chapter xxvii.
( iron man 3 )

if  'i love you'    was    a    promise
would you break it, if you're honest
tell     the     mirror      what      you
know       she's      heard      before
i  don't  wanna   be   you  anymore
idon'twannabeyouanymore ─── billie eilish

tennessee
december 24, 2012

I'm still shivering as I stay curled up in the passenger seat. Dad's speeding like he always is, but it's oddly soothing as the hum of the car, the heat from the vents, and my dad's presence brings a kind of peace over me. I sniff a little and drag my sleeve across my nose. I'm either suffering from a bad cold or the disease is getting worse. Dad glances over at me and does a doubletake as I rest my temple on my right kneecap.

He reaches a hand over and gently pushes my bangs back, glancing at my bruises with a small and worried frown, "You okay there, Smalls? Ya look awful."

"Wow, thanks, Dad," I tiredly smirk.

"You know that's not what I meant." He gives me a look.

"Mmhm," I hum back with a yawn, "I'm okay."

"Alright." He playfully bumps my chin with his knuckle before looking back at the road with a concentrated look on his face.

I smile softly in his direction. He's coming back. We're coming back. It's all going to be normal again. My eyes slide closed as I bury my cheek into my knee.

"Hey." Dad speaks quietly, "Pass me that file."

Pulling one eye open, I squint and hand the the file over to him, "Here."

The file ruffles as he takes it one hand and rests it up against the steering wheel. His eyes leave the road and narrow in thought as he opens the file and looks through the papers. As I continue to watch him tiredly, he sets the file back into my lap and he pulls one specific paper from it. He glares down at it for a few moments, unable to make sense of the acronym of MIA in the corner. He irritatedly drops it on top of the file, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the ground.

"Oh man," he distantly whispers, deep in thought, "Happy, Happy, Happy,"

All chances at sleep have completely abandoned me now. I swallow harshly and my shoulders straighten as the guilt weeds it's way back into my heart. Happy. I try to picture him lying in a hospital bed back in Malibu with a tube down his throat as his mind is stuck in a coma. The thought is enough to bring tears to my eyes and I sniff once more. Suddenly Dad jerks, snatches the lone paper back up, and he harshly flips it around. I feel all of the blood drain from my face at what we both see.

AIM.

Advanced Idea Mechanics.

Oh God.

This wasn't a mistake. This wasn't an accident. Absolutely none of this was. I didn't inadvertently help someone whose information was stolen by a terrorist, just as this terrorist wasn't simply claiming responsibility. No, no, this was the terrorist's doing. This was his plan, this was his. I helped a terrorist! I fed him the information! I'm no better than the bad guys.

Dad's eyes angrily roll back and forth to the paper as he scoffs.

"Daddy," I meekly whisper as tears slip down my cheeks.

"What?" He nearly snaps, still glaring at the paper and then at the road.

"I-I," I struggle for air as a lump rises in my throat.

His expression softens ever so slightly as he sends me a confused look, "What?"

"I did this," I continue to whisper, feeling so stupid and small and useless, "I did this."

"Did what?" he distractedly shakes his head, raising an eyebrow.

His tone sounds anything but condemning and I wish it could stay that way. I wish he didn't see me for all of my faults and the stupid, stupid mistakes I have made. But he has to. I have to tell the truth. I finally have to tell him the truth. I did this. The time of the first reckoning has come.

"I helped AIM. They came to me and I helped them because I," I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to finish my explanation, "I-I helped with Extremis, the thing that keeps blowing up. I helped with the equation. You, I, I didn't," more tears fall as I shakily breathe, "I did this."

Dad's knuckles turn white as his fists curl around the steering wheel. His gaze is hard and cold and unfeeling as he stares straight ahead. The silence grows thicker and thicker until I feel like I can't even inhale the air between us anymore. His eyes dart around as his jaw clenches and unclenches, like he's trying to restrain from saying something. The realization of the things that he probably wants to say makes my wrists ache and more tears fill my blue eyes. The guilt feels so unbearable that I'd do anything, anything to make it stop. I just want it to leave me alone. I just want someone to tell me that it's not my fault, to tell me that it's going to be okay.

