The Missing 92 Days - YellowDistress (2024)

Chapter 1: The Monster

Chapter Text

“Wake, zaichik.”

He broke through the surface of the water, a loud shout escaping him as his fingers grasped at the edges of the bathtub. The water was intensely cold, ripping into his skin and down to the very bone as Peter gasped and sputtered, fingers slipped and nearly sending him back under everything. Hair plastered to his forehead, and he scrambled to push it out of his eyes, nearly vomiting on the amount of water he was choking on. It splashed over the edges of the tub, and he could hear it sloshing onto the concrete floor below in the dimly lit room with cinderblock walls.

Not a bathroom. Not where a tub would be.

Peter blinked rapidly, his mind trying desperately to catch up with where he was, chest expanding and closing and he gagged again, this time leaning over the side and the chipped edges cutting into his palms. The tub was old, in the center of the cinderblock room and when he leaned over the edge, he was briefly aware of how the concrete wasn’t just covered in water, but in a thick layer of blackened liquid, thinner in some places, red, and it smelled so much like iron Peter could barely stand it. But the gagging produced nothing, and his stomach must have been terribly empty. He couldn’t figure out if it was the near drowning in the bathtub or hunger that was making him tremble so much. Maybe it was the liquid on the floor and…and…

His mind clicked to life. Peter’s brain erupted into that of fire, and he saw halfway hanging out of the tub, bleeding into the freezing water and turning it red was the body of a man.

There was this moment of no-thought. Complete silence between his ears. It was so very rare for Peter to have those moments, he had a mind that moved at a million miles per hour, each second absorbing the entirety of the world around him. But in that moment when he realized the body was filling the bath water with a throat smiling, Peter let out another shout, this time much more panicked than when he had been born from the water. Peter scrambled out of the tub, like a newborn deer, falling on the concrete floor and water and crimson alike spilling over and still reaching him. The thicker liquid – blood – on the floor clung to him. It felt less like water and more like paint, going from black to red when it touched his skin. Peter slid away from the oddly placed bathtub and his back hit the cinderblock wall, head cracking against it sharply. But he felt no pain, not even from where one of his knees had opened slightly from hitting the ground so hard. He simply stared at the dead body hanging halfway in the tub, blood staining the porcelain down its side.

Peter nearly vomited again, but still there was nothing to throw up. So instead he was simply soaked to the bone, shivering in someone else’s blood. A man, dressed in some sort of SWAT uniform. But less protection, no helmet. Just a black vest and black suit. There was a gun on his hip, but clearly he hadn’t used it. Peter covered his mouth with his hands, hoping the blood didn’t smear across his face. Peter looked down at himself, fully clothed in blue scrubs that were now soaked and stained with blood, his bare feet glistening with the stuff.

“Holy sh*t,” Peter breathed past his hands, “Holy…”

He looked around the dimly lit room. There was nothing really to see, and the door to the left was standing wide open. There seemed to be nothing but the tub and a drain on the floor. Peter reached inside his brain for a recollection of what this was, of where he was, but nothing gathered. It was a void, emptiness. A lazy Sunday, at home, grounded. Grounded because his aunt had caught him in the Spider-Man suit a week before and f*ck…What happened?

Peter lowered his hands and pinched his arm. The back of his neck stung as well, pain was blooming all over him, including his knee where he had fallen out of the tub. He could feel pain, this wasn’t a dream, he was Peter Benjamin Parker, and there was a dead man bleeding, stuck like a pig. Peter slowly started to slide up the wall, still digging inside of his head for an explanation as to where he was and what he was doing there, but the emptiness of memory was too vast, Peter was inside of himself, but it didn’t feel right. His fingers trembled, standing to full height and leaning against the wall, trying to stay as far from the body with the smile on its throat and tub as he could be.

Peter took a few careful steps, his bare feet feeling the thickness of the blood on the floor and he tried not to squirm with disgust as he held his abdomen and averted his wide eyes to the door. His hair still clung in his face and he slipped slightly as he approached the exit, grabbing the doorframe, his hand leaving behind a smear of red as he struggled to steady himself, stepping into the hallway.

But the hallway was only worse.

The florescent lights above head flickered and everything smelled of gunpowder and pennies. Peter was horrified by the sight of three more bodies, two on their backs and one leaning up against the wall. The corridor was long and windowless, and Peter placed a hand on the wall willing himself to move forward through the carnage. He couldn’t think, he could barely breathe as the smell of death filled his nose. He wasn’t sure he had ever smelled so much blood in his life. Not on his many patrols, not when a woman had jumped from so high that she basically disintegrated upon hitting the street.

His hand supported most of him as he went through the grueling process of walking by the bodies. Heart thudding and everything was rushing by and Peter couldn’t understand. He tried counting in his mind, but he could not. He couldn’t recall the last thing he recalled, just vagueness in the sense of where he was when it happened, what happened. It was like a short circuit in the depths of himself, in the back of his mind, where his neck was burning, where he could hear humming. When his fingers slid over a tender spot there, he only flinched slightly and then the hallway ended. He was free of the bodies.

Until he wasn’t.

There was a door, straight down the corridor, heavyset and large. Peter eyed it, feeling its promise of freedom from several feet away, but the distraction of the room to his left caught hold and Peter had never been good, even in shock, at ignoring that terrible curiosity that often broke through him like shards of glass. Everything felt tempting, and frightening, and that was the world. Peter didn’t know what skin he was inside of, he felt out of place, he felt like he could hear and feel things he couldn’t have been experiencing while simultaneously remaining numb.

This was shock.

Peter turned into the distracting room. There was another man on the ground, a walkie-talkie in his hand. It produced static, making Peter cringe slightly, but he looked up then, at the glow in the darkness. Several television monitors were on the wall, like something from an old movie, security viewpoints apparent as the screens flickered from shot to shot, but two screens were just snowstorms. Peter in his blood covered feet moved forward, grabbing the back of the desk chair as he looked up and stepped over the man’s body.

