had been on the blazer he’d lost on the bridge. Well, Tony looked and smelled as if he was out in the city to try and blag his way into a nightclub in this outfit. Point taken.

Ayleen cheerfully helped herself to a glass of coke from the behind the bar, before sauntering off into a backroom somewhere. She seemed satisfied that her good deed was done, content to leave Tony to her father’s care.

“Look after your brother!” Jerome bellowed after her.

“Yes dad.”

In the gloomy light provided by a myriad of candles Tony thought that the place looked more like an incredibly disco nightclub than any juice bar he’d ever been to. The place had mirrored walls, a square tiled floor that looked suspiciously as if it would light-up if there had been any power, and Tony thought that he could see an honest to god disco ball glinting way above his head in the dimness.

When he made his way over, Tony found that the corner of the room dedicated to a payphone and notice board was just as dead as everything else in the city. Tony had been hoping that there’d be a dial tone – but no, just as with every other phone he’d checked the thing remained stubbornly dead.

In the gloomy candlelight Tony half-heartedly stared at the posters on the noticeboard, more out of boredom than any real desire to read what they had to say, ‘DEATH CITY!!’, ‘Quaalude epidemic!’, ‘4^th Anniversary of Clockworks Psychiatric Hospital Scandal Fundraiser’, and ‘JESUS Saves!! Repent your SINS!!’ were just a few examples of the scattered informational ephemera.

Taking the hint Mr Williams had given him, Tony took the time to clean up in the surprisingly luxurious toilets, the flickering candle that Tony had taken in with him reflected infinitely by the mirror tiles that covered every surface. In the dim light Tony did his best to scrub the worst of the alcohol, rust, mud and blood that his evening’s misadventures had earned him.

Re-entering the main room and turning back to the bar, Tony had to admit that he was puzzled, he’d thought the whole juicing trend was an extremely 21^st Century ‘clean eating’ related phenomena. Pepper had certainly latched onto the trend with enough alacrity when it had surfaced to make Tony think it was a modern trend. Maybe not. Not if there were juice bars here in the 70s, apparently doing well enough for themselves that the proprietor felt he could afford to throw open the doors to the blackout.

Tony felt a sudden pang of homesickness, remembering fondly the number of times Dum-E had handed over his usual favourite greenish spinach and kiwi high-protein smoothie, only to be warned by JARVIS that there was added engine oil or antifreeze.

Despite the firm warning he’d given Tony earlier, Mr Williams generously proffered a tall glass of ice cold pineapple juice, improbably frosty in the face of the current lack of power. Looking pointedly in Tony’s direction, the three-piece-suit-and-flares-bedecked man passed the glass over with great ceremony. Tony cautiously took a sip, he didn’t normally care for carton juice all that much, preferring freshly made smoothies but in that moment, after hours of scurrying across heat wave blackout New York, the cold syrupy juice was delicious. It was cold and sweet and most importantly the wettest thing Tony had ever tasted.

With awkward small talk, Tony desperately trying to avoid the topic that Jerome Williams was more and more pointedly circling – aka who he was and why he was all alone in the middle of New York during the blackout. Tony was able to hear some official news about the situation, some of his hyperaware tenseness easing as the owner turned on a small battery powered radio. The station that was broadcasting from outside of the dead zone announced clearly that the power in Queens was back. The blackout had supposedly been caused by a substation causing a cascade of failures in the whole damned network. Apparently, the chaos was genuinely chaos. Tony really hoped that he didn’t know differently, but from the sounds of it, apart from looting in the poorer districts, and the refusal of the police to go out in the resultant mess, there was nothing especially nefarious going on.

Just as Tony was beginning to think that he was going to be kicked out of the strange non-alcoholic nightclub, Ayleen came to an inadvertent rescue. Bursting out of the back with a dramatic crash, the teen was wearing an even more fabulous version of the outfit she’d had on earlier. Her crop top from before replaced with a silky blouse and glittering jewellery, noticing Tony’s attention she winked before calling out,

“Dad! Ri’s asleep! I’m going out!”

“Ayleen you aren’t going out like that?”

“Why not? What’s wrong with my outfit?” Ayleen’s hands rose to her hips, “It’s not so different to yours.” The teen sniffed as if she just realised she’d scored an own-goal. “Anyway, I’m going to go see Grandmaster Flash.”

“What, one of those damned scratchy disc bullshit parties? Ayleen, I don’t understand why you like that crap. We got out of Harlem to get away from all of that. ‘Sides, there’s no power!”

“It’s not bullshit dad. It’s hip-hop and it’s something you wouldn’t understand old man.”

“Old man, I’ll show you old man, my girl is Chic old hat?” 

“It’s disco dad. It’s not cool.”

“Hrmph. Says you.”

“Anyway, the Rock Steady Crew are going to be having a DJ battle with Kool Herc. With batteries. I’ve got to go. The get down is going to be amazing.” Ayleen’s face took on an expression Tony recognised from the boardroom, extremely casually she said, “I’m meeting Jenny at the corner of 47th and 8^th if that’ll make you happy.”