My voice can hardly be classified as a whisper, "Dad, I am so sorry,"

"Don't!" Dad suddenly snaps, shooting me a glare so dark that I shrivel back into my seat, "You, you just, you just don't," he doesn't finish, pressing his lips into a very thin line.

He scoffs before once again curling his hand into a fist and sprawling it back out onto the steering wheel. I let out a quiet breath and pull my gaze ahead, curling in my lip as I bite down onto it until I draw blood. He looks at me one last time with something that I've never really seen from him before. Disappointment. He curtly turns back to the road, his eyes narrowed and his face concentrated.

Time passes agonizingly slowly. His hands carefully begin to release his vice grip on the steering wheel and his eyes close as he takes in short, cutting breaths. He doesn't ever look back at me and he's practically shifted his shoulder in a way that it's blocking me out. It's like he nearly forgets all about me and it's miserable that I somehow feel better about the fact. He gives his head a quick shake before he snatches the phone from the cupholder and dials a number that I don't even try to see. I stay curled up in the seat, shivering and trying to hold in my tears.

"Hello?" Rhodey's nearly carefree sounding voice fills my ears.

And Dad sounds like his old self again as he goes, "You ever have a chick straddling you and you look up and suddenly she's glowing from the inside out, kind of," his eye twitches as he shuffles through the papers of the file, "a bright orange?"

Ew.

"Yeah, I've had that," Rhodey speaks sarcastically as he quickly asks, "Who is this?"

"It's me, Pal. Now, last time Lees and I went missing," I can hear Rhodey laughing happily in the background as Dad keeps going, "if I remember correctly, you came looking for us. What are you doing?"

"A little knock-and-talk, making friends in Pakistan. What are you two doing?"

They both sound nonchalant and I have no idea how.

"Your redesign, your big rebrand, that was AIM," he nearly spits out the word and I can actually see him resisting the urge to glare at me, "right?"

"Yeah?" Rhodey answers in a questioning tone.

Dad throws one of the papers away from himself, "I'm gonna find a heavy-duty comm SAT right now, I need your login,"

"It's the same as it's always been, 'WarMachine77'."

As I rub my nose, I shake my head and roll my eyes. That's the most typical name anyone could ever possibly choose. I mean, who still chooses a nickname with numbers on the end of it as their login?

"And password, please," Dad avoids my eyes as he moves the file and papers around.

"Well, look, I gotta change it every time you hack in, Tony."

"It's not the '80s, nobody says 'hack' anymore," Dad stretches his words out, "Give me your login,"

With a long suffering sigh, Rhodey begrudgingly admits, "'WARMACHINEROX' with an 'X', all caps," Dad cracks up as I smirk a little, "Yeah, okay."

Dad's still loudly laughing as he goes, "That is so much better than lron Patriot."

Next thing I know, we're doing something else illegal outside of this Miss Chattanooga beauty pageant thing. I'm shuffling along after him as he wears Harley's cowboy hat and I wear Dad's baseball cap. He looks like such a dork. It's great. After a man yelling on his phone passes by, Dad glances back at him before yanking the door open and curtly motioning me inside. I squint at one of the camera van's screens as Dad begins plugging in different wires and pushing random buttons. As a white bikini wearing girl stands and waves to everyone, a very familiar old man excitedly holds up a sign, ranking the girl a '10'.

Why is it I feel like I see this white-haired man absolutely everywhere I go?!

As time passes, Dad keeps his back to me and still won't talk to me. All that fills the air is the sound of our breathing and his fingers clicking against the computer's keyboard. I sit awkwardly off to the side with my hands pressed together, clasped between my knees. He situated me by the door after we first snuck in, barely even mumbling something about "being the guard of the door". Apparently being the doorkeeper is a very important job and not just his way to put me out of his sight. As much as the more obviously truthful answer hurts, I suppose I deserve it and worse. Arguing against it is idiotic as I decided at the time that I am in enough trouble as it is.

