It took too long for Tony to get to Ross' house.

But when he'd finally arrived and found the door locked and the lights off, his heart beat quicker than he could ever remember.

If this man had taken Peter to the building with the gas explosion for God-knows-why, then he'd as good as killed him. Even so, Ross had kidnaped Peter and that was all the encouragement needed for Tony to snap Ross' neck.

And it felt too wrong, too pedestrian, but Tony knocked on the door.

No one replied, and Tony didn't expect him to. He'd gotten used to it by now. Nothing was going right in his life anymore and he didn't expect this small action to be the only thing that does.

And when everything keeps going wrong? You seem to lose your patience.

"Ross!" Tony yelled, banging on the door again with tight fists, not expecting anything in return.

So, mustering all of his strength, he threw himself against the door. It jolted his shoulder, causing him to wince, and the door did little but creak ominously. He did it again, jaw set, and he felt a little more give in both the tendons in his shoulder and the hinges of the door.

One more time, and it went flying in. Tony stumbled over the threshold, fumbling with the phone in his pocket. Once he'd pulled it out, he flicked up the control panel and turned on the flashlight. It was very bright, but it was enough for him to run the light emitting from it up the wall in search of a light switch.

He was surprised no alarm was going off, the silence as loud as a siren in his head, but he wasn't complaining. He honestly didn't feel like arguing with police – mostly because he wasn't sure what he was doing was right – or going to jail. But still, it was strange, and it gave Tony's stomach a turn.

He hummed to himself once he'd located the switch, flicking it on and watching as the hallway light sprung to life.

"Hey, douchebag!" Tony shouted, knowing that Ross would've come running at the first signs of his door being knocked in, but he'd always wanted to call the man that and it was much easier to do it to an empty house and not the real thing, where he'd get a serious law case against him.

What he certainly wasn't expecting was a reply.

Well, it wasn't really a reply to him, but it was a noise and it was coming from inside the house.

It was a phone, and it was ringing.

Heart in his mouth, Tony moved through the dimly lit corridor, trying his best to follow the sound. It was at moments like these that he truly envied Peter's enhanced sense – of course, they would suck sometimes; Tony knew first hand the pain his kid had to go through when he got sensory overloads. But still, most of the time it would be pretty handy.

Humans really are useless.

He listened to the ringtone, trying to move as quickly as he could to get to it on time – it didn't sound like anyone else was answering it. He got to the end of the hall that led into an obnoxiously large dining room with a marble table. He squinted around the room that was still doused in darkness, the only light source being that from the bulb in the hallway.

That, and a soft blue glow shining up from the end of the table, on the opposite side of the room.

Tony raced toward it, heart still beating too fast to be healthy. He had no idea who the call was from or what is was about, but it could be anything. And by anything, Tony meant everything. Maybe – Tony dared to hope and dread – it could give him some information about what Ross had freaking dared to do to his kid. To Peter.

And why Ross had left his phone where he himself weren't, Tony didn't know. The thought didn't even cross his mind that it might be a trap.

His fingers scraped against the cold bench as he picked up the phone, the low beep beep beep causing it to vibrate in his hand. He swiped his thumb against the answer button and held it to his ear.

"We had a deal." Was what the voice on the other end of the line said first.

Tony's mind spun erratically, his fingers twitching with panic. There was no real reason to be scared, and Tony didn't know why he was—actually, no. Scratch that. He knew exactly why he was scared and if he found out that it was Ross' fault for giving him anxiety – for killing Peter – then Ross should be the one scared for his life, not Tony.

Tony cleared his throat, "Hello to you, too." He replied in a deep voice – one entirely unlike his own but of which he hoped wasn't too dissimilar to Ross' drawl.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Tony found himself holding his breath in trepidation.

"How can you expect me to trust you?" Tony had now deduced that the voice was a man's, and it was hoarse and sounded like the embodiment of all evil. "I'm sure Toomes did too."

Tony sort of imagined the shock that slammed into him like the full force of a truck to be the kind of feeling he'd get if he realised his twin brother was the President, or if his father had told him that he loved him, not this.

Toomes, Ross. How could they be related in any way, shape or form? Were they...were they dealing with each other? Or, correction, had they been? I'm sure Toomes did too. I'm sure Toomes—why, how had Ross lost Toomes' trust if he even had it in the first place?

What had he done?

Who was this?

How was Tony supposed to answer?

"J-Just tell me what you want." Tony choked out, wincing when he didn't sound as boring and professional as the old man. But the man on the other side of the phone seemed to be too caught up in his apparent rage to take any notice.

"What I want, Ross, is enlightenment. This is business, and you're a businessman, and I ain't," the voice was snarling, "But one thing I am good at, is not getting caught—"

Well, look at you now, Tony thought.

