Chapter 43

Andromeda Tonks stood over James "Rhodey" Rhodes' cot, her wand held steady in her hand. Its tip glowed softly, casting a warm light on Rhodey's tired face. Beside her, Ted Tonks adjusted a modified Muggle medical device—a Frankenstein's monster of wires, tubes, and spell-infused crystals. The device hummed faintly, a blend of technology and magic barely holding itself together.

Rhodey stirred, letting out a low groan. His face was pale, the strain of his injury visible even in sleep. The bullet had been removed, but the damage to his spine had been severe. Magic had stabilized him, but recovery was going to be a long, uphill battle.

Ted sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose as he stepped back. "Alright," he muttered, running a hand through his graying hair. "Good news and bad news time. The good news? The healing spells are doing their job. The bad news?" He gestured to the magical braces encasing Rhodey's legs. "It's going to take months—months—before he's back on his feet."

Andromeda frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. She leaned over Rhodey, her gaze flicking to the magical monitor displaying his vitals. "Months? Even with magical enhancements to speed up nerve regrowth?"

Ted nodded, his face grim. "We've done all we can to stabilize him. But nerve damage...it's tricky. Delicate. If we push too hard—"

"We could do more harm than good," Andromeda finished for him, her voice sharp with concern.

Rhodey's eyes cracked open, his voice groggy but unmistakably his. "Y'know, I can hear you two, right?" he rasped. "I'm not a corpse yet."

Andromeda leaned in, gently but firmly pressing him back down as he tried to sit up. "You're not dead, Mr. Rhodes. But you'll wish you were if you keep trying to move."

"Yeah, yeah," Rhodey muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Spinal injuries are no joke. Got it." He winced, then smirked faintly. "But seriously, any chance you two could work quieter? Feels like I got hit by a truck."

"Close," Ted quipped, his tone dry. "More like a Hydra bullet. You're lucky it didn't sever your spine completely."

Rhodey huffed a weak laugh. "Lucky me. What's next? Magic rehab sessions?"

Andromeda smiled despite herself. "Something like that. But only if you behave and rest. No heroics."

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. "Heroics? Me? Nah, I'll leave that to Stark. He's got enough 'hero' for both of us."

Ted chuckled as he double-checked the device. "Good plan. And hey, if Tony gets too cocky, Andromeda here might be tempted to hex him."

"Tempted?" Andromeda shot Ted a look. "It's already on my to-do list."

Rhodey snorted, though the effort clearly cost him. "Do me a favor—film it when you do. I'll need the laugh."

Andromeda gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "Rest now. You're in good hands."

"Better than Stark's hands, that's for damn sure," Rhodey mumbled as his eyes slid shut, exhaustion overtaking him again.

---

The tension was thick enough to cut with Cap's shield. Tony Stark leaned casually against the wall, but the sharpness in his eyes gave away his impatience. His fingers drummed against the metal surface as he watched the Hydra prisoners, his gaze shifting between Sinthea Schmidt and the sniper.

"So," Tony drawled, finally breaking the silence, "what's the verdict, Cap? Hydra Barbie spilling her evil master plan, or are we just playing the silent treatment game?"

Steve Rogers, standing at the head of the table, barely glanced at him. His jaw was set, his blue eyes locked on Sinthea with unyielding intensity. "We're working on it, Tony."

Tony pushed off the wall, his arms spreading wide as he walked toward the table. "Working on it? Steve, c'mon. She's practically begging for the villain monologue. Why don't we just let her do her thing? Y'know, the whole 'I'm evil, here's my diabolical plan' routine."

Sinthea's lips curved into a cold smile, her voice silky and mocking. "And what makes you think I'd tell you anything, Stark?"

Tony smirked, leaning over the table to meet her gaze. "Because, Schmidt, people like you can't resist the spotlight. You've got a big ol' neon sign over your head that says, 'Ask me about my evil plan.' And lucky for you, I'm a great listener."

From his corner, Bucky Barnes crossed his arms, his sharp blue eyes boring into the sniper, who squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. "Tony," Bucky said evenly, "maybe let Steve handle this?"