The computer screen Dad is working on dials up with numbers and colors, and he mumbles out to himself, "That ain't gonna cut it,"

The door suddenly opens and my eyes widen. I apparently suck at my job as "the guard of the door". The man who was yelling on his phone from outside stands there with colored sunglasses and a hat. He doesn't even seem surprised to see us, making me wonder what kind of people there are in Chattanooga. Is it a normal occurrence to find random people on or within your private property or what? If anything, he just looks bored and grumpy.

Still holding the phone to his ear, he practically yawns out, "'Scuse me, People, I don't know who,"

Dad slowly spins around in his chair, holding a finger in his lips, "Shh."

The man's jaw drops and his eyes grow wide behind his pair of big rimmed sunglasses. His lips form into a perfect 'O' and Dad smiles at him while I just roll my eyes. Here we go again. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is in awe of Tony Stark. I suddenly think back to that day all those months ago in Afghanistan where the soldiers were so intimidated and excited to meet him. So much is the same and yet so much is different.

"Mom, I need to call you back, something magical is happening," he stretches the words out in a sing-song way before he begins bouncing, "Tony Stark is in my van."

"Shh," I try to catch his attention, but he's much too focused on my father.

"Keep it down," Dad motions and points at him.

The man keeps on bouncing, wagging his fists around excitedly, "Tony Stark is in my van!"

"No, he's not," Dad cuts his hands in the air to try to get him to be quiet.

"I knew you were still alive!" he whispers forcefully, his eyes growing terrifyingly large.

"Come on in," Dad whispers, motioning his fingers in, "Close the door."

The cameraman fumbles as he grapples onto anything around. His feet slip and his hands bang against the walls as he continues to struggle. Dad watches him nearly cautiously before he grabs onto my pant leg and pulls me slightly closer. I stumble, but make sure to obey. That's what's nice about my dad. He's still incredibly angry with me, I know, but I also know that he doesn't exactly want me to be murdered by some crazed fan. Aw, he cares. I roll my eyes at my ridiculous thoughts, trying to focus back on the odd man. He finally gets into the vehicle, closes the door behind him, and turns around to look at Dad with a gaping mouth.

He breathlessly exclaims as Dad continues to shush him, "Oh, wow! Can I just say, Sir,"

"Yeah," Dad responds lowly and ducks his chin down in allowance.

The man lifts his hands up, shaking his head with that same goofy smile, "I am your biggest fan."

I lean back up against the small counter, scratching my eyebrow.

"Okay. First, is this your van?" Dad points towards the door, "Is anyone else gonna come in?"

"No, no, no. Just us," he smiles happily and lets out a puff of air before giving me a energetic nod, "Hey! You're really cool too! I'm glad you're not dead!"

"Oh. Uh, thanks... I think," I raise an eyebrow, awkwardly crossing an arm over my stomach.

Dad stands, taking a few steps forward, "What's your name?"

"Gary," he breathes out with this wonder-filled tone.

Dad shakes his hand, repeating the name, "Gary."

The man claps his hand over my father's, pressing his lips together and staring at him with, I think, loving eyes. Dad claps his hand over Gary's and lightly kicks my ankle with his foot, wanting me to scooch a little further behind him. I honestly can't tell if Dad's joking or not so I obey anyway.

"Oh, wow," Gary breathes.

"Right there is fine," Dad gives a long and awkward laugh, still shaking his hand, "Okay? I get a lot of this, it's okay."

I energetically nod towards Gary, trying to play along.

"Oh, good. Can I just say?"

"What do you want?" Dad struggles to be polite as he forcefully blinks, "Yeah."

Gary gasps in before spewing, "I don't know if you can tell, but I have, like," he motions his hands over his face after yanking off his hat, "patterned my whole look after you."

My wide eyes turn up to my dad as I forget his anger and whisper quietly, "Wow."

"My hair's a little," Gary scratches the side of his head with hair matching Dad's 2011 hairstyle days, "It's not right 'cause,"

"It's fine," Dad lightly reassures him, wanting to change the subject.

"There's no product in it,"

"Right," my father ducks his chin, squinting and swallowing a little.

"I don't wanna make things awkward for you,"

"They're not," I quickly reassure to which Dad responds to me with a glare.

"But I do need to show you," Gary suddenly whips up his sleeve to reveal a very sketchy tattoo and I jump as he says, "Bam!"

