## **December 16th, 1991**
**Walter Reed National Military Medical Center**
**7:23 PM**
Fury stood outside Adrian Stark's hospital room, talking with the surgeon who'd just finished operating.
Dr. Patricia Hammond was one of the best trauma surgeons on the East Coast. If anyone could put Adrian back together, it was her.
"How is he, Doctor?"
"Stable. Lucky, actually, considering what he went through." Hammond pulled off her surgical cap, looking tired. "Three broken ribs, one punctured lung—we've re-inflated it and it should heal normally. Kidney damage but no permanent impairment expected. Facial fractures including broken nose and fractured orbital bone. Severe concussion. Multiple contusions and lacerations."
"But he'll recover?"
"Physically? Yes. He's young, he's in excellent shape, and his body is responding well to treatment. I'd say six to eight weeks for the ribs to heal, maybe three months before he's back to full capacity."
"What about psychologically?"
Hammond's expression shifted. "That's harder to predict. He went through severe trauma. Watched his father die. Fought for his life. That kind of experience leaves marks. He'll need therapy. Time. Support."
"Can I speak with him?"
"He's heavily sedated right now. Won't be coherent until tomorrow at the earliest. And even then, I'd recommend keeping the conversation short. His brain needs rest to heal from the concussion."
"I understand. But when he does wake up, I need to debrief him. This is a national security matter."
Hammond studied him. "Agent Fury, that boy is eighteen years old. He just lost his father and nearly died fighting whoever killed him. Whatever questions you have can wait until he's ready."
"Doctor, with all due respect, this can't wait. The person who killed Howard Stark is still out there. He might come back. Adrian Stark has information that could save lives."
"Then you'll wait until tomorrow. And you'll be gentle about it. That's not a request, Agent. It's a condition of my allowing you in that room at all."
Fury nodded. "Fair enough. Tomorrow. And I'll be gentle."
"See that you are. He's been through enough."
Hammond walked away, leaving Fury standing outside Adrian's room.
Through the window, he could see the kid—unconscious, hooked up to monitors and IVs, face swollen and bruised, looking young and vulnerable and nothing like someone who'd fought a super soldier assassin.
*But you did fight him,* Fury thought. *You stood between your family and death and you didn't back down.*
*That takes courage. Or insanity.*
*I need to figure out which.*
A nurse appeared beside him. "Agent Fury? Mrs. Stark is asking for you. She's in the family waiting room."
"Thank you. I'll be right there."
Fury took one last look at Adrian, then headed down the hall.
Maria Stark sat in the waiting room, wrapped in a blanket someone had given her, staring at nothing. She looked like she'd aged ten years in the last few hours. The shock, the grief, the trauma—all of it written on her face.
Fury sat down across from her. "Mrs. Stark. I'm Agent Nick Fury, SHIELD. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Maria looked at him. Her eyes were red from crying but her voice was steady. "Is my son going to live?"
"Yes ma'am. The doctors say he'll make a full recovery. He's strong. He fought hard."
"He fought that *monster*." Maria's hands clenched. "I watched my eighteen-year-old son fight a man with a metal arm. A man who was strong enough to throw him around like a doll. And Adrian kept getting up. Kept fighting. Kept putting himself between that man and us."
"He's very brave."
"He's very *stupid*." But there was pride in her voice underneath the fear. "He should have run. Should have saved himself. But he stood there and fought because that's who he is. That's who I raised. Someone who protects people even when it's impossible."
Fury pulled out his notebook. "Mrs. Stark, I need to ask you some questions. I know this is difficult, but we need to find the man who did this."
"You mean the man who murdered my husband."
"Yes ma'am."
Maria took a breath. "Ask your questions."
"Your statement at the scene mentioned that your husband recognized the attacker. He called him 'Bucky.' Can you tell me more about that?"
"Howard looked at him and seemed shocked. Like he'd seen a ghost. He said 'Bucky, is that really you?' The man didn't respond at first. Just kept walking toward us. Howard kept talking. He said—" Maria's voice caught. "He said 'We thought you were dead. Steve thought you were dead. What happened to you?' He was trying to reach the man. Trying to connect with him."
"Did the attacker respond?"
"No. He just..." Maria closed her eyes. "He raised his gun. Howard begged him. Said 'Bucky, please.' And then he shot him. Just shot him. Like Howard was nothing. Like their history meant nothing."
Fury made notes. This matched what Adrian had said. Matched what the evidence suggested.
James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier. HYDRA's ghost operative who'd been Steve Rogers' best friend.
*If Steve were alive,* Fury thought, *this would destroy him. Knowing his best friend became a killer.*
"Mrs. Stark, did your husband ever mention Bucky Barnes to you? Talk about him?"