Tony threw a hand toward Bucky, not breaking eye contact with Sinthea. "I'm just saying, Buck. You want intel? Let her talk. Bad guys love to talk. It's like their whole thing. Rule #1 in the Villain Handbook."

Alexei Shostakov, slouched in a chair near the back, chuckled. "He's not wrong."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly debating whether to reprimand Tony or let him keep going. "Tony," he said evenly, "maybe you should check on Rhodey."

The smirk faltered for half a second, replaced by a flicker of genuine concern. But Tony recovered quickly, straightening up with a dramatic flourish. "Fine. But if I come back and Hydra Barbie hasn't sung like a canary, I'm bringing my portable lie detector. Spoiler alert: it's me."

He turned to leave, pausing at the door to toss one last remark over his shoulder. "Enjoy the hospitality, Schmidt. Don't get too comfortable, though. Cap's speeches can really drag."

As the door swung shut behind him, the room fell silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights.

Steve let out a long sigh, his focus snapping back to Sinthea. "Now, where were we?"

"Somewhere between boring and insufferable," Sinthea said dryly, her smirk returning.

Bucky cracked his knuckles, his expression as cold as winter. "We'll see how funny you think this is when you start talking."

Alexei leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I like this one," he said, pointing at Bucky. "Very dramatic. Like a Russian winter."

Steve ignored them, his voice sharp as he addressed Sinthea. "You've got one chance to make this easy on yourself. Tell us what Hydra's planning."

Sinthea's smile widened, but she said nothing.

From his corner, Alexei shrugged. "Well, this is going to take a while. Someone wake me when she cracks."

—

The door to the safehouse burst open with the kind of force only someone like Nick Fury could bring, though his entrance was overshadowed by the click of polished Oxfords on concrete as Howard Stark sauntered in behind him. The elder Stark looked as though he'd just stepped off the cover of GQ, perfectly tailored suit, silk tie slightly loosened, and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Howard surveyed the room like he was back at a board meeting and had already decided everyone else was an idiot. "Well, well, look at this charming little death trap you've got going. How's my favorite son holding up?"

"Favorite?" Tony Stark, sprawled on the couch with an ice pack on his shoulder, barely glanced up. "Newsflash, pops. I'm your only son. And I'm thriving, thanks for asking. A little sore, maybe, but nothing a martini and some dadly validation wouldn't fix."

Howard flicked his cigarette into an ashtray with practiced precision. "Validation? From me? What am I, your therapist?"

"Could've fooled me," Tony shot back, wincing as he shifted to sit up straighter. "You've got that 'disappointed parent' thing down to a science."

"Years of practice," Howard said with a smirk, then turned his attention to the others. "Where's Rhodes? I heard he took a hit."

Steve Rogers stepped forward, ever the boy scout. His face was a mix of exhaustion and determination. "He's in the med bay. He's stable, but he needs rest. Ted and Andromeda are taking good care of him."

Howard gave a tight nod. "Good. Kid's got more brains than you do, Anthony, and better taste in friends." His eyes flicked to Steve, then to Bucky Barnes, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement. "Speaking of which... Sergeant Barnes. You ever gonna say hi, or are you too busy perfecting your 'mysterious loner' act?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Hi, Howard. Nice suit. Didn't realize we were supposed to dress for cocktail hour."

"Always dress like you've got somewhere better to be," Howard replied smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. "Not that I'd expect you to understand, what with the whole 'grunge assassin' aesthetic you've got going."

Bucky smirked, pushing off the wall. "Careful, Stark. I might start thinking you missed me."

Howard chuckled. "Missed you? Don't flatter yourself, kid."

Before the banter could escalate, Nick Fury cleared his throat—a sound that commanded instant silence. He strode into the center of the room, his trench coat billowing slightly, with Maria Hill on his heels. Fury's single eye scanned the group like a hawk sizing up prey.

"All right, fun's over," Fury said, his voice like gravel soaked in whiskey. "We've got a Hydra agent in the next room who knows more than she's saying, and I don't have the patience for games. Stark, Stark Junior, Rogers, Barnes—you're all staying out of my way."

Tony raised a hand. "Uh, excuse me, 'Junior?' Do I look like a backup singer to you?"

