It was that morning, that Tony realised there was something wrong.

He'd gotten up, kissing Pepper on the cheek hastily, in a goodbye not nearly sincere enough. He'd slept; of which he'd been grateful, but he wanted to know what was going on just as much as he wanted to be there for Pepper and love her. Cos he'd loved Peter too.

He'd taken the elevator down to the fourth floor, where Lab 1, 2 and 3 were, in amongst conference rooms and all that other jazz. He'd asked that Michelle Jones girl and Peter's friend to come over in the morning. He'd decided that they could investigate further into Ross while they were there, so Tony was going to meet him with no argument behind his accusation.

Tony loved a good argument. Especially ones that ended with him getting what he wanted. And whether that was a jailed Ross, a free Ross or just same damned closure, he wasn't sure.

"Friday?" Tony called out to the AI, as he swiped open the door to Lab 2.

"Yes, sir?" Was the robotic reply.

"Go full Child-Infestation Protocol on me. Got two coming over." The Stark said shortly, as the lights automatically flickered to life and the messy lab sprung to life.

"On it, sir."

Tony sighed heavily as he sat down on the stool next to the main workbench, "Thanks, Fri."

It had been a while since he'd been in here. In fact, Peter had been the last person in here, hence why Tony had avoided it. Peter had come over to hang out with Tony, and he'd wasted his time in here for a while in this lab before Bruce called him out to get checked up.

Tony remembered that day clearly.

Because it had been the last time Tony had ever seen Peter with breath in his lungs and life in his eyes.

Why did his chest still hurt so goddamn much?

The kid's papers were strewn across the bench, even despite Tony's protests and pleas for Peter to clean up his workspace after himself. There was a beaker on the left corner, dangerously close to the edge, with transparent but misty-white liquid settling in it.

Web fluid. Peter's favourite pass-time. Tony wanted to heave it at the wall, but he just dug his nails into the palms of his hands and bit his lip. He had control. He did. He had to, for Pepper.

And May Parker, who'd completely lost it.

He got up from the stool with an angry grunt, rubbing a weary hand across his eyes. He hated this depressed person he'd become. He longed to just be happy and enjoy life, but if that same damned life kept throwing curveballs like that at him? He wasn't sure if his hopes would ever come true. Like some goddamn fairy tale.

He remembered Cap, Steve, saying years and years ago; "They say we won. They didn't say what we lost.". At the time, Tony had thought it was just Cap's usual sentimentality and philosophical feelings. But the more he thought about it, the more horrible sense it made.

When he'd taken that nuke into space, then woken up on Earth, the first thing the Captain had said to him, was "We won".

But he hadn't told Tony what they'd lost.

He'd lose sleep, lose peace, lose friends, lose family. He won a war, but no one could tell him what he would lose.

Maybe if he'd known, he would never had gotten involved. But this was the life that he'd lived, and he wasn't going to try and fluke it. He was gonna keep living it, because Peter would want him to.

Not that he would actually end his life. But, he didn't want to lose his life to alcohol or drugs again, God, not even sex. He wanted to keep living his life for Peter, because the kid didn't get enough of his life to live—

He really, goddang hated depression.

He wanted to be happy, for Christ's sake. That was all he was asking.

Wandering over to the side-bench, Tony's eyes fell upon the papers piled high in the waster-paper basket positioned beneath a stack of chairs in the corner of the lab.

With another deep breath, he reached down and picked up the bin in both hands, walking it back to the bench. He wasn't sure why he felt like going through waste of all things, but what else did he have to do? And besides, he always loved seeing the designs that the kid made.

Tony always knew to check in the bin for the actual designs, though. Peter was just like him (unfortunately). Tony would always throw out his designs for anything, especially as a young adult, mostly because everything sucked in his eyes. It might've been a darn good structure, but if there was one blip on a line? In the bin it goes.

Whenever he let Peter got to one of his labs by himself, Tony always made sure to check the bin afterward. Sometimes he found some really good stuff, sometimes he found some meh stuff, and then sometimes he found some super confusing math equations for his web fluids, that he couldn't even understand.