The screen in the center was set on a loop. Along with the ones to the left and right. Peter bit down on his lower lip, finding it to be split open, and he wondered when that happened, what had happened exactly as he studied the screens. The loop restarted, from the settled stillness and the haziness won over, Peter swayed when he realized what he was watching. There were figures running down the hallway. Figures shooting guns, the three men that were now lying dead and Peter wished his stomach would allow him to throw up because The Horrifying Thing came onto the screen and started stabbing the men repeatedly.

And The Horrifying Thing was him.

This was shock.

“It’s alright, my sweet zaichik…You’ve done so well.”

Peter drew back as if he had been burned, the pain in the back of his neck only radiating sharper through him, the ghost of a caress on the side of his face pretending to comfort – It’s only pretend Peter, he doesn’t love you, Aunt May loves you – and Peter saw himself being shoved into a tub, cutting into someone’s throat in the silent film as he was held below the water and both his body and the body of the Smiling-Neck-Man went limp and then the loop started over and Peter couldn’t reach. He couldn’t reach the memory, but that was definitely him on the video, killing those men, but why?

“I have cared for you, haven’t I? I care for what is mine, you should care for what is yours.”

It made Peter’s skin crawl.

The walkie-talkie continued to produce static from the man’s hand and Peter kneeled down slowly, hands shaking and stiff and he could barely get his fingers to work as he sniffled past the tears he hadn’t realized were falling. His lower lip trembled as he grabbed onto the device and attempted to pull it from the man’s hand, but the body jolted forward so suddenly, Peter hadn’t even thought to check if the man was alive or not. He grabbed Peter’s wrist and yanked it forward, and for the first time since waking Peter felt actual emotion, felt through the shock of the blood, despite the crying, it was all a lot. Peter had never felt so much in his life.

The man said several things in a language Peter didn’t understand before he finally spoke something in English, “Beast! You goddamned monster!”

The man was crying, and Peter was crying, tugging at his arm, but the man’s body seized eyes rolling back as he began to convulse and the hand on his wrist only tightened. Drool flooded from the man’s tongue, and there were odd gagging sounds. Peter sat there, unsure, frightened and he didn’t know what to do as the body flopped like a fish out of water. Peter had never seen such a thing in his life and there was no air in his lungs to scream. It felt like an eternity before the seizing stopped, before the body stilled and Peter finally managed to wrench his hand away only to notice dark markings on the inside of his right wrist.

Prōtotupos-4

Peter ran his left thumb over the marking, scribed in dark-thin letters. Peter swallowed thickly, mouth parting because his nose was clogged. He finally looked back up at the man. He gulped for oxygen, and the man wasn’t moving, wasn’t even breathing anymore and it took Peter a second to realize he was dead. He was bleeding from his nose, foaming from his mouth, he was dead and Peter quickly stood back up, turning and leaving the room. The distraction had only made things worse, the video was clear: Peter had killed these people.

But he didn’t remember doing it.

His fingers scrambled for the heavyset door but the moment Peter turned the giant latch and pulled it open, he was assaulted with a breeze of coldness. It was as if dry freezing temperatures had ripped into his already soaked body and snow folded in, covering his feet and the front portion of the hallway. Peter stepped back, eyes burning, lashes feeling as if they were going to freeze from the tears that clung on. It was snowing…several feet of it, and all that was laid out before Peter were trees, trees, and just the endlessness of that. Emptied branches, and white snow that glared against the sun.

Peter was barefoot. He was soaked…He stumbled back into the hallway, leaving the door open as he ducked back into the room with the man and the walkie-talkie. Peter picked it up, pressing down on the button and speaking into it, “H-hello?”

When he took his finger off the button, there was no response, just the static and Peter tried again, “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

Nothing.

Just empty space.

Peter dropped the device, before warily taking in the sight of the dead man. He was torn between two options and when he finally made his decision, he felt a wound opening up inside of him, but the burning from the back of his neck was nearly unbearable and Peter felt like he was dying. With uncontrollable terror, Peter began to strip the man’s boots from his feet, along with his thick black coat. Peter didn’t have the heart to take anymore from the corpse he had clearly harmed…God…he had…

“It’s alright, you are of value, they are not.”

The same foreign voice gripped him, and Peter shoved it away, putting the jacket on as he croaked out to the lifeless body that would never hear another apology again, “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.”

But Peter continued to put on the dead man’s clothes and once he had the too-big of boots on his feet and reentered the hallway…he trudged out into the snow.

…

Tony was almost certain if he downed another cup of coffee his heart was going to explode.

He did it anyway, the bitterness scalding the entire way down his throat as he hunched over his desk, the chair rolling slightly with his drowsiness. His fingers dug into the edge of the glass table top, and Tony shut his eyes, releasing and pressing his fingers into the corners as if it would relieve the pressure there. The table top was covered with papers, Tony could reach inside of himself and pull out every single phone number because he had looked at it all so many times. The transcripts were shaky at best, the tip-line was going dry. It happened like that.

Tony wasn’t terribly familiar with missing persons cases. He hadn’t followed many, hadn’t gone searching for many people that had fallen off the face of the earth. In retrospect, if he had learned a thing or two about it, maybe it would make this whole process a lot easier and the past ninety-two days of his life wouldn’t have been a waking-world of hell and suffering and just trying to keep his sh*t together in general.

Ninety-Two f*cking days.

Tony had seen films where people would seemingly evaporate out of thin air. As if they had never even existed in the first place, and kids would be swallowed up in deserts, or in bayous, or found in dumpsters. Some never found at all, and where did all of those missing children go? But then again, Peter Parker wasn’t just a normal, average child. Peter Parker was something else, but Tony would have…Christ, it would make sense if he had gone missing as Spider-Man, but as Peter Parker…Right out from under their noses, the kid had been grounded from Spider-Man, May was thinking it over, had only just found out a week before…But then that Sunday had rolled around and suddenly…Suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter that Peter was Spider-Man, because he was gone…just like any normal child could do.

“Tony I just…this isn’t like him…To just disappear like this.”

“Maybe he’s just blowing off steam over being grounded.”

“No, no…I mean, he went to get us pizza! He wouldn’t just…Please, just listen to me, can’t you do some kind of…scan?”

“Scan…on the entire city.”

“…please.”