"Sometimes. Usually when he'd been drinking and feeling nostalgic. He'd talk about the war. About Captain America. About the Howling Commandos. Bucky was Steve's best friend. Howard liked him. Respected him. He died—we thought he died—in 1945. Fell from a train during a mission. They never found the body."
"But if HYDRA found him—"
"Then they turned him into a monster." Maria's voice was bitter. "They took a good man and made him a killer. Made him murder his own friend."
Fury closed his notebook. "Mrs. Stark, I promise you, we're going to find him. We're going to find out what HYDRA did to him. And we're going to stop them."
"What about my son? Is he safe? Will they come back for him?"
"I've posted guards on his room. Nobody gets in without clearance. And once he's stable enough to move, we'll transfer him to a secure SHIELD facility. You and Tony as well. Until we know what HYDRA wants and whether they're still targeting your family, you're all under protection."
"Tony." Maria's face crumpled. "Oh god, Tony. I need to call him. He doesn't know yet. He's going to—" She broke down, sobbing.
Fury let her cry. Let her process. There were no words that would help. No platitudes that would make this better.
Howard Stark was dead. His wife was traumatized. His son was broken in a hospital bed. His other son was about to have his world shattered.
And HYDRA was still out there. Still operating. Still a threat.
*But we know now,* Fury thought. *We know they exist. We know they have the Winter Soldier. We know they're after super soldier research.*
*And we're going to stop them.*
He stood up. "Mrs. Stark, I'll have someone help you make that call to Tony. And I'll personally make sure Adrian is protected. You have my word."
Maria looked up at him. "Find them, Agent Fury. Find the people who did this. Make them pay."
"Yes ma'am. We will."
Fury left the waiting room and headed back to his command center.
He had work to do.
Evidence to analyze. Reports to file. A ghost operative to hunt.
And an eighteen-year-old kid to debrief who somehow knew things he shouldn't know and fought like someone who'd trained for years beyond his actual age.
*Tomorrow,* Fury thought. *Tomorrow I get answers.*
*Tonight, I'm going to find out everything I can about the Winter Soldier.*
*And about Adrian Stark.*
*Because something doesn't add up.*
*And I'm going to find out what.*
He pulled out his phone and dialed Agent Chen.
"Chen, it's Fury. How's that DNA analysis coming?"
"Just finished preliminary results, sir. You're not going to believe this."
"Try me."
"The blood sample from the crime scene. AB-negative. The DNA matches military records for Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Ninety-nine point nine seven percent certainty."
*Fuck.*
"Bucky Barnes is alive."
"And apparently working as an assassin, sir. What do you want me to do with this information?"
"Classify it at the highest level. Director Carter's eyes only. Nobody else knows. Not until we figure out what HYDRA did to him and whether he can be saved."
"Yes sir. Sir, there's one more thing. The DNA analysis showed anomalies. Markers consistent with chemical enhancement. Super soldier serum or something very similar."
"So he's not just alive. He's enhanced."
"Appears so, yes sir."
Fury hung up and stared at his notes.
Bucky Barnes was alive. Enhanced. Working for HYDRA as the Winter Soldier. Had killed Howard Stark and nearly killed Adrian Stark.
And somewhere out there, HYDRA was trying to recreate the super soldier program with stolen research.
*This is bigger than I thought,* Fury realized. *This is so much bigger than I thought.*
He picked up his phone and dialed Director Carter again.
"Peggy. It's confirmed. The DNA matches. The Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
"God help us all," Peggy said quietly. "Steve died thinking his best friend was gone. If he knew Bucky was alive and had been turned into this..."
"I know. But we can't change that. What we can do is stop HYDRA. Find Bucky. Try to save him if possible."
"And if it's not possible?"
"Then we do what needs to be done. But we try to save him first. That's what Steve would want."
"Agreed. Nick, I'll be landing in two hours. Have everything ready for my review. And keep those guards on Adrian and Maria Stark. If HYDRA realizes we have witnesses who can identify the Winter Soldier..."
"They're protected. I promise."
"Good. See you soon."
The line went dead.
Fury looked out at the night sky through the window of the command center.
Somewhere out there, the Winter Soldier was returning to HYDRA with a briefcase full of research.
Somewhere out there, Bucky Barnes was trapped inside a weapon he couldn't control.
And here, in a hospital bed, an eighteen-year-old kid who'd fought harder than anyone had a right to fight was recovering from injuries that should have killed him.
*Tomorrow,* Fury thought. *Tomorrow I'm going to figure out what makes Adrian Stark special.*
*Because Batman doesn't exist in this world.*
*But someone who fights like him does.*
*And I'm going to find out why.*
He turned back to his computer and started pulling files.
The investigation was just beginning.
And Nick Fury had a feeling it was going to change everything.