I lean forward on my tiptoes and Dad stares down at it, "A Hispanic Scott Baio."

Gary just gives a throaty laugh.

Dad pulls up quickly with wide eyes, pointing at his arm, "I'm sorry, is that me?"

This guy had a tattoo done of my father's face? Oh. Okay. I'm trying not to get creeped out or to start laughing, but it's just so hard.

"Yeah. It's, I mean," he stutters, "I had them do it off a doll that I made," wow, Gary just got even weirder, which I wasn't aware was possible, but alrighty then, "so it's not like it's off a picture. So it's a little bit,"

"Yeah," Dad stares at it and gives a quick nod.

I awkwardly bite my lip as Gary babbles on.

Dad suddenly grabs onto the man's shoulders and steps them both away from me, forcing him to pay attention, "Gary. Listen to me, okay? I don't want to clip your wings here. We're both a little," he searches for the right word, "over-excited. I got an issue. I'm chasing bad guys,"

I quickly zone out. I blow air out of my mouth, biting harder on my bottom lip. Bad guys. I guess I just never thought the bad guys would be people I worked with.

"Got it," Gary gives a small head shake, pulling me back to the present.

"Alright? It's a mission."

"Yeah," he gruffly replies.

"Tony needs Gary," Dad says quietly, shaking his shoulders a little.

"And Gary needs Tony,"

I roll my eyes before Dad cuts him off, "Be quiet about it. Go!"

Gary hurriedly snaps back to attention, fumbling away, "Yeah."

A few minutes later, after Gary gets the internet going faster or whatever it is that he's doing, I watch over Dad's shoulder as he starts to type in Rhodey's login password on the AIM website. His fingers stop moving about halfway through the login, making me look at him confusedly.

He tilts his chin back in my direction and his fingers lift up, "Unless you want to use your password?"

He cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. I let out a quiet puff of air and my eyes ashamedly flicker from his face to my feet. He takes in a sharp breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head. His shoulders remain tense as he turns back to the screen. He continues until he's granted access to the files and the Extremis project videos are playing before us.

"What would you regard as the defining moment of your life?" Killian's voice fills my ears.

Killian. The right hand man to a terrorist. As aches shoot down my arms, I rub the back of my head where my brain continues buzzing. The video plays on as I see the redheaded woman from Rose Hill, Killian many years ago, people being strapped to metal boards, and fire surging through their skin until finally one man explodes, taking the whole lab down with him.

"A bomb's not a bomb when it's a misfire," Dad's head cocks to the side, "The stuff doesn't always work, right, Pal? It's faulty, but you found a buyer, didn't ya?" he points at the screen, his eyes narrowing, "Sold it to the Mandarin," Dad snaps his fingers, pulling them up to his mouth, "Got you, Pal."

I find myself still silent as we leave Chattanooga. I glare out of the windshield, too angry with the world and with myself to care what's going on around me. I can feel myself slipping again; slipping from myself, back into the trances that have owned me of the past five months. I don't want it to happen. I want to be me again. I am me again. I just, I just have to, um... God, it's so hard to even think straight. No, I have to just refocus my anger. Use it for something useful. I have to get off my butt and do what I did in Rose Hill: be the Red Raven.

"Give me Jarvis," Dad is saying on the phone to Harley, "Jarvis, how are we?"

"It's totally fine, Sir," our wonderful AI is back as he reassures, "I seem to do quite well for a stretch, and then at the end of the sentence I say the wrong cranberry."

As I quietly snort, Dad squints to the side and he pulls a face.

"And, Sir, you were right. Once I factored in available AIM downlink facilities, I was able to pinpoint the Mandarin's broadcast signal."

"What are we talking?" Dad peers out at the dark road, "Far East, Europe, North Africa, Iran, Pakistan, Syria? Where is it?"

"Actually, Sir, it's in Miami."

Trying to get back into the conversation, I squint and shake my head a little, "Yeah, no,"

"Mmhm, okay," Dad blinks, "Kid, I'm gonna have to walk you through rebooting Jarvis' speech drive, but not right now. Harley, where is he really?" he speaks quickly, "Just look on the screen and tell me where it is."