"—so you gotta be damn careful with what ya do and how ya do it. That Stark is on your ass, 'specially after the little stunt you pulled at the kid's funeral."

Tony's heart stopped.

How dare—how dare he call Peter kid. How freaking dare that man call his son kid. That's what Tony called him; that's—that's what Tony always called him, because Peter was his kid, not this stranger's. His son.

God, he sounded possessive. But it was true. Tony wasn't sure if he could ever call Peter kid anymore. Damn it, stop overreacting.

He was overreacting. Like usual. It was nothing.

What he really had to be worried about is why this man would be scared that Tony was onto them. He was hiding something, and he would find out what.

"I know what I'm doing. Stark's just mad." Tony said, fingers gripping the phone so tightly he wouldn't be surprised if it left permanent indents in his fingers.

"I was there, Ross. Saying that kid killed his own uncle? Cruel but stupid. You do realize Stark'll be doing his own research now, right? Who knows what he'll find out!"

"He's not that smart." Tony said, chest tight. So it's not true, then.

"You don't know what he's capable of, idiot. Or me. I don't know what you're playing at, with Toomes, but I assure you; if this goes on, we're done and I expect you to not lose your temper."

It took everything he had not to crush the phone.

"'What I'm playing at'? You know what I'm playing at." Tony offered, throwing out the line and hoping whoever he was talking to caught the bait.

He heard a snicker. "I know why you did it. Weapons, money, all the tech he had stored up. And that's works of a good businessman. But you should know that I still have a list of...things that need to be done, and as long as we're in business and you don't have me killed, then I still have something to offer."

Don't have me killed. Don't have me killed, don't have me killed, don't have me killed—

What did that even mean? And what was that about the weapons and the tech? What was that?

It was excruciating, being this close to an answer but being so far away from understanding it, especially when Tony's own brain was the only obstacle standing in the way of realizing whatever he was supposed to be realizing.

Tony swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying to shove all of the thoughts running laps around his brain away, "And what's that?"

"Lives falling apart."

Wow, that's lovely.

"Meaning?" Tony croaked as best he could in Ross-voice.

"The Terrorist? He's with you, isn't he? Well, I have a little encouragement."

What?

What in hell?

What?

Ross. Terrorist. Toomes. Dealers. Killed. Weapons, money, tech, Stark, trust, Ross, Terrorist, Toomes—

"What?" Tony breathed, voice soft with horror.

And then he realized his mistake.

There was beat on the other end of the line, then; "Fu—" and the phone bleeped as the call was cut.

And everything descended into chaos.

...

"How did it go?" Ross asked as he strode through the cold halls of the Raft prison. The man next to him shrugged, a smirk on his lips.

A smirk that pulled on the scars down the side of his face.

"Ah, well. I reckon I wouldn't go too bad in an episode of Home and Away. It was pretty convincing." He replied in his hoarse voice, snickering.

Ross stopped walking and turned to him. "Excellent." He smiled, patting the man on his shoulder, before he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Ross clasped his hands together once the other man, who's name escapes him, turned the corner and out of sight. Stark was smart, but he was vulnerable in ways Ross had been before the most recent alien invasion, that had sent a building crushing his son.

Stark had a weakness, and that weakness was the kid.

If he even so as thought Ross might have information on the death of Peter Parker, he'd coming running straight here, looking for him. He was sure by now, that the man had figured out that the Raft still existed – Ross had set it up, so he would. And, if everything had gone to plan, he would already know that Ross had kidnapped the boy.

The only thing Ross relied on was that Tony still believed that the kid was dead. Then everything would go exactly the way he wanted it.

Oh, what a surprise he'll get when he sees the face of his killer.

Ross smiled at the thought, squeezing his palms together in front of his chest, and walking toward where the Weapon was kept.

There were only two uncertainties about the plan. One being that the Weapon might not cooperate. It had been a while since he'd seen The Chair, and Ross knew that one more round with the device and the child might die. They'd gone a bit hard to start off with, and the scientists had warned him of respiratory failure or brain damage if he continued to blast the boy.

So, Ross relied on the fact that Parker wasn't remembering anything, or at the very least, wasn't understanding anything apart from his mission. It had been a few hours ago that Ross had announced Peter's new mission, and the boy had reacted the same way as he always had. Nothing about Tony's name had seemed to ring a bell.

The second uncertainty was the Traitor. His troops still hadn't caught the man, so he was still at large. If the Traitor had gotten to Stark before he'd gotten the phone call, then things wouldn't work.

But Ross doubted his ability. After all, he'd chosen to take Stark's side, rather than his, and that already said something about his mental capacity.

The Traitor had taken off after Weapon X had killed that Adrian Toomes – apparently they'd been working together for years. Ross knew that sentimentalities and loyalty was overrated and had not offered the man any condolences. So, the Traitor had betrayed them and decided to join team Happy-Go-Lucky-Heroes. Bad choice on his behalf, because when Hydra finds the man, they'll show just as much mercy as the Weapon had on Toomes.