And her voice had sounded so lost…so worried and Tony hadn’t f*cking been worried. Hadn’t cared allthat much, had flown around just to make her stop calling him while he was trying to celebrate his recent engagement. Trying to deal with the return of the Rogues and Ross and all the bullsh*t that came along with that whole mess. The Accords were being amended, he was trying to get over the fact that Rogers had sent Barnes to Wakanda and there really wasn’t going to be any justice for his parents. He was going to have to deal with it. The kid had stopped Adrian Toomes from stealing his plane, but then had gotten himself found out and Tony had, had to listen to May Parker scream at him for an hour the week before that…He wasn’t keen on helping her, but he had.

But it had done nothing, because Peter was still just…gone.

Christmas. New Years, two days before…Nothing. Just empty.

Tony had held press conferences. Of course, they left out the tiny detail of Peter Parker being Spider-Man, but Peter had disappeared as Peter Parker and they could only hope that was all it was. Nothing to do with Spider-Man. Nothing to do with superhuman abilities, but there were always rumors of mutants being taken off the streets and sold underground and Tony had been following whatever leads he could, but the public didn’t know Peter Parker was a mutant, so he kept it at that: a fifteen-year-old boy was missing. Tony was advocating for his safe return. Unfortunately, this sparked rumors. Why would Tony Stark be interested in the recovery of a teenager from Queens? Every tabloid in f*cking Wal-Mart theorized.

Is this the illegitimate child of Tony Stark?

Affair with May Parker, Pepper Potts devastated

No, no this was a child. A child he needed to find. A kid he had told to stay out of trouble and a week after he nearly gets killed on a plane, Tony ends up right back where he started: panicking. Panicking over this kid. And as each day passed, the void opened wider. The hope dwindled and yet Tony pushed, there had to be something. Kids didn’t just disappear, not without botched police work or some sh*t. Peter Parker wasn’t about to end up on the same show as JonBenét Ramsey.

None of the tips were helpful to say the least and Tony had read over most of them at least a dozen times each. He was slightly disturbed, to hear the door to the lab opening and closing, but he didn’t look back. There were only a handful of people it could be, midday in the Compound wasn’t much for bustling, and Cap and the others were off God knows where. When two hands slid up his back and onto his shoulders before squeezing, Tony heard the soft voice of Pepper Potts whispering, “You need to rest.”

“It’s noon.”

“Yes, but you’ve also been up all night.”

True. Tony turned slowly in the chair to face the woman above him. She smiled, though it was small and slightly hesitant, before it melted into another thought and she said, “May called again…Asked for more updates. I told her you were working hard.”

“Clearly not hard enough,” Tony murmured, glancing back at the tips, “All I’ve found is bullsh*t.”

Pepper reached over him and picked up one of the papers before she sighed, “It’s because you’ve been looking at the same tips for weeks now, Tony…You’re taking too much on…I mean with Peter and reevaluating the Accords while also trying to smooth things over with Ross and the team it’s just…it’s too much for you, and I feel like you’re not absorbing anymore, if you’d just sleep – “

Tony didn’t hear anymore. Avoidance. That. How was he supposed to sleep? He couldn’t…he couldn’t even get his heart to stop racing…Had someone figured it out? Did someone know who Peter was under the mask? Toomes knew, that much was clear, but he had denied selling out Peter’s secret. Peter had protected his kid, had saved her, so maybe that was the reward for such a thing, but it still made no sense and the kid was…Silence, and drowning and Tony reached for coherent thoughts, but they weren’t there. They were ashen and pale and waiting for rescue.

A rescue that wasn’t coming.

“Don’t tell me that,” Tony finally said, tone low, “Don’t…don’t say that.”

She made a sound like she was going to argue, but Tony shook his head, “Don’t.”

He didn’t want to sleep. He could sleep when Peter was back with his aunt, where he belonged.

His phone vibrated to life on the desk top, rescuing him from the rest of the lecture, maybe even saving him from saying something out of anger and frustration because he was being told to basically abandon a kid in favor of sleeping. Despite the fact that it was Romanoff, Tony pressed the lime button without hesitation, bringing the phone up to his ear and ignoring how Pepper shook her head at the clear rush to end the conversation. She stepped away from him and Tony greeted the person on the other end of the line, “What’s up, Romanoff? Already missing me?”

“Funny…” Her voice hummed, but there was something suspicious under it, “Last I checked that was Clint that missed you so much he shared some colorful words with me after that whole meeting with Ross last week.”

“His choice to pick domestic life. He could’ve always come back to the Compound. But I think Ross prefers him being out of the way.”

Nat said, “Well, Ross hates a smart ass. I wonder how he tolerates you…Anyway, there was a point to this call. Looks like Steve’s boredom turned up something interesting out here. We got a distress signal from rural Virginia just about an hour or so ago when the quinjet was in range. We thought we’d go in…check it out.”

That…That was where the suspicion had been blooming.

Pepper raised an eyebrow at him when Tony leaned back slowly in the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, staring up at the ceiling with the phone pressed to his ear. He rubbed the side of his face and said, “That’s a quick way to piss Ross off…You know, a part of reevaluating the Accords and welcoming the Rogues back means you guys need to cooperate with the whole ‘briefing’ the government thing before running in guns-a-blazing.”

“You’re one to talk about guns,” Nat mused, “However, I don’t think we have much time to consult Ross on this one. The distress signal was scattered, we managed to link it with signatures from several ‘dead’ Hydra bases.”

Hydra.

Oh…bullsh*t.

Tony swallowed, thickly, eyeing Pepper. She had a glimmer in her eyes. As if she had managed to piece together enough of the conversation to understand and she was daring him. Though Pepper didn’t agree with Ross, she agreed with keeping their head down and just getting by since the government had been kind enough to welcome the Rogues back without repercussions. Behaving was priority. But Tony’s curiosity was getting the better of him, as it often did and no amount of glaring from his fiancée was going to deter that curiousness.

He might have been exhausted…distracted and weary, but anything involving Hydra was need-to-intervene.

“Go in,” Tony ordered, “Let me know what you find.”

…

Natasha Romanoff was no stranger to carnage.

