. . . .

Er, yeah. You probably all hate me right now . . . IN MY DEFENSE, however, school is kind of time-consuming. So. Blame the school. Better yet, blame the whole process of education.

Um. On a totally, completely unrelated side note, I would like you all to have a moment of silence for Vincent Nigel-Murray. Yes, I realize he is a fictional character. No, I do not care.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers, yada yada yada, I don't own Marvel, blah blah blah.

Steve didn't know how long he and Tony had been kept here, wherever "here" was, but if he had to guess, he'd say about two days. That was assuming he'd been given one meal per day. It was kind of hard to keep track of time without windows. Or, you know, clocks.

He hadn't seen Tony since the first day, when Luke had given the billionaire the blueprints. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he didn't like being separated from the man. As irrational as it was, he felt safer around Tony. (He blamed his seven-year old tendencies for that.)

Even more disturbing than the fact that he felt lost without Tony was the fact that he was scared. He wasn't supposed to be scared. He was a superhero, for crying out loud. He could stand up to Fury without flinching, he could attack a supposed god without hesitating . . . but his mouth went dry whenever Luke stepped into his small, white cell.

The man could do whatever he wanted to Steve, and nothing would stop him.

It was his father all over again.

So far, though, Luke hadn't done anything but talk to him. He'd stroll into the room, while one of his many, many guards (Steve had lost count after Soldier #22) stood just outside the door, and would simply start a conversation with the boy. Calling them conversations, however, would be stretching it. They actually consisted of Luke talking at Steve, while the kid refused to make a sound. It never seemed to bother the man, because he would continue telling Steve all about his hometown (he'd lived five blocks away from a candy shop), his brothers (the oldest had become an architect), his personal life (he'd been married three different times), and his pets (Killer the hamster, Spot the goldfish, Jack the lizard, and Fluffy the vulture).

At least, it hadn't bothered Luke until today.

He stood in front of the boy, his sharp green eyes narrowed. Next to him stood his ever-present shadow, Ray. Luke's eyes swept over the small body perched on the edge of the bed before he said, "Now, let's talk about you. I feel like a terrible host – I haven't even gotten your name yet."

Steve said nothing.

Luke leaned in close to him, his nose less than an inch away from Steve's. He slowly lifted a hand up and twisted his fingers in the boy's blonde hair, then shoved his head back, as if studying his face. Growing more uneasy by the second, Steve tried to duck his head away, but Luke's other hand gripped his chin. "Now," Luke said, his hot breath washing over the boy's face, "I know Tony Stark is not your father. And I know you're not a normal seven-year old."

Steve forced his face to remain impassive, but he felt like his heart was about to pound out of his chest. He didn't like physical contact and avoided it whenever he could – he had his father to thank for that. Luke was destroying the very essence of his personal space. He wriggled out of the man's hold and quickly edged himself back toward the wall.

"Still not going to talk to me?" Luke frowned. "Fine." He rummaged in his pocket for something as he continued speaking. "I didn't come to talk, anyway." He pulled out a small, black, complicated-looking piece of machinery.

Steve eyed the contraption warily, wondering if it was some new kind of torture device. When Tony's panicked voice sounded from it, though, he figured it was some kind of updated walkie-talkie.

"No, stop, Luke! I won't do it again – just leave the kid alone."

Luke made a small gesture with his hand, and suddenly Ray crossed the room and grabbed Steve's arm, yanking him off the bed. Steve squirmed and struggled against the man's hold, but he might as well have been whacking him with pillows for all the effect he had.

Luke sighed. "Tony, you knew there would be consequences to your actions. And you even knew what those consequences would be."

"Listen to me carefully," Tony's tinny, don't-mess-with-me-or-it-will-be-the-last-thing-you-ever-do voice said. "If you hurt him, I will kill you. You got that straight, Santa? I will kill you." He said it with a "two-plus-two" certainty, leaving no doubt in Steve's mind that he would make good on his threat.

Steve didn't know whether to be touched or horrified by that.