Fury didn't even blink. "You look like someone who needs to shut up and let the adults talk."

"Ouch," Tony said, clutching his chest. "Right in the ego. You been practicing that, or does it just come naturally?"

"Naturally," Maria Hill interjected dryly, scrolling through her tablet. "And for the record, he's right. You've already got enough bruises without adding to them."

"Thanks, Hill," Tony deadpanned. "Always a ray of sunshine."

Howard smirked. "She's got a point. You're like a magnet for bad decisions, Anthony."

"And yet, here you are," Tony shot back, gesturing broadly. "Dragging your self-proclaimed superior intellect into my safehouse. What's the matter, Dad? Couldn't stay away?"

Howard ignored the jab, turning back to Fury. "So, what's the plan with Schmidt?"

"Interrogation," Fury said bluntly, already moving toward the door. "Hill and I'll handle it. The rest of you stay here and try not to burn the place down."

Steve stepped forward, frowning. "She's dangerous, Fury. You sure you don't need backup?"

Fury turned, leveling Steve with a look that could have frozen fire. "Captain, you're a national treasure, but I don't need backup. I need results. And you're more useful out here making sure Stark doesn't blow something up."

Steve pressed his lips together, clearly unhappy but willing to defer. "Just… be careful. She's Hydra. That means she's always got an angle."

"Appreciate the concern," Fury said, his tone making it clear he didn't. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

As Fury and Hill disappeared into the interrogation room, Howard turned back to Tony, hands on his hips. "So, Anthony, what exactly did you do to piss off Hydra this time?"

Tony grinned. "Oh, you know. Existing. Being devastatingly handsome. Inventing world-changing tech. The usual."

Howard sighed, rubbing his temples. "You're going to give me a stroke one of these days."

"Yeah, well," Tony said, leaning back on the couch with a smirk. "If it happens, I'm putting 'caused by excessive genius' on the death certificate."

---

Sinthea Schmidt sat chained to the table, her crimson hair a wild halo around her face. She looked up as Nick Fury entered, her lips curling into a smile that didn't reach her cold blue eyes.

"Director Fury," she drawled, her voice laced with mockery. "And the ever-efficient Maria Hill. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Fury didn't sit, looming over her instead. "Save the charm, Schmidt. I'm not here for pleasantries."

"That's a shame," she purred. "I'd hoped for some stimulating conversation."

Maria folded her arms, leaning against the wall. "You want stimulation? Try answering our questions. What's Hydra planning?"

Sinthea chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "And what makes you think I'd tell you anything? Loyalty is more than a word to us, Director."

Fury leaned in, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Loyalty doesn't mean much when Hydra's already sharpening the knife for your back. You're expendable, Schmidt. They'll cut you loose the second you're more trouble than you're worth."

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Sinthea's face. Fury caught it, pressing the advantage.

"Talk," he said, his tone like steel. "Because the only thing worse than Hydra is me. And right now? I'm the only thing standing between you and a very messy end."

—

Tony Stark and Howard Stark entered the dimly lit room with an air of quiet urgency. The soft hum of magical devices filled the space, merging with the faint whir of Muggle technology, creating an odd symphony that only people like Tony could appreciate. Tony's eyes quickly found Rhodey's cot. The sight of his best friend, laying there unconscious with magical braces wrapped around his legs, hit him harder than he'd care to admit.

Despite his usual bravado, Tony's lips tightened, and a flicker of worry passed across his face before he masked it with his characteristic smirk.

"Hey, how's he doing?" Tony asked, trying to sound casual but not quite pulling it off.

Andromeda Tonks, standing beside the bed, met his gaze and sighed. "The bullet's out, Tony. Magic's stabilized him for now, but..."

Tony's eyes darkened as she trailed off, already knowing what was coming. He stepped forward, carefully examining the magical braces around Rhodey's legs.

Ted Tonks, standing near a modified Muggle medical device—a strange contraption of wires, tubes, and glowing crystals—let out a long breath. "Nerve damage," he said flatly. "Magic or no magic, it's a long road. He won't be walking unassisted for months."

"Months?" Tony's voice dropped, the smirk slipping from his face. He ran a hand through his hair, his usual playful demeanor faltering for a second as he looked at his unconscious friend. "You're telling me... months?"

