A/N: Aight, I swear I meant to have this up last Sunday, but then the Endgame spot aired like two hours earlier than I expected (I'm gonna die in April, if I didn't know before the TV spot I certainly know it now) which threw off my editing plans, and the rest of the week was a week from hell, and I'm facing two more similar weeks, so I just. I'm throwing this chapter up now before I can delay it anymore.

2019

Rhodey didn't pace when he was nervous. Pacing was taking time and energy and putting it into a useless activity that accomplished nothing. Instead, he took his nervous energy and put it into something more useful. Right now, that translated into lifting weights until his light grey tank top was dark with sweat.

"When did they leave again?"

Happy was leaning up against a different piece of exercise equipment, twirling his phone in his hands. Rhodey knew its silence was bugging him – the kid was always texting him updates when he was on patrol. He pretended to be annoyed by it, and on some level he probably was, because everything annoyed Happy, but he was fond of the kid, and any unexpected silence bugged him more than the constant texts.

It bugged Rhodey too. He was a soldier – he knew that missions went awry. But the stress brought on by that silence never faded.

He set the weights down, sitting up. He tried to keep his voice nonchalant, hoping to calm both his nerves and Happy's. "It's been a few hours."

"So the kid should've texted."

"Maybe he forgot," Rhodey said.

"Or Tony should've sent an update."

"Maybe the mission got derailed a little. Maybe there's no reception, or they're in stakeout mode. Come on, Happy, you know these things happen. It doesn't mean the world is ending."

He winced a little at the word choice, and Happy shot him a glare. "You also know how much of a danger magnet those two are. I know you're thinking exactly what I am."

"Yeah," Rhodey murmured, running a hand over his head. Most people would've been fooled by his calm front, but Happy knew his tics. He rose stiffly, pressing a hand against his aching spine. "We'll give them another hour. Text the kid, message Tony and Vision. If they don't respond, we'll go after them."

Happy nodded. "And what are you going to do?"

He made a show of sniffing his armpit and recoiling. "Shower."

"Good idea."

-MCU-

Bang. Bang. Bang, went the hammer in Tony's head. He groaned, lifting a hand to gingerly feel his temple, vaguely recalling hitting it against the floor when a tranquilizer dart made him fall. To his surprise, it had been bandaged.

Wait. Who bandaged it?

His eyes shot open. He was lying on the bottom bunk of a rickety bunk bed. The room was clearly a cell, with four walls of drab concrete, a toilet and sink in one corner, and a metal door with no handle. He sat up, ignoring the pain that pulsed through his head, focusing instead on the hazy memories.

The EMP knocked out Vision, and my suit. And… The kid. Peter. Where's Peter?

"Peter?" he called, standing to look at the top bunk.

Empty.

Did he make it out of the warehouse?

What about Vision? Why are there only two beds? There were three of us. Then again, he doesn't exactly need a bed-

The door creaked as it opened. Tony spun around, nearly all of his previous experience with such situations telling him to expect a pair of massive, heavily armed guards to come in and drag him somewhere less pleasant to be… questioned.

Instead, it was the lady in the lab coat. She had her blonde hair tucked into a ponytail, and a pair of stereotypical black nerd glasses framed sharp blue eyes. Beneath the coat, she wore a pale blue turtleneck, black pencil skirt, and black heels.

"Who the hell are you and where's the- where are Spider-Man and Vision?" Tony demanded.

"Follow me."

Tony pursed his lips, but there were the guards he'd been expecting, stepping inside as she exited to make sure he followed. With little choice to the contrary, Tony followed her into the hall. As he matched her stride, he scanned the halls and rooms they passed, making a mental map of… wherever they were.

"My name is Doctor Erika Lewinsky," she said. "And you, Tony Stark, are here for a very specific reason."

"Where is here?" And where's the kid?

But he didn't want to sound pushy about it. If Peter was here, they could and would use him as leverage. No need to make him even more appealing for that task by letting on that they were closer than generic colleagues.

"You need not concern yourself with that," she answered. "You are here to do a job. Once that's done, you'll be sent home. You will only be harmed if you resist. Understood?"

"Well, that sounds too good to be true."

The corner of Erika's mouth twitched up into a wry smile. "I promise, Mr. Stark, we are not like most of the criminal organizations you usually face. We're not even really criminals."

"Um, you kidnapped an Avenger." Or two or three. "I'd call that a crime."

"And as I said, you will be returned home once you're done. We simply couldn't ask you to come, for this had to be secret."

"See, that sounds very criminal-y."

She didn't respond. "Here," she said, stopping and pressing her thumb to a scanner beside a door. It beeped, and the door popped open with the click of the lock. She pulled it fully open, gesturing for him to enter first.

He did.

His heart stopped.