She had seen vile things, starting from a young age, when he tiny fingers had been drenched in the blood of her first kill. It didn’t bother her, not anymore, and she wasn’t sure if it ever had, but sometimes when she looked at young girls, she wondered how she could ever teach them to kill a man with their bare hands. How she could ever sacrifice such innocence for vile things. It was a bit like reaching into the base of her skull where that horror lived and pulling out something that wasn’t necessarily human. It was the instinct to protect the young, not to submit them to suffering.

Natasha wouldn’t say she necessarily suffered. She learned more than anything.

When the Quinjet had landed outside the odd facility in the middle of the Virginia Appalachians, the snow had been so startling she hadn’t had much time to adjust when they went inside and found the true source of the signal. Interceptions aside, she felt like the amount of bodies was something to be reckoned with, all stabbed multiple times, taken out with precision. The tub showed signs of torture, which wasn’t much of a surprise, considering this seemed to be the base of a Hydra cell.

“What the hell happened here?” Steve muttered. Sometimes it surprised her the knowledge didn’t reach other people. Steve didn’t recognize it all in the same way, and while it held a bit of innocence to it, it was also painfully startling. He was not the same as her. Never would be. No one on the team could look at these bodies and see the skill it took. No one would look at the bathtub and see the torture of a human being. It just appeared out of place…wrong, to Steve.

Natasha sighed, “Torture…Hydra was holding someone down here…Looks like they didn’t want to be held anymore.”

She could feel Steve eyeing, almost warily before he mused, “I guess I was naïve enough to believe that we got the last facility in Sokovia…”

“Hydra always grows back,” Nat huffed, running her finger over the edge of the tub, the smell of blood almost blind to her at this point in her life. She shrugged and continued, “They have roots everywhere. I feel like we’ll be chasing these assholes for the rest of our lives. If they ever actually go away for good, I don’t think I’ll know what to do with myself.”

Steve snorted, but the humor was wavering, probably because of the dead body in the room. They both looked up when Sam’s voice called from down the hallway, “Uh, guys!”

It wasn’t that Natasha had let herself get distracted, that was against the rules, but she had been lulled into a false sense of comfort when she had realized everyone in the facility was dead. Maybe she hadn’t considered the fact that there had to be a reason these Hydra employees had ended up dead, that someone had to have done the stabbing themselves. Maybe she didn’t care about the why or how, death was death and the more Hydra agents that experienced it, the better. But when they turned into the room that Sam had found, the one with the televisions on the walls and another body on the floor with a static filled walkie-talkie, the question was answered in a way she did not expect.

She just…she didn’t think she’d see another kid murdering so many people.

Not after watching her own hands.

But Sam was there, staring at the looping video with wide eyes and Steve stepped close enough to feel his warmth in the dark room. The light flickered off their eyes, and on the screen was a boy, a boy that couldn’t be older than fifteen or sixteen, dodging the gunshots meant for his body, swinging a blade like it was the most natural thing in the world, until he was shoved down under the water of a bathtub, the bathtub she knew had probably held him one too many times…That had to be what drove a child to murder an entire facility of people in quick succession without remorse, but was it there? She couldn’t see…but she hadn’t felt that, not since the first time.

“Is that…that kid’s face…”

Natasha swallowed…though the screen wasn’t the best quality, she could still make out the wide brown eyes, eyes that were determined, but it had been all over the news and really…They hadn’t questioned much of why…why Tony Stark was advocating for a missing boy that seemingly meant nothing, but they had been ignorant, she supposed, to assume the boy’s aunt was just a friend of Tony’s and suddenly she knew he had a lot of explaining to do…Because this was not just a missing teenager from Queens, was it?

Just as she wasn’t a little Russian girl in ballet school.

“Call Stark,” Steve’s voice ordered, and Nat blinked, “Call him…Call him now.”

Chapter 2: Inferno Squall

Chapter Text

The rabbit was soft under his hands.

White…Pure…Perfect, and it was warm and provided one of the only comforts Peter could find after being shocked for the fourth time that day. The thing in the back of his neck stung, his muscles still ached from convulsing, he tried to behave often, but sometimes he slipped up. Sometimes old habits died hard. He had bitten the guard who had struck him across the face for mouthing off. Shocks were the result, always the result. The rabbit provided that escape, Peter could never escape though…He couldn’t even name it for fear it wasn’t really his.

The room felt like it was continuously shrinking. The walls seemed closer to his cot in the corner of the room than they had been the day before. He knew that wasn’t true…He knew it, and he hugged the rabbit closer and it wiggled to be free, but it never really was, like Peter wasn’t. Sometimes he wondered why they had given him this comfort in the first place and he waited everyday for them to come take it away.

The door opened, it closed, and the face of Otets appeared. It was what he called himself, Peter didn’t know what it meant, he knew it wasn’t a name, and he knew it was a lie. But he never asked. He didn’t think he wanted to know. Peter made sure to sit very still as he was approached, and the man kneeled in front of him, smiling, but it wasn’t was a real smile. It was the one that often came before he was shocked or when he had done something disappointing. Peter blinked, and he hadn’t noticed the small tray of food in his hand that was set in front of him on the cot.

A hand found his knee and squeezed and Peter held the rabbit tighter in his arms, eyes dimming over, and he tried to disassociate from where he was. It made it easier, as the man said, “You misbehaved today…but since you were ill last night, I will allow you dinner.”

Peter tried to tell himself this was a mind game. Otets was just…he was just trying to make it seem like it was Peter’s fault he had been shocked in the neck. He was trying to make himself seem almost…benevolent for letting him have dinner. Peter had gone so long without food the first few days, and he didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like forever since the shocking had started. The rabbit wiggled a little bit more and Otets grinned toothily, almost as if he was genuinely entertained by Peter’s rabbit.

“You ought to feed him,” Otets said, “I put the extra vegetables on your plate…just for that.”

The hand on his knee rose to cup the side of his face and Peter didn’t pull away, because it was easier just to behave. His hands shook, he was starving, he really had been sick the night before, vomiting for hours after being kicked in the stomach. He often didn’t do as he was told. A thumb glided over his cheek bone where a bruise bloomed from being hit in the face, the cause of the bite, and then it led to the shocking…God the shocking.

“I have cared for you, haven’t I? I care for what is mine, you should care for what is yours.”