Ted nodded, a grim look on his face. "The healing spells will help, but nerve regeneration isn't quick, even with magic. He needs both magical therapy and Muggle physical rehab if he's going to get any movement back."

Tony looked at Rhodey's peaceful face for a moment, then shot a glance at his father, Howard, standing just behind him. "You sure we can't just throw some of those magic crystals at him? Maybe make it a bit faster? Or at least get him an upgrade, like—oh, I don't know—a powered exo-skeleton?" Tony's voice rose with excitement, his mind already spinning with ideas.

Howard raised an eyebrow. "You're really thinking about a powered suit for him already? He hasn't even woken up yet."

Tony shrugged, his grin returning. "Why wait? We could make him an upgraded version of himself while he's still in bed. Like some kind of enhanced Rhodey 2.0. Imagine it—custom Stark-style leg braces."

Howard chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Of course you'd suggest that."

Tony was already pacing, a spark of invention in his eyes. "Hear me out, Dad. We get Rhodey something far better than whatever the wizards are throwing together. Powered, custom-made, the whole shebang. Lightweight. Adjustable. Something so advanced, his legs won't even know what hit 'em. I'm talking magic-infused alloys, high-tech polymers. We give him enhanced strength, mobility, stability." He gestured dramatically, his hands moving like he was sketching the concept out in the air. "He'll walk like nothing happened. Hell, he'll move better than most people with two fully working legs!"

"You sure he won't look like a walking Transformer?" Howard quipped, glancing at the magical braces around Rhodey's legs.

Tony shot him a mock glare. "You know I'm all for functionality, not form. But maybe a little flair wouldn't hurt." He smiled as he looked down at his friend, who was still resting. "Rhodey's gonna get back on his feet—literally—faster than anyone thought. I've got this."

Howard, clearly amused by his son's enthusiasm, leaned back slightly, his hand on his chin. "Well, I'll give you this, Tony. When you've got an idea, it's full throttle."

Ted raised his hand slightly, drawing their attention. "You'll need a lot more than just magic and Muggle tech. You'll need to make sure the systems mesh—so they don't... well, break him."

Tony turned to Ted, nodding. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. We've got the tech side covered." He leaned toward his father. "Micro-gyroscopes for balance control, some of that fancy stuff they're using in prosthetics right now. Maybe even some neural interfaces for syncing with the nervous system."

"You sure you want to go that high-tech?" Ted asked, adjusting his glasses. "You'd be dealing with a lot of variables."

Tony grinned. "Why do you think I'm calling in the big guns? We'll make it work. We've got magic and science on our side. It's just... Rhodey's getting the best of both worlds." He turned his attention back to the magical enhancements. "Okay, okay, so magic's the brainpower, tech's the muscle. Throw in some wireless diagnostics, real-time tracking, and remote access? Boom. We get him back to full function faster than you can say 'stabilizing charm.'"

Howard looked pleased at the way things were shaping up. "That's more like it. The Stark legacy continues. First, the arc reactor. Now this."

Tony's grin widened. "Yup. First we made the arc reactor. Now we're going to make Rhodey's legs supercharged."

Ted raised his hand again. "Alright, alright. I'm in. If you can make this tech work, I'll help integrate the magic. After all, it's a good challenge."

Tony gave him a thumbs-up, already buzzing with excitement. "That's the spirit. Dad, you handle the electronics. Ted, Andromeda, you guys can take care of the magical integration." He looked down at Rhodey again, determination flashing in his eyes. "We're gonna get him out of here, no problem. And not just get him walking—get him walking like a superhero."

"And don't push him too hard," Andromeda interjected, her voice serious but not unkind. "He's going to need time. This isn't going to be a quick fix."

Tony waved her off. "Time is relative, Andromeda. What's a couple of months when we've got magic and tech on our side?" He grinned, the usual cocky charm back in full force. "Besides, Rhodey's been through worse. And if I've learned anything from my years at MIT, it's that technology always works, even when people say it won't."

Howard and Tony shared a look, then a chuckle, as they both fell into their own rhythm. Ideas flowed between them, plans being formed at the speed of thought. Ted and Andromeda started discussing the finer points of magical integration, with Ted asking pointed questions about things he'd never had to think about before.