“Oh that nice young Costa Rican girl you know? Why didn’t you say so?” 

“Daaaad!”

“What?!” Mr Williams’ voice was upset by the accusation, “She’s a good Christian girl that one.”

Ayleen’s face lit up at the tacit permission, she came up to the bar and kissed her father on the cheek,

“Thanks daddy!”

With that Ayleen all but skipped out. Tony admired her ability to stand her ground; the one time Tony had tried something like that as a teen he’d ended up bedridden for a week. Howard had beaten him so badly that he’d very nearly ended up in hospital. Tony stared open mouthed at the recently slammed door, before he was shaken by his thoughts by Jerome’s low chuckle,

“Ah my girl is just like her mother. Knows her own mind. Don’t worry son, I know she knows what she’s doing.”

The mismatched pair settled back into listening to the information the radio was relaying, Tony gratefully gulping down another icy glass of delicious juice in the candlelit quiet of the club. Tony eventually ended up nursing the remains of his third tall glass of juice, his unexpected thirst finally quenched, feeling mildly ashamed at how very much the small amount of kindness had affected him.

The door burst open with a melodramatic crash, a whirl of purple smoke flooding in from outside.

“What’s up freaks and baloneys! I’m here to rob you.”

A tall afro-bedecked man was posed ridiculously in the doorway, large pink guitar held out in front of him. Tony squinted, it looked like there was something wrong with the neck there was a hollow, and it didn’t look like the usual hole for the metal tension rod… The guitar shifted and the suspicious hole was whisked out of view. Instead, Tony gawped openly at the fool that had strode in, if Tony had thought the owner’s outfit was disco-tastic he had nothing on this guy. The man was clad head to toe in the most disco jumpsuit Tony had ever seen. He was wearing a pure white one-piece velvet flare suit, complete with a thick crusting of glittering rhinestones. The man had accessorised the hideous article of clothing with huge circular purple goggles, a purple silk cravat, purple leather wing-tips, purple shirt open to his navel underneath the white velvet monstrosity, and yep… a purple silk ribbon around his hat.

To Tony’s 21^st Century eyes it looked like someone had been aiming for funk via Vegas-era Elvis, missed entirely and ended up on parody of a bug-eyed space alien instead. It reminded him painfully of that evening he’d spent getting incredibly drunk and watching Eurovision when he’d been earning his second PhD (against Howard’s wishes) in Zurich.

“Who the hell are you??”

Mr Williams’ voice was more annoyed than frightened, outrage the primary tone his voice was conveying.

“I’m the Hypno Hustler – who the hell are you?”

Tony couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, simultaneously drawing attention to himself and breaking the building atmosphere in the room. His uncontrollable laughter had the bonus effect of shattering any hope the would-be villain had of being remotely threatening that night,

“The hahaha-Hyp-hahah-no-haha! Hustler! Hahaha! Oh my god what kind of fucking pathetic villain name is that?”

The self-named Hypno Hustler glared at Tony,

“Sheesh you little shit, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Grinning with all of his teeth Tony replied,

“Yes.”

“Why are you robbing the joint? You know this place is the heart of the neighbourhood!”

“Your DJ rejected the Mercy Killers demo tape without even listenin’ to it!”

“Be cool. Be cool. We don’t have to do this.”

Tony had to give Jerome credit, the man was calmly trying to defuse the maniac in front of him as if he wasn’t obviously as mad as a box of frogs, and itching to start something.

The self-proclaimed Hypno Hustler aimed his guitar at them, yep definitely a gun. The tableau was a terrifying one, Tony didn’t think the plastic and Formica bar would stand up to a low calibre round, let alone whatever insane calibre the man in front of him had drilled into his guitar. The man strummed his guitar, despite the lack of an obvious power source the electric hum that filled the air was unmistakeable. The idiot’s purple goggles lit up and Tony felt a rush of relief when he realised that the strange guitar wasn’t a gun.  

The music was strangely soporific, Tony falling into a dreamy state as the song continued. Tony just couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it as he watched the Hustler move further inside the nightclub, intentions towards the till and backrooms obvious.

To Tony’s horror a toddler wandered out of the previously ignored backroom door, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. The commotion had obviously woken the tiny kid up,

“Dada? Wha’s goin on?”

The Hustler immediately seized the opportunity snatching the small child up,

“Aha!”

“Riri! No!”

The rush of adrenaline was all that it took to push Tony out of the strange reverie he’d been pulled into, the Hustler was still working his Hypno bullshit, the reasoning behind his name clear as he turned his mesmerising goggles onto the tiny child in his hands. Despite the anguish in Mr Williams voice, when Tony turned covertly to face him he discovered a lax, sappy look of disturbing bliss on the grizzled face. Shit.

Tony could feel whatever it was creeping up on him again, the music or whatever beating back the adrenaline too quickly for Tony to think of a plan of action or anything sensible. Looking desperately around, Tony espied the sharp knife that Mr Williams had been using to cut up the lime that had been in the latest batch of juice.