—
# **December 16th, 1991**
**Massachusetts Institute of Technology**
**Cambridge, Massachusetts**
**8:34 PM**
Tony Stark was three beers into what was shaping up to be a truly excellent Sunday evening when his life fell apart.
He and his roommate James Rhodes—"Rhodey" to everyone who knew him, "that uptight Air Force ROTC guy" to people who didn't—were in their shared dorm room, ostensibly studying for their respective finals but actually arguing about the engineering merits of the F-14 Tomcat versus the F-15 Eagle.
"The F-15 has a better thrust-to-weight ratio," Rhodey was saying, gesturing with his textbook for emphasis. "Better climb rate, better maneuverability, better everything."
"The F-14 has variable-sweep wings," Tony countered, feet propped up on his desk, beer balanced on his chest. "That's just cool. Coolness is an important engineering consideration."
"Coolness is not an engineering specification."
"It should be. I'm going to add it to all my future designs. 'Coolness factor: 9.7 out of 10.' It'll be revolutionary."
"You're impossible."
"I contain multitudes." Tony grinned. "Hey, that's Adrian's line. I'm stealing it. It's mine now."
"Your brother's line makes as little sense when you say it as when you describe him saying it."
"That's the beauty of it. It means nothing and everything simultaneously. It's quantum linguistics."
"That's not a thing."
"It is now. I just invented it. Someone write this down."
Rhodey threw a wadded-up piece of paper at Tony's head. Tony dodged it without spilling his beer—excellent reflexes, thank you very much—and was about to launch into a passionate defense of variable-sweep wing technology when the phone rang.
The actual phone. The landline. Which nobody ever called because it was 1991 and long-distance was expensive and everyone just waited until they were home to talk to their families.
Tony and Rhodey looked at each other.
"You gonna get that?" Rhodey asked.
"It's probably a wrong number."
"Or it's important."
"If it was important, they'd call back."
The phone kept ringing.
"Tony, answer the damn phone."
"Fine, fine. But if it's a telemarketer, I'm blaming you." Tony swung his feet off the desk, crossed the room, and picked up the receiver. "Stark residence, home of genius and questionable life choices. How may I direct your call?"
"Tony."
It was Ana Jarvis's voice. And she sounded wrong. Strained. Like she'd been crying.
Tony's stomach dropped. "Ana? What's wrong? Is Mom okay? Is Dad—"
"Tony, honey, you need to sit down."
"I don't want to sit down. What happened?"
"Please sit."
Tony didn't sit. But his grip on the phone tightened. Across the room, Rhodey had put down his book, sensing something was wrong.
"Ana, you're scaring me. What happened?"
"There was an accident. A car accident. Your parents and Adrian were driving back from Washington and—" Her voice broke. "Tony, your father is dead. He was killed."
The world stopped.
Just... stopped.
Tony heard the words. Understood the words. But they didn't make *sense*. They were sounds without meaning. Noise without content.
"What?" His voice sounded distant to his own ears. "What did you say?"
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Your father was killed. Your mother and Adrian are in the hospital. They're alive but—"
"That's not possible." Tony's brain was rejecting the information. Refusing to process it. "I just saw them this morning. They were fine. Dad was fine. He was going to DC for meetings. It was routine. It was safe."
"I know, honey. I know. But something happened. Someone—" Ana's voice caught again. "Someone attacked them. Your father was shot. Adrian fought the man who did it. He's badly hurt but he's alive. Your mother is in shock but she's okay. They need you, Tony. They need you to come to Washington right now."
"Shot." The word finally penetrated. "Someone *shot* Dad? This wasn't an accident. Someone killed him."
"Yes."
"Who? Who did this?"
"I don't know. The SHIELD agents aren't saying much. But Tony, you need to get on a plane. Your mother needs you. Your brother needs you."
"How bad is Adrian hurt?"
"Bad. He's in surgery. They said he'll recover but—Tony, he tried to fight the man. Tried to protect your parents. He has broken ribs, a punctured lung, head injuries. The doctors said he's lucky to be alive."
Tony's hand was shaking. The phone was shaking. Everything was shaking.
"I'm coming. I'm getting on a plane right now. Tell Mom I'm coming."
"I will. And Tony? Be careful. If someone killed your father, they might—"
"I'll be careful. I'm coming. Tell her I'm coming."
He hung up the phone.
Stood there.
His father was dead.
His father was *dead*.
Howard Stark—brilliant, difficult, impossible, distant Howard Stark—was dead. Killed. Murdered.
And Adrian—his little brother, his annoying, multitude-containing, impossibly optimistic little brother—had fought whoever did it. Had tried to stop them. Was in a hospital bed right now because he'd tried to protect their parents.