Was the rabbit his though? Sometimes…Sometimes he didn’t know.

It always felt like they were going to take it, but it had been quite some time. Otets removed his hand from Peter’s face and caressed the rabbit and Peter opened his mouth, an argument on his lips, but all that escaped was a small croak. He wanted to tell him to stop. To smash his face in. But he was shaking so much, he felt so…restrained. Nothing would escape.

The food was pushed closer to him, and he ordered, “Here, eat.”

Peter said nothing. Said nothing and thought nothing, but he picked up a piece of the lettuce on the corner of the plate and brought it to the rabbit’s mouth, watching as he chewed, completely content with where they were, despite the tiny room, despite the situation, despite the fact Peter had only just been shocked and his mind was still blurred heavily. Peter glanced up, at Otets and the man questioned, “What do you say?”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek.

“Thank you, Otets.”

Peter stumbled over a log buried beneath the snow, sending him into the ground. His hands were enveloped and felt numb almost instantly in the blinding white that surrounded him. The snow was steadily falling, and clinging to his eye lashes and the tips of his bangs. The memory kept assaulting him, digging into the back of his mind like a vise, and holding him there. The words on his lips felt like a curse, and it made him want to gag with even the thought of having to say that. Having to say it to the person who would send shocks through his neck and into his body.

His fingers clawed towards the back of his neck where the tenderness was, and he whimpered quietly, pressing down, digging in his fingernails. There was something there, there had to be. He knew it was there, it always was, but Peter couldn’t reach in deep enough to pull it out. He grunted in frustration, before throwing his hands down with a quiet cry of anger. He had to bite down on his lower lip to stop it from trembling. The whole world felt like it was against him, even the weather that was causing him to shiver.

Drowning him in snow.

Peter wasn’t sure who Otets was. He wasn’t even sure where the memories were rising from, why they were hurting him, but Peter’s insides felt like they were being torn to shreds. His hands grasped at nothing, until he felt warmth beginning to slide down under his nose and partly into his mouth. There was a simple drip, and red splattered into the white snow, contrasting starkly. Peter’s hands flew to his nose, covering where he had begun to bleed and he shut his eyes, the blood rushing down the back of his throat as well.

“Either kill the guard or the rabbit.”

“No…”

“The guard or the rabbit. Decide, zaichik.”

“Stop…stop…stop it!”

“Do it, do it now.”

“Stop!”

“Stop!” Peter screamed and fell back into the snow, against a tree holding his hands over his ears as he sucked in a deep breath. He was freezing, God it was so cold, the snow had fallen into the shoes that were too big for his feet and he felt like he was dying…He had to be dying. Insides were twisting, and Peter was falling, but he couldn’t feel the rabbit in his arms anymore. That small room was gone, but replaced by what?

His death bed? Destined to freeze to death in the middle of the forest?

Peter’s body shook, not just with fear, but with the cold as well, his jaw chattering and teeth clanking against each other. He placed his hands over his mouth and breathed out, trying to warm them with the air from his lungs, but nothing was working. It was as if he could feel his blood freezing in his veins and he wished he wouldn’t have left the facility. He should have stayed. He should have maybe waited for help to come. But instead he had run. He had gotten scared. The blood was still glimmering in the snow from his nose and all he could taste was metal from it slipping back.

A hand stroked his face gently.

“Stop crying. Your must learn to do away with attachments.”

But then…But then he was stabbing those men. He was killing them. Was that an attachment? To feel outside of himself for doing something so horrible. He could still see their blood under his fingernails, dry. It had hardened around the edges and Peter’s own blood from his nose was mixing in. The back of his neck stung still, and Peter felt desperate to claw it out, to rip it from under his flesh. He slammed his head back against the tree, looking up at the grey sky through the bare branches.

More snowflakes settled on his lashes.

He coughed, nearly collapsing to his left, arm sinking in the snow and he was shivering with more force than originally. It was too cold, he felt too stiff to move and all he could see was the rabbit under his hands, the men bleeding, the bathtub full of blood that he had been lying in and Peter’s skin crawled with the invisible graininess of the thing in the back of his neck. Whatever it was, it was ravenous, it was envious, it wanted to control every inch of him and Peter just wasn’t willing to hand it over anymore. He hadn’t been, at least he thought, when he was hurting those people, but he couldn’t understand why.

Nothing would connect.

Peter looked at his painted hand, the tattoo of the word Prōtotupos-4 rising to the sky. The tips of his fingers were turning pink, brighter by the moments that passed, and Peter breathed, air coming out in puffs in front of his face. Something that would have amused him when he was smaller, to pretend to stand on the sidewalk and smoke. But now there was nothing burning, nothing was warm, Peter was filled with shame and dread all at the same time.

The worst part was…he felt shameful for running.

…

The truth was, no one had told Tony what he was walking into at the facility.

Not even when the phone call had come in only a few hours after telling Natasha she, Steve, and Sam could go into the apparent Hydra facility. Explanations had been brief and cut thin, like a strand of hair, and Natasha was a woman of fate, ready to clip it. And though Tony had, had a feeling it was nothing good due to the lack of information, he was startled upon the gore of it all when he had entered. There was an unsettling stillness, there in the middle of the forest and his suit retracted to reveal his face. A heavy door stood wide open, allowing snow to be blown into the entry way of what seemed to be a bunker, but set more up-ground.

The corridor was long, but Tony didn’t miss the bodies.

It smelled of blood and ice and as he moved, he saw the chill from outside had begun to turn the blood under the corpses into some kind of odd slushy. Tony blinked several times, trying to take note of everything. Three dead in the hallway, right…Doors were standing open, lining up and down the walls and it wasn’t much like any other Hydra facility they had invaded in the past several years. Nothing like the one in Sokovia. He didn’t expect to find any secret doors, nothing fun like that…this was a massacre.

Upon his entry, Natasha emerged from one of the rooms, then followed by Steve and Sam. They could barely all fit into the narrow space and Tony just stared at them, feeling like he was silently being judged as if he had, had something to do with this horror-scene in front of them. Like he had done the murdering. Tony looked behind himself, slightly taken aback and it was just…it was kind of frustrating in an unsettling way. He pointed to his own chest and he asked quietly, “Why does it feel like I’m about to be burned at the stake?”