Tony grabbed the knife, and slammed it down into the soft flesh between his thumb and palm, avoiding anything structural in his hand. Tony had recalled in a distant sort of a way how painful the injury had been last time he’d been speared there when a gauntlet had unexpectedly buckled in battle, but he only viscerally remembered how bad it had been last time once the agony kicked in a moment later. Lime juice still on the knife adding a painful bite to the wound. Shit that was brisk. The sharp agony in his hand focussed Tony’s mind wonderfully. The alarming signals his nerves were sending him overriding whatever mojo the Hypno ass was trying to pull.

All of that had taken a couple of seconds, the Hustler was still caught up in admiring his newfound prize of the club-owner’s son. The expression on the man’s face was revolting. Tony rushed across the room ignoring the signals his hand was frantically shooting at him, and stabbed the not-as-sharp-as-he’d-like knife through the Hustler’s foot into the linoleum floor beneath.

“Argh!!”

The ass dropped the toddler with a pained shout. Tony reached out to catch the kid, but fell down with a winded “oomph!” as he both overestimated his own weight, and underestimated how big the kid was. Tony struggled not to smear the toddler in the blood seeping from his injury, but he was simultaneously struggling to shuffle back away from the reaching hands of the Hypno Hustler. The tall man was bent nearly double, trying to reach Tony and the child he cradled without shifting his foot.

“That’s Jive man! Argh! You little brat you just wait til I come over there and get you!”

Thankfully with the cessation of the Hypno mojo, Mr Williams had shaken himself out of his stupor and strode across the room to deck the idiot. The velvet clad man fell stunned to the dancefloor. 

“Kid you may be cute, but you sure are crazy.”

Mr Williams gently bent down to extricate the fussing child, Tony grinned up at the owner. The Hypno Hustler lay groaning on the floor between them, coincidentally the man was lying face-down in particularly suspicious sticky spot. Tony hastily passed the toddler over when his father gestured for him, side-eyeing Jerome as he did so,

“Riri?”

“Short for Richard. Riri here can’t do long words yet.” Mr Williams’ voice ascended into exaggerated baby speak, “Can you little man?”

Jerome leaned forward, gruff face soft with parental love, Tony found that he couldn’t watch. Blinking he turned away from the touching scene. By the time Tony managed to compose himself Jerome was looking at him with too understanding eyes, his whisky and smoke voice conveyed a world of sympathy,

“C’mon kiddo. You can crash here tonight. Not like I’ve got any customers with this blackout anyway, and you just saved my son’s life.”

“You don’t know that. I think he was just going to take the till money.”

“Nah. This fool would have gone big, and I’d have lost my son.”

Jerome gave the prone Hustler a vicious kick in the kidneys, Tony couldn’t bring himself to care.

“What are we going to do with him?”

Tony hadn’t meant to speak the question out loud, thinking to himself, but Mr Williams answered anyway,

“Well you heard the radio. We can’t call the police, there are no police tonight. And ‘sides, I’ve got nowhere secure to put this fool. I’m going to confiscate this scooby’s instrument” Tony looked questioningly up at him, with a feral grin Mr Jerome responded, “Damages. And then I’m going to let him sleep it off outside.” This was shouted in the still groaning Hustler’s face in a patronisingly slowly enunciated tone, “And if he ever comes back here again, he should know that his photo will be on the banned list. And my bouncers have licenses to carry.”

With that Mr Williams disappeared into the backroom for a few minutes, taking his son with him. When he returned, notably lacking a toddler, he pulled out a very familiar looking camera and snapped off an image.

“Ah kid. Lookit you. Let’s get you sorted out alright? Like I said I’ll deal with this sucka” a pause to get in a kick to the ribs, “then we’ll check out your hand.”

Mr Williams tucked the newly developed photo behind the bar quickly grabbing a small handgun with an unrepentant look as he did so. The tall man unceremoniously pulled the kitchen knife out of the floor, and started dragging the Hypno Hustler to the door. The thought Tony’s subconscious had been chewing over finally made itself known, the small niggle proverbially jumping up and shouting at him,

“Wait!”

“What kid? This idiot could wake up any moment, and I rather he be locked outside when it happens.”

“Take his goggles.”

“What?”

Mr William’s tone was a mixture of confused incredulity,

“Not that I’m against the spoils of a fight, and all that. I mean he did try to take my Riri… But why do you want those purple crapsters?”

Tony remembered just in time not to use technical terms, that would have both been unlikely to be understood, and earn him more attention than he wanted.

“Well you’ve already taken his guitar. I think he was using the guitar and goggles to do whatever he did to us.”

“Sure, whatever kiddo. Far as I’m concerned you can keep em.”

Tony made sure to keep his grin innocent when he snatched the mystery tech off the now groaning Hustler’s head. Hopefully without his equipment the man was defanged. Tony pulled on the hideous bug-eyed contraption and tried to discern how the tech worked without actually taking it to pieces.

It was only much later, when Tony was leaning back uncomfortably in the small office, next to the fascinatingly modified guitar, grimacing as TCP was poured all over the hole in his hand that Tony remembered that he had daggers of his own that would have done far less damage than the slightly blunt kitchen knife he’d used. Dammit. One day he’d think of the daggers first.