Tony felt something break inside his chest. Something fundamental. The world had been one way this morning—complicated but stable, predictable, *normal*—and now it was different. Wrong. Broken.
"Tony." Rhodey's voice. Gentle. Concerned. "Tony, what happened?"
Tony looked at his best friend. His roommate. The guy who'd put up with his shit for three years of undergraduate and wasn't planning to stop even though they were both in graduate programs now.
"My dad's dead," Tony said. The words felt foreign in his mouth. "Someone killed him. Shot him. Adrian's in the hospital. Mom's in shock. I need to get to DC. I need—I need to—"
His voice broke. His vision blurred. And suddenly Rhodey was there, hands on Tony's shoulders, steady and solid.
"Okay. Okay, we're going to handle this. First thing: sit down before you fall down."
"I don't want to sit—"
"Sit. Down." Rhodey guided him to the desk chair. Tony sat because his legs weren't really working anymore.
"Second thing: breathe. Just breathe for a second."
Tony tried. His chest felt tight. Like someone had wrapped steel bands around his ribs and was slowly tightening them.
"Good. Keep breathing. Now, we need to get you to Washington. How do we do that?"
"Plane. I need to get on a plane."
"Right. Is there a Stark Industries plane we can use?"
Tony's brain, which had been spinning uselessly, suddenly clicked into gear. Problem-solving mode. Logistics. That he could do.
"There's a company jet at Logan Airport. I have clearance to use it for emergencies. This counts. This definitely counts."
"Good. Call them. Get the plane ready. I'll pack your stuff."
"You're coming with me?"
Rhodey looked at him like he'd said something incredibly stupid. "Of course I'm coming with you. You think I'm letting you deal with this alone? We're friends, Tony. Brothers. I'm coming."
Something in Tony's chest loosened slightly. Not much. But enough to breathe a little easier.
"Thanks, Rhodey."
"Don't mention it. Now call the plane people. Tell them we need to leave in an hour."
Tony picked up the phone again. His hands were still shaking but he managed to dial the number for Stark Industries aviation services.
"This is Anthony Stark. Authorization code: Alpha-Seven-Niner-Hotel. I need the company jet prepared for immediate departure from Logan to Reagan National. Two passengers. Emergency family situation."
The dispatcher on the other end confirmed. Flight crew would be ready in ninety minutes. The plane would be fueled and prepped.
"We need to leave *now*," Tony said, his voice harder. "This is a Code Red family emergency. My father just died. I need to get to DC. You have sixty minutes to have that plane ready or I'm flying it myself."
That got their attention. Nobody wanted Tony Stark flying a plane unsupervised when he was emotional and probably over the legal blood alcohol limit.
"Sixty minutes, Mr. Stark. We'll have it ready."
Tony hung up and started grabbing things. Wallet. Keys. ID. His leather jacket. Change of clothes. He was moving on autopilot, his brain still trying to process.
*Dad's dead. Dad's dead. Dad's dead.*
Rhodey was already packing a bag—efficient, methodical, military precision. He threw in clothes for both of them, toiletries, anything they might need for a few days away.
"What else do you need?" Rhodey asked.
"I don't know. I can't think. My brain isn't working right."
"That's shock. It's normal. We'll figure it out as we go." Rhodey zipped up the bag, grabbed his Air Force ROTC jacket. "Come on. Let's get to the airport."
They were halfway out the door when Tony stopped.
"Wait. Adrian."
"What about Adrian?"
"He fought whoever did this. Ana said he fought them. Adrian's not—he does martial arts and stuff, but he's not a *fighter*. He's a grad student. A nerd. Why would he fight? Why wouldn't he just run?"
Rhodey's expression was serious. "Because he was protecting your parents. People do crazy things when someone they love is in danger."
"He could have died. He almost *did* die from what Ana said. Broken ribs, punctured lung, head injuries. That's not 'I threw a punch and got lucky.' That's 'I fought hard and got my ass kicked but kept fighting anyway.'"
"Your brother sounds like a brave guy."
"My brother is an *idiot*." But Tony's voice was thick with emotion. "He should have run. Should have saved himself. But he stood there and fought because that's who he is. That's who Mom raised. Someone who doesn't run even when he should."
"Sounds like someone else I know," Rhodey said quietly.
Tony looked at his friend. "I'm nothing like Adrian."
"You're exactly like Adrian. You just express it differently." Rhodey grabbed the packed bag. "Come on. Your family needs you. We can psychoanalyze your relationship with your brother later."
They headed out of the dorm, into the cold December night. Rhodey had his car—a beat-up Honda Civic that he maintained with the same precision he applied to everything else. They threw their bags in the trunk and started the drive to Logan Airport.
Tony sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, not really seeing anything.