Luke completely ignored the billionaire and turned to face Steve. "Do you know what Tony did, boy?"

Steve stared Luke down, his poker face revealing nothing.

Luke shrugged. "I'll tell you anyway. Your father -" Steve winced slightly, "-thought it would be a good idea to build a tracking device that could contact his super-computer. He thought I would be too stupid to realize what he was doing." Then he jerked his head forward a little.

Steve was so far behind on Luke's plan, he was in no way prepared for what happened next. Ray seized his left arm and twisted it up and over his head, wrenching it out of its socket with a loud pop. Fire flooded through his shoulder and down the length of his arm, and Steve screamed so loudly, he drowned out Tony's frantic shouts from the walkie-talkie.

He'd been hurt much, much worse than this. The soldier-part of his brain knew that. It knew that this should be nothing after everything he's been through. But the new part of his brain, the one that had appeared after he'd reverted to the age of seven, was much more black-and-white. All it knew was that it hurt, and it didn't want to hurt.

Steve tried to react calmly – as calmly as someone could after having their shoulder dislocated – but it was hard for him to focus, and suddenly the thing he wanted most in the world was for someone to stop the pain.

He finally tore himself away from his thoughts and realized with a start that his cheeks were wet with tears. His arm hung limply by his side, his fingers nearly able to reach his knees. Once he'd taken stock of his body parts, he focused on the furious voice coming from the walkie-talkie.

". . . the heck did you do?" Despite the anger coating Tony's words, Steve thought he caught a hint of panic hidden in them. "I told you not to hurt him!"

Through a haze of pain, Steve could see Luke smile coldly. "As I said before, Tony – your actions would have consequences."

Just before Tony let loose what Steve knew was going to be a string of curses, a low rumbling sound caught everyone's attention.

Luke looked toward the door, a frown creasing his face. The thundering grew louder and louder until it was shaking the walls of the room. Dust from the ceiling drifted down in large, smoky clumps, landing on Luke's head, dusting his white hair a light brown.

Then the sound of an explosion reverberated throughout the building.

The floor shook, nearly sending all three of the room's occupants to the ground. Steve's arm shrieked with pain as he fell against a wall in an attempt to remain upright. Then he heard a familiar sound that made him want to laugh in relief.

"HULK, SMASH!"

He wasn't the only one who'd heard it, however. Luke scowled, his bushy eyebrows drawn together as he faced Steve. "No," he muttered. "I'm not ready yet."

This time, Steve actually allowed himself to laugh, even though it made him want to howl in pain. "Doesn't matter," he said, a lopsided grin on his face. "The Avengers are here – you can't get away."

Another explosion rocked the building, this one succeeding in throwing Steve to the floor.

Luke's eyes were on the boy as he told his henchman, "Ray, leave us."

Ray shot his boss a look. "But Boss, I -"

"Leave," Luke hissed.

The bodyguard hastened to obey, and within seconds he was gone.

"You know," Luke said as he walked closer to Steve, "you're wrong." His hand fished in the pocket not containing the walkie-talkie. "I can get away."

Steve tried to clamber to his feet, but another shockwave sent him sprawling. He bit back a cry as his arm was jostled roughly. Knowing his efforts to get back to a standing position were fruitless, he scooted himself backward until his back connected with the wall.

Luke crouched next to the boy, the distant sounds of screams and roars becoming louder as they grew closer. "I can get away, but not without your help." Then he withdrew a long, silver dagger from his pocket and pressed it, almost gently, against the side of Steve's face.

Steve craned his neck, trying to get his head as far away from the blade as possible, but Luke pressed it harder against his cheek, creating a thin line of blood.

"Let's see how far the Avengers are willing to go to catch me, hm?"

A/N: So, first off, I do not apologize for Tony's somewhat OOCness. It's how I picture a protective Tony. Secondly, I do apologize for the terrible portrayal of my bad guy. (See, this is why I do fanfiction. I'm no way NEAR creative enough to come up with my own people.) Thirdly, if you're reading this, thank you for sticking through my laziness and failure to update and everything else.