There was a large table with a familiar machine atop it to the left of the large laboratory, but Tony paid it no mind. His attention zeroed in on the not-so-makeshift medical area to the right, consisting of a set of monitoring machines on either side of a hospital bed. On that bed, with an IV attached to his arm, was Peter. Out cold, wearing a baggy shirt and pants that definitely weren't his.

"What did you do to him?" Tony snapped, barely resisting the urge to run to his side and tear out the IV pouring who-knew-what into his veins.

"Relax, the IV is merely a sedative," Erika said calmly. "He began waking up while we were still removing his suit. It should wear off before too long."

Tony whirled to face her, flinging his hand up, expecting a gauntlet to encase his hand and shoot her.

Instead, a strange cuff on his wrist shocked him, sparking with electricity the moment he attempted to activate his nanites.

"Ow!" he hissed, jerking his wrist to his chest. How did I not notice this thing? He investigated it; the outer side was simple sleek metal, but when he peered underneath, he saw the glimmering blue lights of technology.

"An EMP cuff," Erika said. "If and when you attempt to use your nanites, it will sense their movement, deliver a mild shock to distract you, and use that current to stun your nanites. You won't be suiting up until it's removed."

Tony set his jaw. Fine. Once the kid is up, we can break out of here.

"Oh, and if you're thinking of using Peter's abilities to make an easy break for it: Stop. We designed a serum that suppresses his powers, turning him back into your average teenager. Or, less than average, looking back at footage of his middle school football games. He won't be of much use to you."

Tony took a step back, moving protectively closer to Peter. "You know his name?"

Erika nodded. "You really should tell him to lose his civilian clothes less often – tracking Spider-Man back to his apartment really was far too simple."

Damn it, kid. I told you to find a good place to change, not random alleyways.

"And you may as well go to him – we know how close the two of you are. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were father and son."

Never looking away from her, Tony backed up to Peter's side. He picked up the kid's hand, searching for his pulse. There. Maybe a little weak, but steady. There were some bruises on his hands and face, maybe from the same type of fall that had given Tony his busted temple, but aside from that and the unconsciousness and the serum, he looked fine.

"See? No undue injuries. Really, Mr. Stark, I want the two of you to get home safely as much as you do."

"I highly doubt that," Tony said, setting Peter's hand down but letting himself linger over the contact. "What about Vision?"

"He wasn't necessary. He was left at the warehouse."

So Rhodey will find him. Good.

"Even if Colonel Rhodes finds him, it won't be of much use. We are well-hidden up here."

Up. So we're north of Florida. That's… a start.

"Can you stop reading my mind? It's freaky."

"I assure you, it's predictability, not telepathy."

Tony put a hand over his heart. "How dare you say I'm predictable."

Erika turned slightly, holding her hand out to indicate the rest of the lab. "This is one of Helen Cho's Cradle prototypes."

"So you stole it," Tony said. Helen had reported one of her prototypes missing a few months ago, but no one had been able to find any leads. These guys are good, he admitted grudgingly.

Erika nodded. "We hoped my team and I could get it working, but Cho is a smart woman – her tech is ingenious, and therefore above our skill level. Slightly. But, knowing her, she'd know exactly how to boobytrap it if we picked her up to fix it, so we picked the second-best person for the job: You."

Great. The one time I'm second-best at something, and it gets me and Peter kidnapped, and Vision disabled in a Florida warehouse. Typical.

"What job is that, exactly?"

"It was damaged in the escape, on top of not working correctly in the first place. We want you to fix it."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "That's it."

"That's it."

That's too easy. "And what, exactly, are you planning to use it for?"

"That's for us to know and you to not care about," Erika answered firmly. "Just fix it, and you both go home."

Tony glanced at Peter, helpless until the sedative wore off. His left hand quivered, and he quickly clenched it into a fist, wishing he had a pair of sunglasses he could slip on to hide the movement. "Fine. I assume I have all of the tools I'll need?"

"Of course."

Good. There'll be more than enough to plan an escape with.

With that, she turned to leave. The guards left first, and she paused before following. "Oh, and Mr. Stark? Should you do anything rash, such as attempt to escape, we will not hesitate to punish the boy for your actions. Severely. We need you healthy, but his only role here is leverage. Understood?"

Tony glared. "Understood."

And you have got to stop reading my mind.

-MCU-

2027

"Wait. My dad agreed to work for terrorists?"

Peter shifted Morgan to a slightly better position on his lap. "He was under duress, that makes people agree to a lot of things. Or at least pretend to agree to them."

Morgan blinked curiously. "So he was faking?"

"Spoilers, kiddo. Any other questions?"

"Yeah. How do you know what happened while you were unconscious? Or what Uncle Rhodey was doing?"

"I read all the mission reports. We all had to file them after the Accords were passed."

Morgan giggled. "You like reading mission reports?"

"They're cool," Peter said defensively. "We can't all spend all of our time obsessively rewatching the Land Before Time movies."