As they all stood around Rhodey, brainstorming the future, it was clear that whatever came next, Rhodey wasn't going to be stuck in a bed for long.

"I'll be back on my feet in no time," Rhodey muttered groggily from the cot, cracking his eyes open just enough to see them gathered around him. "So, what's this about superhero leg braces?"

Tony leaned over, grinning broadly. "You're welcome, buddy. You're gonna be back to kicking ass in no time."

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sure. Just make sure they don't come with a suit of armor, okay? I'm not Tony Stark, after all."

Tony raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. "Who says you can't rock armor? You just wait, Rhodey. You'll be running circles around everyone—except me, of course."

"And don't forget—superhero leg braces," Howard added, with a wink.

Tony and Rhodey shared a laugh, even if it was a bit strained. But it was the first one in a long while—and it was enough to remind them both that no matter the obstacles ahead, they had each other's backs. And with a little bit of Stark ingenuity and magical help, there was no challenge they couldn't overcome.

—

The safehouse's training room hummed with energy, its high-tech equipment reflecting the flickering light from the overhead fixtures. Every punch, every dodge, every shift of movement seemed to vibrate through the air, the sound of fists landing against flesh accompanied by the rhythmic thuds of feet making contact with the mat. In one corner, 13-year-old Tonks twisted and contorted her body with an almost unnatural grace, her every move a testament to her growing mastery over her metamorphmagus abilities. Across from her stood 15-year-old Ororo Munroe, calm and poised, her hands low, a fierce storm of concentration swirling in her deep gaze. Her eyes flashed occasionally with the rising winds around her, but she kept herself grounded.

Harry and Natasha were standing just outside the sparring area, arms crossed as they observed the practice. Harry's gaze was focused, appreciative, but Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinized the sparring session. Her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly evaluating every move with the same precision she used when hunting down targets.

"Tonks is making impressive progress," Harry remarked, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched Tonks slip into a crouch and then, in a blink, morph into a near-perfect replica of Ororo, startling her older counterpart.

Ororo blinked but quickly recovered, a stormy wind whipping around her as she raised her hands in a defensive stance, her voice steady and commanding. "Nice trick, Tonks," she said. "But it's going to take more than that to win."

Tonks's mischievous grin never faltered. Her face shifted once again, this time adopting a much taller and imposing figure—like someone out of a comic book, complete with exaggerated muscle mass and a square jaw. "Well, you never know with me," she said, her voice deepened and more gruff, trying to play the part of a hero she'd seen in the comics.

Harry chuckled softly under his breath. "She's a little too creative with her transformations," he murmured to Natasha, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "But it's a great way to throw off your opponent."

Natasha's expression remained unreadable as she shifted her gaze to Melina May, who stood off to the side of the training floor. Melina's arms were crossed in her usual no-nonsense posture, her sharp eyes following every movement of the two girls, not offering any interruptions. Her stoic demeanor gave no indication of what she thought, but there was a subtle approval in her gaze as she took in their progress.

"Keeping an eye on them, May?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice just the slightest bit teasing.

Melina met her gaze, her expression as calm as ever, but there was an edge in her voice. "They've got potential," she replied coolly. "But potential alone won't get them through what's ahead." Her gaze lingered on Tonks as the young girl made another shape-shifting move, turning into someone slightly taller and more menacing.

Ororo, meanwhile, let the swirling winds around her recede, stepping back a little and raising her chin in a quiet show of respect. "Alright," she said, her voice like thunder but measured. "I think I've got the hang of your tricks, Tonks. What's next?"

Tonks's grin returned, wide and full of playful challenge. "I was thinking the same thing. What's your next move, Storm?" she asked, her voice light with teasing as she took on Ororo's codename with a teasing lilt.

Ororo gave her a knowing smirk, her eyes flashing with the storm that still swirled faintly in the air. "No tricks this time," she said, her tone full of quiet confidence. "Time to get serious."

Before Tonks could respond, Natasha's voice rang out, cutting through the atmosphere like a whip. "Enough showing off," she said firmly, her voice like steel. "You've got the fundamentals down, but it's time for something more real. Work as a team."