“It’s a possibility,” Wilson said.

Tony raised an eyebrow. Okay…Okay that made absolutely no sense what-so-ever. He hadn’t even known about this since before Natasha had called about the distress signal from the location, his days and nights had been filled with searching for a missing teenager from Queens. Hydra hadn’t even been on his radar, not in so, so long. Slowly, Tony stepped forward, a bit of frustration grabbing at his bones. He was absolutely exhausted, and he didn’t need people playing games with him. He needed…f*ck he didn’t know what he needed, but being blamed for this apparent mass murder was not it.

“Okay,” Tony mused, “Imma give you guys thirty seconds to stop looking at me like a bunch of asses and explain what’s going on. I’ve got other stuff to do.”

Steve questioned sharply, “Like search for Peter Parker?”

Tony’s brows furrowed.

Heat rose in his face. There was this anger, uncalled for but existent at hearing Steve say the kid’s name. He had tried to keep the boy’s disappearance separate from Avengers’ business. Mostly because, at the end of the day, Peter’s identity was still a secret. No one needed to know it was Peter Parker dressing up as the hero from Queens, who, only a week before his disappearance ninety-two days ago, had stopped a plane of their materials from being stolen. Tony gripped his hands at his sides, the metal walls reminding him too much of Siberia. Too much of being punched repeatedly, of wounds they had worked hard to try to heal with a lot of interventions and ignoring the fact that Bucky Barnes was probably sipping margaritas in Wakanda while Tony’s parents were six feet under.

“Why the hell would you say that?”

It wasn’t betrayal it was more so…territorial. The kid was his business, no one else’s, Steve didn’t even need to be saying it out loud unless it directly correlated to the kid getting home to his aunt. Tony had found Peter, had recruited him, had given him the suit and taken it, and then given it back. And then Peter hadn’t even disappeared because of Spider-Man, he had been snatched one night going to get pizza for himself and his f*cking aunt and what was Tony supposed to do with that information? What was he supposed to do with Steve saying that kid’s name like it was easiest thing in the world when it had been plaguing Tony’s nightmares for three months?

“Come here.”

Steve turned and re-entered the room they had come out of. Both Natasha and Sam followed, Sam’s eyes remaining a few extra moments, a look of…distrust on his face. Tony followed, suit clanking as he stepped, not feeling the safest and most confident to take it off when he was flashing to Siberia every time he saw a wall that looked too similar. Blood and concrete and it all mixed in with memories that he just wished would go away as he entered the tiny room. All three were standing in front of a table, with monitors glowing and on the floor was a fourth body. Tony tilted his head, swallowed and approached the screens. They appeared to be on some kind of loop and it was all very distracting, holding onto his attention as he blinked and blinked and blinked.

Steve’s finger pointed forcefully at the screen in the middle, and Tony stepped forward. At first it was nothing, soldiers in a hallway, but then…then it was chaos.

Running, shooting, a figure, fighting them, stabbing them. And sure, Tony had seen some crazy sh*t in his life, he had seen a lot of crazy sh*t, but it was methodical in a way he could not wrap his head around, especially because of the small stature of the person doing it. The person ripping into the Hydra agents, the monsters, and maybe they wouldn’t have been monsters if Tony’s mind hadn’t clicked with the face of the person doing the killing. If the world hadn’t suddenly felt colder before and broken through with the wind and Tony’s skin was dug under with the realization of why he had been called here. Of why everyone seemed so angry, angry at him…angry because this wasn’t…Christ it wasn’t…

There are these moments where we are not normal.

There are these moments where we are not human.

Tony was not, he must not have been. Not when he had given that kid a suit and brought him to Germany. Their judgement made sense. It made all the sense in the world because Tony had felt like that towards himself like a vehement beast snarling at the door and threatening him. Tony saw, he saw the way the tiny body was pushed under the water of the bathtub. The way he struggled, and stabbed the man and both went limp and f*ck…f*ck Tony hated himself, he hated what he had done.

Peter Parker.

Peter Parker, and his wide brown eyes, eyes that held curiousness and held life, were determined as the video went back on loop, replayed him murdering the guards, and Tony was about ready to vomit. He hadn’t felt his heart rise so high since Killian. Since that mess, since he had been helpless and now he was again, watching the kid he had mentored, had wanted to protect, had ultimately endangered by taking the suit, rip into men twice his size. And Peter would never…he would never…

But then there was Bucky Barnes.

And Steve had been sure that Barnes would never do the things he did.

Hydra built things that didn’t make sense.

And clearly they had…they had taken this kid and they had done something awful. They had pressed into the back of something that should have been nonexistent in a kid like this…a kid without a killing bone in his body. Tony had that capacity within himself, he had no doubt, but Peter? Peter would never…no he would never willingly harm another human being, he hadn’t even wanted to hurt Toomes and the guy had nearly killed him. But there were these people, these soldiers and f*ck…f*ck no…

“What is this?” Tony breathed, looking at them with wild eyes, “How old is this?”

“A few hours we think,” Natasha replied, “We couldn’t find the rest of the tapes…these were set on loop, but we think there’s some sort of system in place to wipe them clean after a certain amount of time and it just got hung up on these clips…but…”

She reached onto the desk, sliding a file between them. Tony loomed over it, hands trembling as he reached out and opened it, a simple stamp on the front:

Prōtotupos-4

He opened it, blinking hard, trying to make sense in the flickering lights as he took in the messy cursive writing. It was simplistic…nothing extraordinary besides the content of the words, the heavy feeling that the brevity pushed upon his shoulders and how his stomach churned at the mere thought that anything within the folder could be true…could be touched or reached for and Tony forgot how to feel anything other than homicidal tendencies. He forgot how to control an anger that he had thought died after the forgiveness of Siberia…or the pretending of it. The Accords, Ross, Barnes. It flooded up, in the form of a child that had been missing for three months.

Prōtotupos-4 is responding well to orders. Shock administration provokes Prōtotupos-4 into cooperation. Still refuses to submit to weapon-use instruction.

Shock administration.

Cooperation.