*This morning, Dad was alive. This morning, I was arguing with him about arc reactor housing. This morning, everything was normal.*
*How did it all fall apart so fast?*
"Tell me what you know," Rhodey said, his voice pulling Tony back to the present. "What exactly happened?"
"I don't know much. Ana said there was an attack. Dad was shot. Adrian fought whoever did it. That's all I know."
"An attack. Not an accident."
"Not an accident." Tony's hands clenched into fists. "Someone killed my father. Deliberately. This was planned."
"Who would want to kill Howard Stark?"
"Take your pick. Dad made weapons for the government. He had enemies. Foreign powers who wanted his technology. Corporate rivals who wanted him gone. Hell, for all I know it could have been some crazy person with a grudge."
"What was he doing in DC?"
"Pentagon meetings. Something about defense applications for new technology. He wouldn't tell me the specifics—classified—but he was excited about it. Said it was important work."
Rhodey was quiet for a moment, processing. "Tony, if someone killed your father over classified government work, this might be bigger than a random attack. This might be espionage. Corporate or international."
"I don't care what it is. I care that my father is dead and someone did it." Tony's voice was hard. "And I care that my little brother is in a hospital bed because he tried to stop them."
They drove in silence for a while. The roads were clear—Sunday night, most people already home for the evening. They made good time.
Tony's phone—one of those brick-sized mobile phones that cost a fortune—rang. He answered it.
"This is Stark."
"Tony, it's Mom." Maria's voice was strained but steady. "Ana said she reached you. Are you coming?"
"I'm on my way. Rhodey's with me. We're heading to the airport now. We'll be there in a few hours. How's Adrian?"
"He's out of surgery. The doctors say he'll be okay. He's unconscious but stable." Maria's voice cracked. "Tony, he saved my life. That man was going to kill me too. But Adrian fought him. Gave me time to hide. Your brother is a hero."
"My brother is an idiot," Tony said, but his voice was gentle. "Where are you? Which hospital?"
"Walter Reed. SHIELD has guards posted everywhere. They said—" Maria took a shaky breath. "They said the man who did this might come back. That we're not safe until they catch him."
"Then I'm coming to you. And I'm bringing Rhodey because he's Air Force ROTC and knows how to handle himself. And we're going to make sure you and Adrian are protected. Okay?"
"Okay. Tony, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to hear this over the phone. I'm so sorry—"
"Mom, stop. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. We're going to get through this. Together. As a family. I promise."
He heard Maria crying softly. "Your father loved you, Tony. Even when you fought. Even when things were hard between you. He loved you so much."
Tony closed his eyes. Felt tears threatening. Pushed them back down.
*Can't cry. Not yet. Need to be strong. Need to get to DC. Need to make sure Mom and Adrian are okay. Can break down later.*
"I know, Mom. I know. I loved him too. Even when he drove me crazy."
"Hurry, sweetheart. Please hurry."
"I will. I'll be there soon. I promise."
He hung up the phone.
Rhodey glanced at him. "Your mom okay?"
"No. Not even close. But she's alive. That's what matters right now."
They pulled into Logan Airport, headed for the private aviation terminal. The Stark Industries jet was already being prepped—sleek Gulfstream IV, one of the fastest private jets in the world. The flight crew was moving with purpose, clearly aware this was an emergency.
Tony and Rhodey boarded quickly. The pilot—Captain Morrison, one of SI's most experienced—met them at the entrance.
"Mr. Stark, I'm so sorry for your loss. We'll get you to DC as fast as possible. Flight time should be just under two hours."
"Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it."
They settled into the leather seats. The cabin was luxurious—Howard had designed it personally, wanting his executives to travel in comfort and style. Tony had been on this plane dozens of times. It smelled like his father's cologne and expensive leather.
*This might be the last time I'm on this plane that Dad designed,* Tony thought. *Everything's going to be different now.*
The engines started. The plane began to taxi.
Rhodey pulled out a flask from his jacket pocket—standard Air Force ROTC issue, something he'd gotten from his father who'd been a pilot before him. He took a sip, then offered it to Tony.
"Bourbon. Helps with the shock."
Tony took it, drank. The burn was welcome. Familiar. Grounding.
"Thanks, Rhodey."
"That's what friends are for." Rhodey took the flask back, had another sip. "So, what's the plan when we get to DC?"
"Make sure Mom's okay. Make sure Adrian's okay. Find out what the hell happened. And then—" Tony's jaw set. "—find the people who did this."
"Tony, that's what the police are for. What SHIELD is for."
"SHIELD works for the government. The government moves slow. I don't move slow." Tony looked at his friend. "My father was killed. My brother was nearly killed. I'm not sitting around waiting for bureaucrats to maybe eventually find the people responsible. I'm going to find them myself."
"That's a bad idea."