Harry's eyebrow quirked, his curiosity piqued as he turned to Natasha. "You're being a little harsh, don't you think?" he asked, his voice playful but laced with genuine concern. "They're still kids."

Natasha shot him a sideways glance, lips curling into a barely there smirk. "They're capable," she replied with calm assurance. "But in this world, potential doesn't mean a thing if they can't work together when it counts. They'll face enemies who won't give them a warm-up."

Tonks's face fell for a moment, her usual cocky grin faltering just slightly, but Ororo stepped in smoothly, her voice soft but firm. "Natasha's right," she said, her gaze steady and unyielding. "It's not just about how you fight—it's about how you fight with others. If you can't sync up, all the tricks in the world won't save you."

Tonks took a deep breath, nodding in agreement. Her playful expression returned, but this time there was a newfound seriousness in her stance. "Alright, Ororo. Let's do this."

The two girls moved into position, readying themselves for the next round of sparring—this time not against each other, but as a unit against May. Their movements began to flow in perfect harmony as they practiced combining their skills in ways they hadn't before. Ororo's winds, controlled and purposeful, swirled around Tonks, whose shifting body seemed to dodge and parry with an almost supernatural instinct.

Harry watched with growing pride as the girls worked together. "You see it too, right?" he said to Natasha, his voice quieter now. "They've got potential. They just need to be pushed. But that… that's going to be something special one day."

Natasha nodded, her eyes never leaving the girls. "They've got the drive," she said, her tone colder but tinged with something softer, almost wistful. "But it'll take more than that. They've got to be able to survive when things get ugly."

Harry's gaze softened as he watched Tonks's eyes flash with determination, her grin wide as she effortlessly morphed into a larger version of Ororo, mimicking the older girl's fighting style almost too perfectly. Ororo, on the other hand, seemed to ease into the rhythm of working with Tonks, her hands guiding the wind with a precision that made her a force to be reckoned with. The connection between them, though still raw and unrefined, was undeniable.

Natasha looked over at Harry then, her expression unreadable. "Do you think they'll be ready for what's coming?"

Harry's smile turned thoughtful, and his voice dropped to a quieter tone. "I don't know," he said honestly. "But they'll sure as hell be ready to try."

Meanwhile, Tonks's eyes flickered briefly toward Harry, a mischievous spark in them. She shifted her form again, turning into a version of Harry himself, complete with his familiar messy hair, but with her own youthful twist.

"You're right," she said with a grin. "We're gonna be great. Just wait and see."

Ororo shot Tonks a playful look as she raised her hands, sending a gust of wind to spin the young girl around, but there was no denying the warmth in her eyes as she glanced over at Harry too. Ororo, like Tonks, admired him—though perhaps in a more subtle way.

Harry chuckled at Tonks's antics but also couldn't help the warmth in his chest. "I'd bet my money on them any day," he said to Natasha, his voice low and affectionate as he watched the two girls—who, despite their rivalry and playful teasing, were growing into a formidable team before his eyes.

—

As Tony and Howard turned to leave the small, sterile room, the soft beeping of monitors and the low hum of medical devices filled the air. Rhodey's body was still, his life hanging in the balance, but the faint rise and fall of his chest was the only reassurance Tony could get. Howard glanced at the bed one last time, his expression unreadable, before his eyes flicked back to his son, the weight of the situation making his sharp features tighten.

The hallway stretched out in front of them, eerily quiet. The atmosphere in the lab had changed. Tony could still feel the bitter taste of anger lingering in the back of his throat. Rhodey had almost died. And for what? Some Hydra plot that almost took his best friend away? That thought didn't sit well with Tony. Not at all.

His footsteps quickened, the burn of frustration stoking a fire in his chest, but Howard kept his measured pace beside him, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You alright, Tony?" Howard asked, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it—maybe concern, maybe something else.

Tony didn't answer immediately. He was too busy processing what had just happened, and what he could do to make sure it never happened again. That's when the idea hit him. It was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind, like the fuse of a rocket ready to take off.

He stopped dead in his tracks, almost causing Howard to walk right into him.

Howard's brow furrowed. "Tony?"