“Tony,” Steve whispered, “This kid…this isn’t just some missing teenager you’ve been advocating for…is it?”

If cement could eat a person alive, it would have eaten Tony. He swallowed thickly, and instead of the grief he wished to feel, he looked over with anger. Anger that shouldn’t have been aimed at Steve, because there was no malice in his words, but there was malice on Tony’s tongue. He hissed, “What, you thought it was just some f*cking charity work?”

“Hey now – “ Sam started raising a hand, but Tony scoffed, stepping back from the file.

“Don’t worry Wilson, no reason to reach into your counseling experience, we won’t be needing it,” Tony snapped, “What we will be needing are some body bags…And these tapes, I want them gone. Now, get rid of them, burn them, do whatever you have to do and…”

He swallowed, “Where’s the kid? Where is he?”

Natasha shook her head, “He wasn’t here when we arrived. Just the bodies and the tapes.”

Great…Great, awesome. Tony inhaled, his body feeling as if it were vibrating, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The sky was opening up, Tony was swallowed down. There was a ceiling, no escape, the walls were around him, and what was he? A really sh*tty mentor, that’s what. Tony’s eyes scattered, he looked at the body on the floor and he stared…because it was off…where the f*ck were the guy’s shoes – ?

Oh no, kid…No, you didn’t…

The snow…the snow, and below freezing temperatures in the middle of the wilderness. A kid waking up in a place like this? Waking up surrounded by bodies? Maybe even realizing what he had done that wasn’t…no it wasn’t particularly good. Tony turned quickly, ignoring the hand that tried to grab his arm and stop him, Steve’s hand. He instead continued to the door and Steve called after him, “Where’re you going?”

“Look!” Tony pointed at the body, and why couldn’t they see it? It was a panicked escape, why couldn’t they see? – no this isn’t Afghanistan, it’s not a cave in the desert – “The shoes are gone. Peter booked his ass out of here, which means he’s wandering around on this mountain in the snow. Forget about the bodies…get the tapes, and get on the Quinjet, first priority is find the kid.”

Natasha tried this time, “Tony – “

“Do as I say!” Tony ordered.

It wasn’t exactly rational, leader thinking. It was a horror movie playing out right before his very eyes and Tony was out the door, helmet encasing his head almost immediately before he took off into the sky, overpowering the trees and looking down on the white blanket below, only polluted by the trees that had no leaves to speak of. Maybe it made it easier, especially since Peter would hopefully not be dressed in something white. The HUB glowed and Tony ordered, trying to fight the shakiness in his voice, and he wasn’t angry.

“Friday,” Tony pushed the words past his throat, “Thermal scan.”

The world changed into colors, burning Tony’s eyes and he flew. His mind pretended he was elsewhere, it was disassociating. It was what he did when he wasn’t using alcohol to help it, but he had been sober for some time, however the stress came at odd moments in his life and sobriety was an uphill battle, not a standstill. He was tempted everyday of his life, and now was the time, now…but he couldn’t, and Peter was probably somewhere freezing to death in the snow and Tony couldn’t get to him…hadn’t been there fast enough…hadn’t been there at all really. Because hell, the kid had saved his entire plane and yet Tony couldn’t even do more than give him a pat on the back and offer him a new suit?

It was clear he had wanted more than that, but Tony couldn’t. He couldn’t be more than that through the boundaries. The kid was desperate to latch onto someone, someone other than just his aunt, someone that could be that uncle that was dead, and Tony always stepped out of the way of that. Always moved back when it got too close for comfort. Peter could always be that for him from a distance, but if he got too close, it was too real. Peter made him consider children, he had never done that before, had never even entertained the idea. But he longed for something he could get close to without that same terror as he felt with Peter.

Peter had, had someone.

At some point at least.

But he felt that way, scanning the snow. Scanning the trees, just searching for something red, something that would show him a kid was alive down there, or at least alive enough to bring home in one piece. Tony imagined the kind of sh*t Hydra could do in ninety-two days and suddenly realized if anyone had been left alive inside that bunker, he would have torn into them. Would have destroyed them, would have done something unheroic. So maybe it was lucky on their part a tiny fifteen-year-old had finished it all for them.

But then again he wasn’t sure because hell…Peter had been brutal and scary and Tony didn’t know if he could stand what he was going to find.

Either way…Either way he would find a way to deal with it. Find a way to help this kid, he just had to be alive first. Alive and in one piece, and enough to put back together. Tony was a mechanic after all, and maybe people weren’t like robots but they were close enough. He could do what he had to do to save this kid from whatever darkness had been introduced into his very existence. An existence that had quite literally been full of sunshine. That kid was a ray of it.

Red appeared on his screen…

Red and orange and yellow.

It was between two empty trees, lying sideways and it was most definitely a body. Tony remembered once, feeling such joy when he was found in the middle of the desert and was this how Rhodey had felt when they had landed and plucked him from the sand where he had collapsed with such relief? It felt like it must have been as he lowered himself from the sky. As he went down and down and down and a knot formed in his stomach, the thermal screen disappearing and being replaced with the white snow and the tree branches and sure enough, tucked on the ground was the unconscious face of Peter Parker.

It would have looked like the kid was just sleeping if blood wasn’t dried under his nose and his face wasn’t slightly bruised. Like he had been punched, and one of the shoes he was wearing was falling off. Tony trudged forward through the snow, finally reaching the prone body, and Peter looked so skinny, so much smaller than when he had last seen him. Peter had always been quite small since Tony had met him all those months ago, but f*ck, it looked like he hadn’t had a decent meal since going missing. Not necessarily starved to the bone, but close enough to draw concern.

Tony dropped down on his knees beside him, barely able to breathe as he whispered, “Kid?”

Peter was shivering, his eyes fluttering under their lids, but they did not open to acknowledge Tony’s arrival. Carefully, Tony reached out and he ordered into the suit, “Friday, vitals.”

“His body temperature seems to be plummeting below the standard 98 F,” Friday’s voice answered dutifully, “I suggest immediate medical attention.”