"Probably. But I'm doing it anyway."
Rhodey sighed. "You know, when I agreed to room with you freshman year, I thought I was just getting a genius engineering student with rich parents. I didn't realize I was signing up for a lifetime of terrible decisions and dangerous situations."
"And yet you're still here."
"Yeah. I'm an idiot." But Rhodey smiled slightly. "We'll find them, Tony. Together. But first, we take care of your family. Then we worry about revenge."
"It's not revenge. It's justice."
"Call it whatever you want. Point is, your mom and brother need you right now. Focus on them. The rest can wait."
Tony knew Rhodey was right. But the anger was already building. Someone had killed his father. Had hurt his family. Had shattered everything.
And Tony Stark didn't let things like that go.
The plane lifted off, climbing into the night sky. Through the window, Tony could see Boston falling away below them, lights twinkling in the darkness.
*Dad's dead,* Tony thought again. The words kept repeating in his head like a broken record. *He's really dead. He's not coming back. I'm never going to argue with him again about arc reactor designs. Never going to hear him critique my work. Never going to make him proud.*
*Or disappoint him.*
*He's just... gone.*
Rhodey was watching him. "You okay?"
"No. Not even a little bit."
"That's fair. You want to talk about it?"
"Not yet. Maybe later. Right now I just—I need to get to DC. Need to see Mom. Need to see Adrian. Need to make sure they're really okay."
"We'll be there soon. Just hang on."
Tony closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain in his chest.
*Dad's dead. Adrian's hurt. Mom's traumatized. And I'm supposed to hold it together for everyone.*
*I don't know if I can do this.*
*I don't know if I'm strong enough.*
But he didn't have a choice. His family needed him. So he'd be strong enough.
He'd have to be.
---
## **December 16th, 1991**
**Somewhere Over Maryland**
**9:47 PM**
The flight was smooth. Too smooth. Tony found himself wishing for turbulence, for something external to match the chaos inside his head.
Rhodey had dozed off in the seat across from him—military training, the ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. Tony envied that. His own mind was racing too fast for sleep.
He pulled out his notebook—the one he always carried, filled with sketches and equations and half-formed ideas. Normally he'd be drawing some new invention, some improvement to existing technology.
But tonight, his pencil moved without conscious direction.
He drew his father. From memory. Not the distant, critical Howard Stark that Tony usually interacted with, but the rare moments when Howard had smiled. When he'd been proud. When he'd looked at Tony like he was actually seeing him.
Those moments had been rare. But they'd existed.
*He was going to show me his research,* Tony realized. *After the DC trip. He said we'd talk about the super soldier program. About future applications. He wanted me involved.*
*And now he never will.*
Tony's hand clenched on the pencil. It snapped.
He threw it across the cabin in frustration.
Rhodey's eyes opened immediately—combat reflexes. He assessed the situation in a second: Tony upset, no actual threat, emotional response.
"Hey," Rhodey said quietly. "Talk to me."
"I don't want to talk."
"Tough. Talk anyway. It's a two-hour flight and you're spiraling. Talk."
Tony looked at his friend. Rhodey's face was serious but not judgmental. Just concerned. Just present.
"I never told him," Tony said finally. "I never told Dad that I respected his work. That I thought he was brilliant. That I was proud to be his son. We were always fighting about stupid shit and I never just... said it."
"He knew."
"How do you know? You never met him."
"Because that's what parents do. They know. Even when we don't say it, they know." Rhodey leaned forward. "Tony, you dedicated three years to improving his arc reactor design. You spent countless hours trying to solve problems he couldn't solve. That's not the behavior of someone who doesn't care. That's love. In the most Tony Stark way possible, but still love."
"I should have just said it."
"Yeah. Probably. But you didn't, and now you can't, and that's something you're going to have to carry. But don't let it eat you alive. Your dad knew you loved him. Even if you expressed it through engineering disagreements and being a pain in his ass."
Tony huffed a laugh despite himself. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've been wise. You're just usually too busy being a genius to notice."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Tell me about Adrian," Rhodey said. "You don't talk about him much."
"Adrian's..." Tony thought about his brother. "Adrian's good. Like, genuinely good in a way I'm not. He's the son Mom always wanted. Responsible. Mature. Physically fit. Emotionally stable. Everything I'm not."
"You're jealous."
"No. Maybe. I don't know." Tony rubbed his face. "Dad always compared us. I was the genius who couldn't follow through. Adrian was the disciplined one who actually finished things. I was the disappointment. Adrian was the golden child."
"That sounds like bullshit."
"It's complicated family dynamics bullshit, but yeah, basically." Tony looked out the window. "But here's the thing—Adrian never lorded it over me. Never acted superior. He actually looked up to me. Asked my advice. Defended me to Dad when they fought. He's a good brother. Better than I deserve."
