Father of the Slain (III)

"-.15 April, 1989 .-"

The routine of angry Stark Senior corralling the sullen Stark Junior back to guard, home and smothering safety played out as usual up until half-way to the drive to their private jet. Then Tony Stark was abruptly jarred out of his autopilot by the unexpected turn taken by his father's rant.

"… -tting in trouble with the law, you could have died! You could have been kidnapped! And that's not counting what you ran away to do. You swore to me, son, you swore up down and sideways you wouldn't snoop around government intelligence again after that stunt you pulled at the Pentagon. Oh how that promise has aged! Bad enough that you somehow found out about the most sensitive murder investigation currently underway, you went and personally interfered in a classified surveillance operation! Did whatever you snooped around not make it clear he might not even know his relatives' death wasn't an accident? Going off half-cocked and then getting personally involved with that… that vagrant, what did you think would happen?!"

"Hey, that 'vagrant' is the only reason your oh so precious son isn't a druggie on top of everything else that's shit in my life!" Tony lashed out. To his astonishment, the old man actually halted in surprise at his outburst. Unfortunately, Tony couldn't even savour that unprecedented achievement before the rest finished registering in his mind. "And what the hell do you mean Richard's under investigation? Wait, his dad and uncle were murdered!?"

That's when the car blew up.

The first time he regained consciousness barely lasted through his desperate gasp for clean air when his dead bodyguard was pulled off him. The second time was a brief flash of being carried over someone's shoulder while people shot, shouted, grunted and snarled at each other all over the place. The third time lasted enough for him to blearily look around for the source of whoever was suicidal enough to be making steel shavings next to his bed. Darkness reclaimed him while staring dumbly at the cybernetic hand that rained down in pieces all over the concrete after sharp metal claws sliced it to bits right in front of his face.

The fourth time he woke slowly. He woke to the pretty shopkeeper leaning over him. Her dainty hands were rubbing ointment into his skin. And his shoulders. And his chest. Which seemed to have a lot less clothing on for some reason. Some had been torn off him. All of upper him. Hot mama. It was enough to make him think he was dreaming. Her hands were glowing white too, which cemented that impression. His father's nearby presence did even less to suggest this wasn't a dream or drunken delusion. It was very common for the old man's specter to show up and sour even his best hallucinations with his glower of disdain.

Yes. Like that!

This time, though, Tony stayed aware long enough to finally conceive of the possibility that this might not be a dream after all. Good God, could reality be better than imagination after all?

Then something exploded somewhere and he flinched, gripping at the asphalt and trying to sit up and look around. Was that artillery? And jet sounds? They sounded way too close by.

"We need my car," Richard's voice suddenly reached him from somewhere to the side.

"What we need is information," Howard Stark bit back, because God forbid the working class be allowed an opinion. "Agent! You'd better have something for me."

"I'll have to disappoint you then, Mister Stark," said the… the… "I can no longer reach the rest of my team."

The people around him devolved into a strained back and forth about mutants, some cyborg assassin that was still a threat even one arm short, giant flying robots, and how any or all of them were probably using the others as scapegoats for their respective crimes of sedition with or without some unseen hand overseeing it all.

Tony found himself too shocked to participate in any of it because… Because…

Because…

"-ey still do not seem to coordinate, which can only mean-"

"You're the bookie!"

Agent Agent fell silent, blinked down at him and smiled politely as if he hadn't just reported his entire team having probably been murdered to death just now. "Welcome back Mister Stark. I'm Phil C-"

"-Creepy! Agent Creepy-as-Fuck, that's what you are," Tony groaned, sitting up and inspecting himself in disbelief. "As is the fact that I have apparently been put back together without the use of scrapers even though I'm pretty sure we exploded and why are your hands GLOWING!?"

"Is he concussed?" Richard asked magic lady that might not be a hack after all.

"No."

"Is he possessed?" asked Agent and oh Tony was so going to-

"Not by anything that wasn't haunting him before."

Tony blinked owlishly. "Implausibly pretty witch lady say what now?"

"Enough!" Barked Stark Senior. "If we have time to talk we have time to come up with an escape plan!"

"Which means my car. Tony!" Richard barked. "Stand up!"

Tony scrambled to obey before he could think about it. He swayed a little once he was vertical, but his dizzy spell faded almost as quick as it came. Which had the side-benefit of making him miss his old man's outrage over Richard presuming to command anyone, let alone his son.

"-licate condition! What my son sees in someone like you, I'll never-"

"Can you put a sock in it, dad?" Tony groaned. "And I am NOT in a delicate condition!"

"We just got our car blown up and you almost died! What do you call that?"

"Swimming up shit creek without breath masks." The gall of him to act like he suddenly cared. "Richard," Tony said, turning away from… everyone he didn't trust while cradling his forehead. "What's your plan?"

"You're asking HIM!? If it wasn't for him, none of this-"

"I didn't ask you, you UNGRATEFUL ASS!" Tony roared and rounded on his startled father, seized by a rage like he'd never felt. "I didn't ask you! No one asked you! I never asked you here! I didn't call you here! HE DID! And you have the gall to step all over him? What the hell is wrong with you? Our bodyguards are dead, your precious secret agents are dead – bar the one whose credentials are in illegal gambling – but it's Richard you have a problem with? Fuck you, old man! I trust him more than I'd trust ten of you!"