First paper he pulled out? The best one there. Life wasn't dilly-dallying, that's for sure.

It was a design for Spidey's suit. For sure, it wasn't that good of a drawing in terms of artistic ability. But the freaking devotion and care that kid managed to put into one, simple and admittedly scrappy sketch? Insane.

Tony made a mental note to himself to frame it and hang it up somewhere, but he knew he would never get round to it. Besides, on a bad day, if he ever saw something that reminded him remotely of Peter? It would be sent crashing to the ground. So, no. The only mental note he made was to not make a mental note to himself to frame it and hang it up somewhere.

That was a complete waste of his brain neurons.

"Friday? The kids here yet?" Tony asked, mentally kicking himself.

"No, sir."

Tony frowned. "Why?"

"I am not sure, but I do believe there is a police investigation currently being performed at Miss Jones' house at this exact moment in—"

"Huh?" Tony interrupted, eyebrows furrowing in concern that would've been non-existent ten years ago. "What's happened?"

"The Terrorist has attacked another citizen, and it is believed to have taken place in Miss Jones' house, sir."

Tony felt his throat tighten. "Is she okay?"

"I do not know, I will search my databases now."

"Yeah." He breathed, worry flooding his chest. It wasn't the same blind, numbing panic all those times when he though Peter or Pepper might be hurt, but it still wasn't nice. Tony didn't want any of Peter's friends to be killed, too.

There was a silence filling the lab that made him severely uncomfortable. So, with his heart hardening, Tony left.

He left, down the elevator and into the main lobby of the Tower. He didn't make any eye contact with the people at the desk, nor any of the tourists who got tours of the first two floors. He could hear one of them calling out his name, but Tony certainly wasn't in the mood to sign autographs.

He was going straight to Michelle's house. If she needed help, he would help her. She loved Peter too.

With that same guy still calling out his name, Tony strode to the huge glass-panelled doors across the equally as large foyer. He would call for the suit once he was out of here, and get Friday to relay all the information she found out in her scans then. But he had to get out first.

"Mr Stark!" That same damn guy.

Tony continued to ignore, but only until he felt hands grabbing at his jacket from behind.

He spun around hand raised in defence, before stopping abruptly.

Right, it was Ted. Ned, Red, whatever.

"Fred?" He asked quickly, squinting down at the pudgy boy staring at him with wide eyes.

"Ned, sir. And I—"

"Where's the other one? Is she okay?" Tony rambled, and Ned scrambled for words to say.

So, no. Not okay.

"Well, um...she—yeah, she's fine, but—"

"Oh, thank the freaking lord." Tony sighed in relief, feeling the tightness in his throat that had been building up for the past ten or so minutes slowly receding.

"Yeah, but her mom's not." Ned said forcefully, grabbing Tony's jacket again in his chocolate hands. "Her mom was k-killed."

Tony's heart sunk again.

"It was the Terrorist. Michelle saw him, but he didn't—no, never mind," Ned shook his head at himself, "I came here so we can figure this out in a lab or something, not surrounded by people. So, please?"

Tony nodded stiffly, surprised but not annoyed at being bossed around by a sixteen-or-something year-old kid. In fact, he was surprised that he wasn't annoyed that a teenager was telling him what to do. Once again, ten years ago, and it would be very different.

The Stark began striding straight back to the elevator, earning even more confused looks from colleagues and citizens alike, Ned in tow. The boy had to jog to keep up with the older man. After clicking the fourth floor button, the doors slid to a close with a small pfft.

Ned was standing next to his idol, wringing his hands nervously. He'd barely ever been around Mr Stark before, and the only times he had, he'd made a complete fool of himself. But this situation? This situation and circumstance of their meeting? It definitely wasn't something Ned could fanboy over.

It was too quiet, and it seemed to take too long for the elevator to ding and the doors opened onto the fourth floor corridor. Ned immediately jumped out and away from the horribly awkward elevator music, and the sound of a million unsaid words.