"Um," Harley stretches it out, "it does say Miami, Florida."

"Okay, first things first, I need the armor," Dad takes in a small, nearly strained breath, making me look over at him confusedly, "Where are we at with it?"

"Uh, it's not charging."

Dad suddenly slams on the brakes and I can hear the tires screech against the black road. I gasp, throwing my hands up to the dash to stop myself from flying forward. Dad pulls off to the side and the car comes to a sudden halt. I look over at Dad with an irritated expression, but it all falls away when I see him. His eyes are wide and his chest looks tight as he gasps desperately in for air. His face is sweaty and he pulls up his hands as they shake in front of his face. His eyes flick to my face and, almost as if in shame, he curls one of his trembling hands into fists.

"Actually, Sir, it is charging," Jarvis explains, "but the power source is questionable. It may not succeed in revitalizing the Mark 42."

"What's questionable about electricity?!" Dad snaps, motioning with his finger, "Alright? It's my suit, and I can't," his hands and words fumble, "I'm not gonna, I don't wanna," he pushes his head back against the seat and he breathily whispers, "Oh, God, not again."

He throws open the car door and stumbles out, letting out a quiet cry as he leans against the top of the door.

I stare at him with wide eyes as his panicked breaths and whimpers echo in my head.

"Tony?" Harley calls cautiously, "Are you having another attack? I didn't even mention New York."

"Right! And then you just said it by name while denying having said it," his voice gets strained and torn as he slides down the side of the car.

"Dang it! Harley!" I quietly scold as I yank off my seatbelt and climb out of the car.

"Okay, um, uh," Harley says thoughtfully as I reach the other side of the car.

"Hey, hey," I slip down to my knees and I take his face in my hands, making him look at me, "Dad, look at me. It's okay. It's okay,"

With his arms wrapped around himself and tears burning in his brown eyes, Dad pants out, "Oh God, what am I gonna do?"

He gasps in, shooting a hand out towards the side of the car and grabbing onto the door handle. His eyes meet mine and his chest heaves up and down as he struggles for air. He puts his free hand onto my shoulder and his head twitches into a small shake.

"Just breathe," Harley's voice echoes from the car, "Really, just breathe. You're a mechanic, right?"

"Right," Dad breathes, looking into my eyes and giving me a small nod.

"You said so," Harley lightly says.

"Yes, I did," his voice is nearly thoughtful.

"Why don't you just build something?"

Dad takes in a few more breaths before his face turns forward and his eyes grow distant. His head tilts slightly as the thought sinks in. Dad suddenly stands, pulling me up with him and folding me under his arm. He turns his head back towards the open car door.

Then he nonchalantly says, "Okay. Thanks, Kid."

The next few hours are a whirlwind as we travel down the United States in hoodies, hats, and sunglasses. I've never been shopping in a home improvement store with my dad and I've certainly never stayed at a shady motel with him either, so this is all very new. Not to mention that it's all kinda fun. The anger he was holding onto seems to have, at least, been pushed aside for the moment as he hands me various tools and wires for me to help. We make bombs, guns, tasers, and countless other things that I'm not even sure what to call. I don't sleep as we finish our drive down to Miami, watching the white walled and red roofed mansion come into view in the yellow dawn light.

Clumsy as ever, I grunt and struggle to stay in the tree Dad's scouting from. He has a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes as he watches the suited men guarding the place and also simultaneously holds onto my hoodie to make sure I don't fall. He holds out three fingers, signalling how many people we'll have to take down first. After we hop back into the grass, the both of us get a running start before we scale up the concrete fence that's walling the mansion in.

We crouch low as we creep up the stairs towards the guards that wait above. Taking the Miami mansion is surprisingly much more fun that I expected. As Dad takes out two guards with a lasso of sorts and a pellet gun, I take out the third with a taser glove to his throat. He jerks and zaps until Dad grabs around the throat and pushes him down to the ground at my feet.

"Ouch," I cringe for him before Dad puts his hand on my back, pushing me along.