Tony didn't even look at him. His mind was already elsewhere, far ahead in the future. "Armor," he muttered, eyes lighting up as the words left his lips, the sound of it almost too perfect to ignore.

Howard blinked, clearly confused. "Armor? What are you—like, the prosthetic leg braces?"

Tony spun on his heel, suddenly energized by a wild idea. "No, no, no. This isn't some little knee brace, Dad. This is big. Huge. I'm talking about something that says 'don't mess with me,' something that says 'I will end you' in about fifteen different languages." He paused for dramatic effect, pacing in circles, his hands weaving complex patterns through the air. "I'm talking about a suit—no, scratch that—the suit. It'll be for me, it'll be for Rhodey, and anyone else who crosses us? They'll wish they'd never been born. Hydra will get a taste of their own medicine. I'm going after them, and I'm going to make sure no one ever messes with us again."

Howard's mouth twitched. "You've had some crazy ideas before, Tony, but this one's... this one's next level. You're sure about this?"

Tony stopped pacing and finally looked at him, eyes wide, almost manic with excitement. "Dad, when have I not been sure about something like this? I'm telling you, I've been toying with it in the back of my head, but now? It's time to make it happen." His grin spread across his face like a kid on Christmas morning. "A suit of armor. A real suit of armor. Not just a shiny helmet and some body armor—I'm thinking full-on, high-tech, indestructible badassery. A machine that can fly, punch through walls, and maybe even take a missile or two without breaking a sweat. You know, the whole shebang."

Howard didn't seem convinced, his lips pulling into a small, skeptical frown. He rubbed a hand over his neatly combed hair, pushing it back as if trying to push away the ridiculousness of it all. "You realize what you're saying here, right? We're not talking about some prototype suit, Tony. This is bigger. You're talking about full-on battle-ready armor. And for you? And for Rhodey? You think you can just make that happen?"

Tony threw his hands up, exasperated, but his grin never wavered. "What's the problem, Dad? This is my thing! You know I can build anything if I put my mind to it. I've made a million things that shouldn't even be possible, so why not this?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes gleaming like he was about to reveal a secret. "Besides, once I'm done, Hydra's gonna get a visit from the most expensive and well-equipped reality check of their lives."

Howard stopped walking, then raised his eyebrows as he turned to face his son, an unreadable expression playing across his face. "You really think you can pull this off?"

Tony met his eyes, a smirk spreading across his face. "Not think, Dad. Know."

Howard paused, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. A brief flicker of pride flashed behind his eyes, and for just a second, Tony saw the man who had once been a brilliant inventor, a man who had never quite been able to match Tony's fire. Finally, Howard sighed, clearly resigned to the fact that his son was once again off the deep end. But there was no stopping him now.

"Alright, kid," Howard said, crossing his arms. "If you're serious about this, we'll need resources. And not just my name this time. We'll need everything we can get our hands on—technology, metal, the best of the best. Don't expect me to do all the heavy lifting this time, though." His eyes softened just a touch. "This is your baby, Tony."

Tony's grin widened, and without missing a beat, he slapped his hand on Howard's shoulder. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Pops."

They continued down the hallway, Howard leading the way as the two of them approached the elevator. Tony's mind was already buzzing with a thousand ideas, his hands moving on their own as he envisioned the suit. The suit. This wouldn't just be any armor; it would be the embodiment of everything Tony Stark was—brilliant, driven, unstoppable. And it was going to make Hydra wish they'd never taken Rhodey.

As they entered the elevator, Tony's thoughts turned back to his best friend. "And when Rhodey's back on his feet," Tony muttered, "I'll build him a suit too. He's not gonna be left behind. Not on my watch."

Howard shot him a quick look, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're getting attached, Tony. I thought you didn't do 'attached.'"

Tony shot him a playful side-eye. "You don't know me as well as you think, Dad. But you're right about one thing—this isn't just about a suit. This is personal. And when I'm done, Hydra won't know what hit 'em."

The doors to the elevator slid shut, and the two Stark men stood in silence as the elevator descended, Tony already lost in a world of designs, blueprints, and the first steps of building a legacy. In that moment, he wasn't just Tony Stark. He was about to become something more.

Iron Man.

---

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