Howard stark stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment. He looked singed and bruised and roughed up as all hell too, but Tony didn't find it in him to care. The belated realization that he'd probably just blown anything resembling a cover barely pushed past the haze in Tony's mind too. The best day of his last five years had literally exploded around him. And the one who'd brought it crashing down had the nerve to badmouth the only one there worth any respect. The calls of ravens distantly sounded at the back of his mind. Where the hell was an industrial robotic arm when you needed one?

"Friendly incoming!" Agent said suddenly.

"Good to see y'all are still kickin'," the cage fight bombshell said as she quickly strode in from the mouth of the alley. Her coat was gone and her clothes were singed and torn right through in several places, but the skin beneath was perfect. "Wolverine's distracting the sentinel but there's just one of him against two or more of them." Sentinel? Did she mean the robot? "If you've got a getaway, it'd be mighty fine to take it now."

"We do. Let's go," Richard said and jogged off in the other direction.

So of course Tony ducked under his dad's reaching arm and followed immediately. And because he followed, everyone else also followed. Huh.

Was this true power?

They quickly emerged from what turned out to be the alley at the back of the Merry Quill. Richard's car was nearby, and the parking lot lights at least made sure they wouldn't have to stumble blindly in the dark.

As soon as they reached it, though, Richard opened the door on the driver's side but didn't get in. Instead, he unlocked the trunk and front hood and initiated the hood roll-back before he quickly came out again. "Tony. Familiarise yourself with the car. The rest of you with me. What guns do you already have?"

Were they supposed to have any? But Tony didn't ask because he had other things to do, so he did them. Starting off by lifting up the hood and inspecting the car's insides. Bless Richard for remembering his fixations even after so many years. Now let's see what he had to work wi- a 27-litre Merlin engine!? What the-where would he-why-? And he could see forced induction too, head work, a lowered compression ratio, gear ratios of 1.908, 1.525, 1.282, 1.085, 0.922, 0.786… Tony could even see clear signs of balancing and blueprinting as well, plus fast road cams, a cryo-treated block and upgraded fuelling. Not any combination he'd seen, but considering the weight of the car compared to other configurations…

Tony frowned, took a few steps back and began to slowly circle the car. All the while, Richard verbally sparred with Dad and Agent over the contents of his trunk.

Tony ignored them.

Weight distribution… not exactly 50/50 because of the front area, but the 245 mm wide rear tires were there. As was a 6-inch ground clearance, probably a final drive of 3.85, max BHP of probably 6250 with gearchange at 6500, max lb/ft at 5200, redline 7500 and turbocharger… "Richard…" Tony asked lowly as he started his second walk around the vehicle. "Did you turn a Rolls Royce Corniche into a 10-second car?"

"With a weight of 3 tons including passengers? Not hardly. It's as close as I could get with readily available parts though."

"Readily- there is nothing readily available about a Merlin Engine!"

Richard ignored him in favour of distributing enough firepower to fight a turf war. Increasingly snidely too. Know how to shoot Mister Stark? Have his here pistol just in case anyway. Any good with anything bigger than that pea shooter Agent? Take this av .44 Magnum Marlin Model 1894 and go for the eyes. Mister Stark, any good with a rifle? Oh, you'd much rather question my right to buy however many guns I want as an American citizen? While I'm surrounded by everything the second amendment exists to empower me against? Have fun calling for evasive maneuvers and I'll use this Colt AR-15 myself. Complete with recoil buffer assembly because I'm strong enough to haul it around as if it not's heavy as sin even without attachments. That just left one. "Ladies – Meredith and Rogue was it? Can you shoot?"

"Maybe," Rogue – finally a name! – grimaced. "Long as you mind the upper body strength, sugar."

"Take this then," he tossed her a 10mm and a bunch of .44 Magnum cartridges. "The recoil is rough, but you should be able to handle it. Mind the muzzle flash."

"Just don't expect me to keep up with y'all, hmm?"

Which was when Meredith Quill, who everyone else had ignored even though she was right there all along, stepped forward and placed her hand on Rogue's cheek.

Rogue froze. For some reason. It looked a lot like shock.

Then the other woman took Rogue's right glove off, reached for Richard as well and pulled their hands together.

The three shimmered with… something amid gasps of surprise. Blood vessels and nerve clusters both somehow stood out sharply beneath their skin. Richard grunted. Rogue moaned. Meredith Quill breathed out a long, thick sigh. And all three were overlayed with multicolored auras that shone like haloes of light too bright to be seen even in the night, for a moment.

The three staggered apart under the alarmed stares of the others and Tony Stark blinked away the afterimages of that… that…

"What was…?" Richard wheezed as if he'd just gone another ten rounds with a certain wolf man, whose roar came right on the heels of another blast of something just then. Pain this time. "Shit, no time. Everybody in the car! Mister Stark, you're shotgun. Everybody else in the back, squeeze in however you can. Tony, take the wheel!"

"WHAT!?" Stark Senior balked. "If you think I'll let-TONY!"

"Can you drive like a professional maniac?" Richard asked, tossing a heavy bag between the front seats while Tony was already revving the engine and screw you too, bud and dad. "Everyone else, sort yourselves out! Westward interstate, Tony! Go go go!"

They roared out of the parking lot with Meredith Quill in Agent's lap and Rogue on the other side, both women holding onto Richard's legs so he wouldn't be blown off his feet where he stood in the middle of it all, one foot on the floor and one on the backseat.