A Christmas bulb clinks and bounces as I toss across the pathway. One guard confusedly picks it up and stares at until it blows up in his face. Dad straightens up from beside me and shoots the other guard, making him plummet into the murky pond behind him. As we stride by, Dad carelessly drops a Christmas bulb in, not even bothering to glance back.

The water in the pond shoots up as we waltz towards the front door. We take a few more guards out as we sneak inside the darkly lit mansion. A bikini-wearing girl lies on a nearby couch and, when Dad shushes her, she giggles and points finger guns at us. My eyes widen at her as we creep past.

This is why you don't do drugs, Kids.

I snag up a gun from an unconscious guard and adjust my shoulders back, holding it just like I've been taught. Still, the gun feels weird in my hands. I mean, I suppose this just feels more real now. I've shot one, but never with the intention of actually shooting someone. This is real. And it's terrifying. But I hold it all back. I have to.

We cut through the last corridor and a large, cluttered room expands before us. We press our backs against the hallway's wall and I peek over the corner in. A large wooden bed sits in the middle, the Mandarin suit is hanging off of a mannequin, the walls are covered in graffiti and terrifying wall art, and random pieces of furniture sit around. It's not exactly the evil lair I was expecting, but, then again, neither was Hammer Industries when I was kidnapped all those years ago. So, to each villain his own, I guess. I take in a deep breath as I tap my fingers against the black weapon.

Dad gives me a hardly existent nod before he slides into the room, using one hand to point his gun at the mess of a bed. I follow in after and hold my own gun with both hands, making sure the weapon doesn't shake. There's a look of building rage on his face as he creeps closer to the mattress. I adjust my shoulders and aim just before Dad yanks the blanket back. We both nearly jump at the sight. Two barely dressed women gasp and sit up, looking at the two of us with wide eyes.

"Dad," I whisper, quickly raising my eyebrows in his direction.

Dad takes in a sharp, shocked breath before quickly holding his free hand out to them, "Sh, sh, sh,"

The sound of a toilet flushing makes my head and gun snap around to face what I'm guessing is the bathroom. Dad grabs onto my forearm, walking me backwards behind the bed's headboard with his own gun still raised.

"Well!" the door opens and closes and then soft feet can be heard walking quickly along, "I wouldn't go in there for twenty minutes," the British sounding man lets out a funny laugh, "Now, which one of you is Vanessa?" he stretches the woman's name out.

"That's me," one girl sings.

I stretch my back out so that I can see over the edge and my eyes widen at the sight. There before me is the Mandarin, or sort of. He's different. Anti-climatically different. He's a short man wearing satin red pants, a graphic tee, and a long bathrobe. His hair is shaved along his scalp while some of it is tied up in his tight bun while the long beard hangs from around his face. He's, uh, I'm honestly completely unsure.

"Ah!" his voice croaks out happily before he tosses her a small cookie with a swing in his step, "Nessie!"

I pull a face as I look over at my my father. Dad's eyebrows scrunch and his mouth hangs irritatedly open as he disbelievingly peers at look-a-like. The man has to be a look-a-like because this is absolutely insane!

"Did you know that fortune cookies aren't even Chinese?" he says with a wheezing laugh.

"Is this guy for real?" I whisper with a scoff to my squinting father.

"There's some people over here," the other woman, not-Vanessa, sleepily points a finger behind the wooden frame.

Dad and I pull back.

"They're made by Americans," he jabbers on, too taken caught up with himself to notice her, "based on a, based on a Japanese recipe."

"Hey!" Dad barks, suddenly stepping out from behind the headboard.

I step out after him, carefully circling around to the other side of the look-a-like so that we have him blocked in. The man immediately raises his hand and looks around quickly, spewing in his strange voice. What happened to low, deep, terrifying voice that gave everyone the chills? What in the world is going on here?!

"Don't move," Dad snips curtly, intensely staring at him.

"I'm not moving," he assures quickly before motioning his hand out and shaking his head, "You want something? Take it," his eyes dancing around into a roll, "Although the guns are all fake because those wankers wouldn't trust me with the real ones."

I pull a face as Dad blinks forcefully and points his chin out, "What?"

"Hey! Do you fancy either of the birds?" the look-a-like refers to the women, leaning his head out.