Mr Stark followed him, and Ned could practically feel his curious stare as he led the boy to the lab.

"Fri? Latest Terrorist attack; bring it up." Tony demanded as the door to Lab 2 opened. Ned hurried alongside him, eyes wide with unbefitting fascination.

Immediately, a transparent blue anagram popped up, just over the centre work-bench. It hovered there, as Friday scanned through results for Tony's request. He and Ned both grabbed stools and sat.

It was awkward. Tony tapped his foot against the wooden table, the quiet thump thump an escape from the even more quiet quiet. Ned kept breathing in and out very deeply, making it glaringly obvious that he, too, was uncomfortable. The Stark wanted to murder the kid, but he knew Pepper would hate it if he went to jail just as they were beginning to get somewhere with their relationship. And when Pepper was mad? It was a bloodbath.

Either way it could've gone, Friday was done with her scans in exactly forty-six seconds (she times how long it takes so Tony can improve her systems and all that technical stuff Tony couldn't be bothered thinking about right now). But take forty-six seconds and multiply it by about seven hundred? That's how long it felt.

But when the results came up, they weren't what either of them expected. Not at all.

When Tony had asked for the latest attack, he'd expected information on DJ's (or whatever) mom. And there was, in the sector just underneath the latest of the latest. Tony hadn't even realised there'd been another attack since last night, but apparently Friday thought differently to him.

And it wasn't good.

And Tony goddamn hated that terrorist.

Because what came up, was not "Cassandra Jones".

No. No, no, no, not at all.

What came up was James Morita. Time of death: 3:27 am, this morning.

And once again, Tony hadn't been there.

...

Weapon X was spiralling.

There'd been the tiniest part of him that was holding onto...onto something. But it's gone now. He liked letting go and he liked spiralling into his routine.

Sometimes it still felt wrong. His most recent kill had been a man called James Morita. When they beg and cry, he always feels a horrible weight in his chest. Then he's jolted, and it goes away, back to the way he likes it.

But he wasn't murdering people, he was killing them. Helping them be the way they're supposed to be. Cleansing them, as his Commander reminded him every time he felt something. It was a necessity to clean the universe.

Thanos—

Sometimes he still heard something. A voice in the back of his mind, like the devil itself, telling him lies of what his life was. Thanos and Infinity War had been common ones recently. And that brain-numbing M that he couldn't quite place.

He hated them, but it intrigued him.

But he'd always been told to tell his Commander when he "remembered" something (though he didn't know what he was supposed to be "remembering"). So, every time those three things came up, he would take himself back to the pain and electrocution and freedom of The Chair.

"How did you do, young spider?" Commander asked.

Weapon X's eyes snapped up from his position against the wall.

"Yes." He croaked in reply. He wasn't sure if that was the right answer to the question, but the pain blossoming in his leg was distracting him. Commander still hadn't given him something to help his wound, and he knew the word infection that was bobbing around his mind couldn't mean anything good.

Commander advanced on him, hand raised. "That's not what I asked." He spat at the boy, enunciating the words with a slap across the cheek.

Weapon X winced. "Sorry, sir." His face was stinging in the aftermath of the hit. He blinked up at his master with wide eyes.

Wrongly innocent?

"Please remind me, boy, why you are here."

"Purification—purification of the universe." He rasped.

"Good, boy," Commander patted him on the shoulder. Weapon X held out his leg once more, but the man just smiled at him – his eyebrows raised in jest.

Weapon X swallowed thickly, "Please?" He begged.

Ross turned and walked away, leaving him strung up in his cell.

Wait—

Commander. Not Ross. Commander, sir, master.

Commander, sir, master and Infinity War and Thanos and M.

And Ross. 

--

hullo! how youse all doing?

I dont' really have much to say, apart from thank you for reading - oh, and 12k + on Lacuna has me screaming. Y'all are awesome and I love you.

anyways, any questions or comments or theories or suggestions or critisicm or whatever else you feel like telling me, let me know in the comments, cos imma be a needy child.

have fun doing life :) bye for now!

LuvForStydia xx