"And now he's in a hospital bed because he tried to protect your parents."
"Yeah." Tony's voice went hard. "Someone shot my father and my little brother fought them. Fought hard enough to get seriously injured. That's not normal college kid behavior."
"No, it's not. It's hero behavior."
"Adrian's not a hero. He's just—" Tony stopped. "Actually, you know what? Maybe he is. Maybe he's been a hero this whole time and I just didn't see it because I was too busy being focused on myself."
"You're not as self-centered as you think you are," Rhodey said. "But you're right that your brother sounds like a good guy. And we're going to make sure he recovers. And we're going to make sure whoever hurt him pays."
"Damn right we are."
The pilot's voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Stark, we're beginning our descent into Reagan National. ETA fifteen minutes."
"Thank you, Captain."
Rhodey straightened in his seat, checking his jacket pockets. "You ready for this?"
"No. But I'm doing it anyway."
"That's the spirit."
The plane descended through the clouds. DC appeared below them—monuments lit up, the Capitol building visible even at night. It was beautiful.
Tony had always liked DC. Liked the sense of history. Liked the power that radiated from every building.
But tonight, it just looked cold.
They landed smoothly. Taxied to the private aviation terminal. The door opened and cold December air rushed in.
Tony stood up, grabbed his bag, and headed for the exit.
A black SUV was waiting on the tarmac. Two men in dark suits stood beside it—SHIELD agents, obviously. One of them stepped forward.
"Mr. Stark? I'm Agent Williams. Director Carter sent us to pick you up. We'll take you to Walter Reed."
"Thank you." Tony gestured to Rhodey. "This is James Rhodes. He's with me."
"Yes sir. We were informed. Please, get in. We'll have you at the hospital in twenty minutes."
They climbed into the SUV. It was armored—Tony could tell from the weight of the doors and the thickness of the glass. SHIELD wasn't taking any chances.
*Good,* Tony thought. *If someone's targeting my family, they should be paranoid.*
The drive through DC was quiet. Sunday night, minimal traffic. The agents didn't try to make conversation, which Tony appreciated. He wasn't in the mood for small talk.
Rhodey sat beside him, solid and present. Not saying anything, just being there. It helped more than Tony could articulate.
They pulled up to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. More SHIELD agents at the entrance. Security was tight.
Agent Williams led them through the hospital, past normal visiting hours check-ins, past security protocols, straight to a private floor that had clearly been locked down.
"Your mother is in room 412. Your brother is in the ICU, room 318. Director Carter is here as well. She's in the family waiting room."
"Thank you."
Tony and Rhodey walked down the hallway. Everything was too bright, too clean, too sterile. Hospital smell—antiseptic and fear.
They found the family waiting room. Inside, Maria sat wrapped in a blanket, her eyes red from crying. Beside her was a woman Tony knew from photographs and occasional visits: Peggy Carter, his godmother, SHIELD Director, and one of his father's oldest friends.
Peggy stood up when Tony entered. She looked older than he remembered—she was in her seventies now—but still sharp, still commanding.
"Tony," she said, her voice thick with emotion. She crossed the room and pulled him into a hug.
Tony let himself be hugged. Let himself feel, just for a moment, like a kid being comforted by a trusted adult.
"I'm so sorry," Peggy said quietly. "Your father was my dear friend. This is—it's unthinkable."
"Yeah," Tony managed. "Unthinkable."
Peggy released him, turned to Rhodey. "And you are?"
"James Rhodes, ma'am. Tony's friend and roommate. I came to help however I can."
"Good man. We need more of those." Peggy gestured to Maria. "Your mother needs you, Tony."
Tony crossed the room to his mother. She looked up at him, and her face crumpled.
"Tony. Oh god, Tony."
He pulled her into his arms, held her while she cried. She felt small. Fragile. Maria Stark had always been the strong one, the emotional anchor of the family. Seeing her like this was wrong. Fundamentally wrong.
"I'm here, Mom. I'm here. It's going to be okay."
"He's gone, Tony. Your father is gone. And Adrian—Adrian almost died. I watched him fight that monster. I watched him get hurt trying to protect us. And I couldn't do anything. I just hid like a coward."
"You're not a coward. You survived. You're alive. That's what matters."
"But Howard—"
"I know, Mom. I know." Tony held her tighter. "But we're going to get through this. You, me, Adrian. We're going to survive this. Together."
Maria clung to him like a lifeline.
Rhodey had moved to speak quietly with Peggy Carter, giving Tony and Maria privacy.
After a few minutes, Maria pulled back, wiping her eyes. "You should see your brother. He's in the ICU. They said he's stable but—Tony, he looks so hurt. So broken."