Dad squints, I cringe, and the women in the bed look at each other in worry. The look-a-like shakes his head at them in apology, crumpling his wrinkled face up as he does.

"Heard enough. You're not him," Dad cocks his gun, "The Mandarin, the real guy," he jabs the gun back out at him.

The look-alike's eyes widen, his mouth falls open, and his hands shake around.

"Where?!" Dad's voice changes to a scream, "Where's the Mandarin?!"

The man flinches, turns, and scurries away like a little mouse, "Whoa!"

"Where is he?!" Dad follows after him, angrily.

"Hey!" I lowly bark, raising my gun to his forehead and stepping in his path so he can't get past.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he plops down on a chair as Dad moves in front of him, "He's here. He's here, but he's not here. He's here, but he's not here," he babbles on in a higher voice.

"What the actual heck are you talking about?!" I feel a headache coming on.

"It's complicated," he laughs before pulling a serious face and pointing a finger, "Hey, it's complicated!"

"It is," Dad agrees irritatedly.

"It's complicated," he enunciates, tilting his head to the side

"Uncomplicate it," my father snaps before talking to the two women, "Ladies, out. Get out of the bed! Get into the bathroom," he keeps his gun on him before glancing at me, "You got him?"

"Yeah," I mumble quietly.

"Sit," Dad orders the look-a-like before he follows the women and locks the bathroom door behind them.

My eyes narrow when the look-a-like slides to his hands and knees and begins to pathetically crawl past me. I mean, where does he think he's going? With a scowl, I squeeze down on the trigger and the bullet misses his hand by much less than five inches. Dad whirls back around to look at me with wide eyes. The women in the bathroom shriek. The look-a-like jumps and quickly hightails it back to the chair. My father stalks back over, raising and pointing his gun once more.

"My name is Trevor," shrugging, the man's hands lift up and fall back to his lap, "Trevor Slattery," the look-a-like blinks, shakes his head, and then nods his head.

I squint at him.

How is this man even serious right now?!

"What are you?" Dad grinds out, neither of us even bothering to point our guns at him at this point, "What are you, a decoy?"

"He's a double," I suggest to my father quickly before looking back at the other man, "You are, right?"

"What, you mean like an understudy? No, absolutely not," he sounds terribly offended.

"Well, in that case," I give an angry shrug as Dad and I both step closer and our guns snap up.

"Don't hurt the face!" his voice panickedly raises, "I'm an act-or," he wiggles his fists.

"You got a minute to live," Dad stares at him with frightening wide eyes, clenching the gun so tightly his knuckles turn white, "Fill it with words."

The man looks around thoughtfully for a second, "It's just a role. 'The Mandarin'," he wiggles his fingers like it's some kind of ghost, "See? It's not real."

"Oh God," I whisper, feeling like my insides are sliding down.

"Then how did you get here, Trevor?" Dad snaps, stepping around to his left side as he looks around.

He slides further back in his seat, "Uh, well, I, um, had a little problem with, um, substances," my brows raise, "And I ended up doing things, no two ways about it," he laughs and points at me as if instructing me on morals, "in the street, that a man shouldn't do."

"Ew," I cringe and Dad drops his free hand over one of my ears.

Dad's eyes look around uncomfortably as he quickly says, "Next!"

"And then, they approached me about the role," the faux-Mandarin sounds so proud, "and they knew about the drugs."

"Rehab?" I raise my eyebrows in question.

"What did they say?" Dad speaks quickly, tilting his head, "They'd get you off them?"

"Said they'd give me more," he lifts up a finger before he gushes on contentedly, "They gave me things. They gave me this palace," he lifts his hands in display as his eyes flicker closed, "They gave me plastic surgery. They gave me things," he repeats before his shoulders fall slack and his mouth opens in a snore.

"Did you just nod off?!" Dad asks in disbelief.

"Please, tell me one of us can shoot him?" I beg.

"The idea's sounding better and better," Dad kicks his foot, "Hey!"

"No!" he's back up again and I jump before sighing, "And a lovely speedboat," I roll my eyes, "And the thing was, he needed someone to take credit for some accidental explosions," he mimics explosions with his mouth and hands.