In other words, he'll be killed.

"Mаленький паук?" Ross said softly, as he wandered up to the bars of the cell that housed the Weapon.

"Yes, sir." Was the response he got. Peter's voice was strained and tired, probably weak from the infection in his leg, that he would have to get over before he was let loose.

"Your Mission will be arriving shortly. Do not fail."

Peter nodded, eyes blank.

...

Aaron Davis sprinted through the lobby of SI.

He had to get to Stark, he had to warn him—

"Sir?" A lady called out from behind him as he ran. "Sir! May I help you?!" She yelled.

Aaron didn't answer, pushing his way through the crowds of workers and tourists alike, trying to get to the elevators. One man gave him a dirty look, putting a protective arm across (what seemed to be) his wife. He hissed a quick "is it because I'm black?" as he shoved past them, an unamused smirk playing on his lips.

He could see over the heads of the throng of people around him, his tight black curls bouncing on top of his head as he tried his best to get to the elevators as fast he could.

He was supposed to talk to the Starks – or is one of them still a Potts? – last night, but he figured he'd probably end up in jail, showing up in the middle of the night in the world's coolest man's bedroom. No matter what he had to say.

Finally, after more pushing and shoving and angry stares, he reach the elevator, slamming his finger onto the up arrow. Almost immediately, one of the six doors opened, revealing a – thankfully – empty compartment. He hopped it, pressing level 22 Penthouse (Restricted) multiple times like it would make the doors close faster.

When they did close with a little pfft, and the elevator began it's ascend, he felt his stomach swoop in nervous anticipation. And also because these elevators were damn fast and it made his insides squirm at the feeling. But it was mostly anxiety.

"C'mon, c'mon," Aaron muttered to himself, jigging where he stood. There was a classical violin and piano piece playing through the speakers, albeit quietly, but it only worsened his dread.

The elevator made dings every time he passed another floor, and he counted every one in his head.

13, 14, 15—

"Ah, Jesus." He groaned, leaning his back against the cold metal wall of the container, letting his eyes flutter closed. He really hated going slow, he really hated classical music and he really hated being worried for someone he would've been happy to kill a few months ago.

19, 20, 21 and—

22.

The doors sprung open.

And to his dismay, Aaron was met by an empty apartment.

"Running a facial scan, please look directly at the camera." A metallic female voice echoed from the speakers of the lift, causing Aaron to jump.

There was a red light bleeping from the top, middle corner, just above the doors. He didn't look at it, instead clearing his throat.

"Uh, AI lady? Um, Wednesday or something?" He called out, not really knowing if there was a certain thing he had to speak to for the AI to hear him. All this high-tech stuff made him uncomfortable.

"Friday, sir. I am collecting data on your profile right now."

Aaron swallowed. "Okay, well that's terrifying, but is Tony Stark in the building?" He asked hopefully.

"No, sir. I must ask you to leave, now—"

"No!" Aaron blurted. "I-I mean, is Miss Potts here then? I have to tell them something."

"Yes, Miss Potts is here, but anything you have to say, you can tell me. Now, I must ask you to go."

"What's going on, Fri?" Pepper appeared at the glass doors that are in front of the lift, stopping people from entering the penthouse. Her eyes narrowed at Aaron.

"Aaron Davis said he would like to see you. I told him to leave." Friday said proudly – if that was even possible.

Pepper frowned, "Well, that's not very nice. Aaron Davis, you say?"

She was staring – no, glaring – directly at him as she said it, and Aaron swallowed again. If Stark had every told her about the incident with the kid from months and months back, then she had no reason to trust him. But she wasn't closing the doors and she wasn't reaching for a gun, so Aaron took that as a good sign.

"What are you doing here, Aaron?" She snarled his name, arms folding in front of her chest, eyelids quivering.

He sighed, "I, uh, I had to warn you."

"About what?" She asked, and Aaron saw with horror that there was a wetness growing in his eyes.

Never had he ever realised just how much he'd hurt that kid until now, and he regretted it with his life.

If he could take it all back, he would, but it was done now and the least he could do was help the people he knew Peter loved. Jesus, he sounded soft. But the kid was dead for Christ's sake, and he'd had a pretty crappy life because of Toomes and himself.

Aaron took in a deep, shaky breath. And he told her.

He told her exactly what she would never want to hear.

Her fiancé was walking into a trap.

One that would get himself killed.

--

lol hi. pls don't be mad at me, I promise I love my bois.

anyway, sry for the long wait, please forgive me. any questions or comments, please lemme know dem.

hope you enjoyed reading :) only one or two more chapters left before book 3!! officially announced just then, whoopee.

anywayyssss, bye for now.

LuvForStydia xx