"Sure, Petri. Sure."

Peter laughed. "All right, fine, you got me. Do you want anything to eat or drink before I continue?"

Morgan shook her head. "I wanna know what happens next!"

"Patience, young Padawan. Patience."

-MCU-

2019

Peter woke to the sound of metal clanking against metal. It was distant, muffled, but enough to stir him. He lifted a heavy hand to scrub at his eyes, stopping when he felt the brush of gauze on the inside of his elbow. He tilted his head to look at it, still fighting off sleep. Since when was it this hard to wake up from being-

Tranquilized. I was tranquilized.

Am I back at the compound? My spidey sense isn't going off…

But when he looked around, he definitely wasn't in the compound's medical ward, which he'd been in far too many times for May's liking. (But really, he was usually just there for caution's sake upon Mr. Stark's insistence. He wasn't really ever hurt that badly… much.) This room apparently doubled as a lab, which was very unsanitary.

But- If Mr. Stark is in the same room as me, why does his work sound so… quiet?

"Mr. Stark?" he mumbled, pushing himself up on one elbow.

Mr. Stark looked up immediately, dropping the wrench he had been wrestling with. Relief flooded his eyes, a relief he immediately tried to mask. "Peter! You slept long enough, kid."

Peter started fumbling with the gauze, trying to pull it off. If it was just a needle mark, it would've healed within seconds. And why is that sedative not wearing off? I haven't been this tired since-

Mr. Stark clamped his hand down over the gauze. Peter stopped, if only because he was confused – when had he walked over here? Why couldn't Peter hear his heartbeat? "Leave it. How are you feeling?"

"Tired, but otherwise… Was there an explosion? I can't- I can't hear right."

Something flickered through Mr. Stark's expression, too quickly suppressed for Peter to see it. "You getting any anxiety? Any tingling of the spidey senses?"

Peter furrowed his brows. "No, but… that means we're safe. Right? We're safe?"

But- but it would be reacting to the traces of sedative. I should still be-

My spidey sense isn't working.

My hearing isn't working.

He looked back at the lab, trying to focus on the machine lying on the table. But it wouldn't come into focus. It stayed blurry, as if he still needed the glasses he'd worn before the spider bite.

Before the bite. I haven't taken this long to shake off a sedative since I got my appendix taken out. Before the bite.

Peter knocked Mr. Stark's hand aside, tearing the gauze off.

His arm was still bruised. With a little red dot where there had once been a needle.

Peter looked up at Tony, trying to swallow down sudden panic. "My- my powers, they're not- My powers aren't working. Why aren't my powers working?"

Mr. Stark took a deep breath, resting a steadying hand over Peter's shoulder. "They… they won't work, kid, not while we're here. The people who captured us, they gave you something – a serum. It suppressed your powers."

Peter couldn't breathe.

Without his powers, he was just a kid. A kid who couldn't play football, let alone protect others, let alone help them escape. Even with his powers, he'd already died once. Already lost his uncle. Because he couldn't protect him.

"Hey," Mr. Stark said firmly. He crouched a little to look Peter in the eye, catching his chin and tilting his head up. "We're getting out of this, kid. You've still got that big brain of yours, and you have all of the skills I and the others have taught you. Ok? No one would be an Avenger if their only asset was strength or speed or spidey sense."

"But-"

He held up a warning finger. "Ah, no, no buts. You see that big ole pile of tech over there? Steve and Wanda wouldn't be able to make any sense out of it. Maybe it was your special senses that spotted that holographic wall, but it was your normal mind that figured out it was a holographic wall before even two AIs and an android did. No one sticks around the Avengers for three years and counting solely because of superpowers, kid. Hell, without tech, most of us don't even have any. So powers or no powers, you belong here and you have an important role to play. That's the point of us being a team."

Peter nodded a little, sniffing. "Ok. Ok, yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am," Mr. Stark said, straightening up and patting his back. "Now come on, help me with that big ole pile of tech."

They headed over to the machine. "Is that a Cradle?" Peter asked curiously, running his fingers along its sleek edge. He'd heard of them, obviously, and knew they were amazing, but there had never been any reason for one to visit the compound while he was there, so he'd never seen one before, or met Dr. Cho.

Mr. Stark nodded. "Our job is to fix it, and then we get to go home."

Peter blinked. "That's not like any movie I've ever seen."

"I know," Mr. Stark muttered, quiet enough that Peter was sure he wasn't supposed to hear it. "Uh, I mean, it's the deal we made," he corrected himself more loudly.

Peter smiled a little. "I know how hostage situations work, Mr. Stark. We gotta escape."

"Yup," Mr. Stark agreed. "And while we figure that out, bring me that screwdriver."

Peter turned, spotting what might be an open toolbox at the other end of the long table. It also might've been Mr. Stark's dinner. "Uh, Mr. Stark? I need glasses."

"…Right."