"'He'?" I whisper out, feeling dread wash over me.

Dad angrily turns away from both me and the faux-Mandarin. His feet move and his jaw clenches and unclenches. I can't tell who he's more angry at: me or himself.

"Killian?" Dad turns back to look at him.

All this time, I hoped, no, I prayed that Killian wasn't at the heart of this. I didn't trust Savin from when I first saw him. After the exploding man at the theater and then Rose Hill, I knew that he was obviously working for the Mandarin. And then from the file I discovered that Killian and Maya Hansen were much more than unfortunate links in this chain as I am. But I didn't think he'd be at the heart of all this. I didn't think... and that was the problem.

"Killian," the 'Mandarin' confirms stupidly.

"He created you?"

He repeats my father with that same dumb smile, making me wonder if he's actually high right now, "He created me."

"Custom-made terror threat."

"Yes! Yes. His think tank thinked it up," Trevor stands and his voice drops into the one that has haunted my nightmares for the past few days, "The pathology of a serial killer. The manipulation of Western iconography," Dad slowly sits down and I rub my forehead, "Ready for another lesson?"

I shiver. Dad pulls a disgusted face at him. He turns back around to us with two beers in his hands.

"Blah, blah, blah," Trevor loses the voice as he holds out a can of beer for my father.

Slightly shaking his head, Dad waves it away, "Nuh-uh."

He then holds it out to me and I mumble, "I prefer more of the 'root' variation."

"Of course, it was my performance that brought the Mandarin to life," he gloats, making rage burn inside of my chest.

"Your performance?" Dad looks back, jerking into a nod, "Where people died?"

"No, they didn't," Trevor motions around, his voice getting higher, "L-Look around you. The costumes, green screen. Honestly, I wasn't on location for half this stuff. And when I was, it was," he wiggles his hands, "movie magic, Love."

"I'm sorry," Dad straightens up, stepping forward, "but I got a best friend who's in a coma and he might not wake up. So you're gonna have to answer for that. You're still going down, Pal," Trevor's face has changed and we realize it a little too late, "You under,"

Dad and I both whirl around before Savin kicks me in the stomach, grabs Dad's wrist, and punches him squarely in the face. Dad falls unconsciously to the couch as I land hard on my back, gasping for air. My eyes worriedly snap at my father, but I can't stay focused on him for long. My fingers just start curling around my gun before Savin slams his boot down on my hand. As his leather heel sickly digs in, I can practically feel my bones crunch. I grunt as I try to yank myself away.

"Okay, Trevor," Savin speaks casually, making Trevor's eyes awkwardly flip over to him, "What'd ya tell him?" he cocks his head to the side as I groan and slam my other hand against his shin, "Stop it."

I scowl and fight harder just to annoy him, knowing I'm not really doing any good anyway.

Trevor quickly shakes his head, "I didn't tell him anything."

"Nothing?"

Trevor looks around, thinking with that same dumb smile, "No."

"You should have pressed the panic button," Savin tells him, straight-faced.

"Well, I panicked, but then I handled it," Trevor pops open his can of beer and walks goofily away.

"Idiots," I mumble, rolling my eyes and shaking my head.

"Well, Miss Stark," I shriek as he puts more weight on my hand, "I don't think this is gonna feel too good."

"Uh oh," it comes out as a whisper and my eyes widen just before a hard boot collides into my forehead.

The world goes black.

YIKES! Well, what did you think? To be honest, I mostly hated this chapter. There were bits to it that I liked, but I don't know, what do you think? Sorry there were also like a bajillion gifs in this chapter, but there were so many good parts that I wanted to include.

Now, I'm also sorry I had to change Rhodey's login when it comes to his birthday. If I made him as old as he originally is in the MCU, then he'd be a lot older than my universe's version of Tony and that just doesn't make sense. So, sorry if that bothered you. And did you catch my little teasing of myself in there when it comes to my username? Teenagewriter99 and Warmachine77. Talk about unoriginal.

Anyway, I'd really love to hear your thoughts so vote, comment, and give me a follow!

I think I'll be updating twice today so hang around for that - it's literally the most EPIC chapter of this second of the book.

Funny Thingamabob:

True dat