"I'll go see him. Rhodey, you stay with Mom?"
"Of course." Rhodey settled into the chair beside Maria. "Mrs. Stark, I'm James Rhodes. Tony's mentioned you many times. I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you, James. And please, call me Maria."
Tony looked at Peggy. "Can you walk me to Adrian's room? I want to know what happened. Everything."
"Of course."
They left the waiting room, walked down the hallway toward the ICU. Peggy walked beside Tony, her pace measured, her expression serious.
"What do you know?" Tony asked. "About what happened?"
"More than I wish I did." Peggy's voice was tight. "Your father was assassinated, Tony. This wasn't a random attack. It was planned. Professional. The attacker disabled their car with spike strips, then moved in for the kill."
"Who was it?"
"A HYDRA operative. We've confirmed it through DNA evidence and your mother's testimony. The assassin is someone called the Winter Soldier."
"HYDRA? I thought HYDRA was destroyed after the war."
"So did we. We were wrong." Peggy stopped walking, turned to face Tony directly. "Tony, what I'm about to tell you is classified at the highest level. But you deserve to know. Your father recognized the assassin. Called him by name. Bucky Barnes."
Tony's brain stuttered. "Bucky Barnes? Captain America's Bucky Barnes? The one who died in 1945?"
"Apparently he didn't die. HYDRA found him. Enhanced him. Turned him into their weapon. And he's been operating in the shadows for nearly fifty years."
"Jesus Christ."
"Your brother fought him, Tony. An eighteen-year-old college student fought a super soldier assassin and survived. More than survived—he inflicted damage. Made the Winter Soldier bleed. Gave your mother time to hide. Saved her life."
Tony felt something shift in his chest. Pride. Fear. Confusion.
"Adrian fought a super soldier."
"Yes. And based on the forensic evidence, he fought *well*. Agent Fury is very interested in speaking with your brother when he wakes up. Adrian has combat training beyond anything in his file."
"He does martial arts. Competition stuff. But that's not the same as fighting an actual assassin."
"No, it's not." Peggy resumed walking. "Which raises questions. Questions that will need to be answered. But for now, your brother needs to recover."
They reached the ICU. Peggy used her credentials to get them through security. The nurse on duty looked up.
"You're here for Adrian Stark?"
"I'm his brother."
"Room 318. He's stable but still unconscious. Try not to disturb him. And if any of the monitors start alarming, get a nurse immediately."
"Understood."
Tony walked to room 318. Pushed open the door.
And stopped.
Adrian lay in the hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and IVs and medical equipment. His face was swollen and bruised, nose clearly broken, bandages everywhere. His chest rose and fell with the assistance of oxygen tubes.
He looked young. Vulnerable. Nothing like the guy who'd apparently fought a super soldier.
Tony crossed the room slowly, pulled up a chair beside the bed, and sat down.
"Hey, Adrian," he said quietly. "It's Tony. I'm here. Mom's okay. She's down the hall. You saved her, you idiot. You saved Mom."
Adrian didn't respond. Just kept breathing, unconscious, healing.
Tony reached out, carefully took his brother's hand. It was warm. Alive.
"You're supposed to be the smart one," Tony said, his voice thick. "The responsible one. What the hell were you thinking, fighting an assassin? You could have died. You *should* have died. But you didn't. Because you're apparently too stubborn to die."
He squeezed Adrian's hand gently.
"Dad's gone," Tony whispered. "He's really gone. And I don't know how to deal with that. I don't know how to be the person everyone needs me to be. But you—you need to wake up. You need to recover. Because I can't do this alone, Adrian. I need my brother."
A nurse appeared in the doorway. "Sir, visiting hours are technically over, but given the circumstances, you can stay. Just try to let him rest."
"Thank you. I won't disturb him."
The nurse left.
Tony sat there, holding his brother's hand, and finally let himself cry.
For his father. For his family. For the future that had been stolen from them.
And for the brother who'd fought harder than anyone had a right to fight, and somehow survived.
Outside the room, Peggy Carter stood with Agent Fury, watching through the window.
"The kid's strong," Fury said quietly. "Both of them. They're going to need to be, for what's coming."
"What is coming, Nick?"
"HYDRA's still out there. The Winter Soldier is still out there. And they have Howard's research—or think they do. This isn't over."
"No," Peggy agreed. "It's just beginning."
They watched Tony Stark sit vigil beside his unconscious brother, and both of them thought the same thing:
*The Stark family was going to need protection.*
*And SHIELD was going to need answers.*
*About HYDRA. About the Winter Soldier. About Bucky Barnes.*
*And about Adrian Stark, the eighteen-year-old who'd fought like a trained soldier and survived.*
*Everything was about to change.*
*For everyone.*
---
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