Tony nodded his head quickly, unable to form a comprehendible response. Instead, he started gathering the battered teen into his arms, and he was disturbed at the way the child just hung limply. It was as if the waking world had no more interest to him, and never would again and blood was shining in the snow like some kind of messed up painting. Tony held tightly, pulling the boy to his chest as he said, “Okay Friday, boot-thrusters only, keep us steady.”

They ignited, the snow steaming up as it evaporated almost instantly under the heat and Tony was lifting into the air. Though his suit was made to compensate for lack of hand-thrusters, it always made for a shaky ride and Peter’s added weight was not helping. He supposed he could have waited for the Quinjet, but it seemed pointless, now, the kid needed help right then. They needed to go back to the Compound. They needed to get rid of those tapes and maybe just the whole facility in general…After what evidence they could find was collected of course. It was a threatening idea, but a needed one, nonetheless and Tony kept pushing up and up and up.

Tony wasn’t sure if he had ever held Peter so close to him, and it felt odd and horrifying. He was afraid, though he’d never admit that out loud, so he hid it behind rage instead. It fumed within his chest, a promise to figure this out, but also to end it. To end what hadn’t been ended and Christ, Hydra had torn Bucky Barnes to shreds, but Peter was a child…An actual child, fifteen-years-old, and had they picked his brain apart in the same way? Messed with him?

A disaster and Tony was going to kill every single one of them.

Then…rapid descent.

It happened like swallowing a pill. One moment Peter was lying limp and the next he was flailing in Tony’s arms, as if Tony’s thoughts of violence had yanked him from his hypothermic sleep. An arm slammed against the side of Tony’s helmet and they were thrown off balance, plummeting towards the earth below. Tony tried to steady them, letting out a string of curses and then the branches from trees were smacking into his suit and he could only imagine the jolts Peter’s exposed body was going through as they slammed into the snow, puffs of powder flying.

Well…So much for flying to the Compound.

Tony rolled up into a kneeling position, and he looked over at Peter’s frail body that was attempting to stand, but failing miserably and he was shocked the fall hadn’t knocked the teen unconscious once more. Peter stumbled up, falling over and blood was sliding down from his hairline now, probably from the branches or hitting the ground itself. Tony didn’t try to stand, watching while Peter struggled to gain some kind of control, like a newborn deer stuck in the middle of the freezing weather. The boots that had been too big were gone now, and Peter’s feet were bare and pink, his nose and cheeks matching with his gashed head.

Peter was gasping, and he grabbed onto a tree, letting out small cries as he held his abdomen and he wasn’t speaking, but his eyes held enough terror to make even Tony feel a bit of fear. Maybe not in the same way…but the kid was out of it, and Tony really didn’t want to have to fight him to get back to the Compound. Tony retracted the helmet, just so Peter could see a friendly face and he held up his hands in a placative manner…

“Hey…hey,” Tony breathed, heart still pounding because of their fall from the sky, “Pete…”

That got his attention.

Peter’s eyes met his, looking wild behind them. Dark bags were under them, and Tony swallowed thickly at how gaunt Peter’s face seemed in the sunlight. He hadn’t looked as bad sleeping, but now he looked sick and pale and bloody. Peter stopped trying so hard to stand, and instead leaned heavily on the tree. A small hand rose and pressed to his temple and Peter shut his eyes once more and shook his head.

“You’re not real.”

Tony swallowed, “Yes I am…Look.”

Peter’s eyes snapped open, as if the order was too stern to ignore. Fear was held in his expression and he bit down on his lip so hard Tony was scared he was about to gnaw through it. Tony continued, “I’m real.”

“N-No, no, no, no,” Peter groaned, gripping the tree, “No, because…oh my God, it doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes sense they made – they tried to make me…I would never do that, I would n-never hurt those people like that, not anyone and I…”

He trailed off, taking in a shaky breath and finally Tony stood, still holding out his hands as he nodded, “I know, kid. Look, I know. But I’m here, and we’re going to go home now, okay? I’m here to take you home…And we’ll figure all this out, but you gotta calm down first.”

Peter held out his hand, into a space that was not there. Into something that didn’t make sense and his eyes were shedding tears and Tony had never seen the kid cry before. Not even when he had taken the suit and Peter’s face was devastated, he hadn’t let a tear fall and here he was…torn open and bared out in the middle of the snow, and his scrubs were caked in the blood of other people, people that Tony had just watched him stab on a video. And yet all Tony could think was: Get the kid out of here. Get him safe.

“I just went to get…Aunt May ordered pizza…she was finally…coming around…”

“I know.”

“I dunno what happened.”

Tony moved forward, carefully. He grabbed Peter’s wrist, even though he knew it wasn’t offered to him. Peter cringed, but Tony held tightly and grabbed the kid’s opposite arm, just…just holding. Just grounding. The kid needed to understand where he was. Because it was clear the facility was still existing behind his memories, in his expression, burning like an unrecognizable fire of pain and for God’s sake, what had they done to the kid…?

He whispered, leaning close, “You’re alright.”

Peter wouldn’t look him in the eyes. He was staring at Tony’s neck, as if the very thought of making eye contact would cause pain. Peter opened his mouth to say something but he seemed to look down at his hands and Tony noticed the dried blood there. Noticed what was caked under the kid’s fingernails. Peter’s head started to shake, and his chest gave a sharp tug before the boy murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry – I’m so sorry, I…I…”

“We’re gonna figure this out,” Tony repeated, “I’m going to figure it out. But we need to get you back to the Compound first…you’ve been gone a while and you’re…you’re hurt.”

The boy swallowed, throat bobbing as he continued to stare at his hands. Peter had never seemed so small before in front of him. So broken, and the spark wasn’t there in his face. Tony didn’t know what to do…he didn’t know how to comfort him…he was still struggling with the fact that this kid he had been looking for, for the past ninety-two days was right there standing in front of him. He raised a hand, but stopped, not knowing what to do. Not knowing whether to hold him, or make him look away from the blood, or what. How was he going to protect this kid from the things his own hands had done? How could he fix this…this wasn’t something a ‘mechanic’ could repair and Peter was so skinny…

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud humming and the wind suddenly picked up. Both Tony and Peter looked up in the sky and hovering above them, seemingly out of nowhere in the grey clouds appeared the Quinjet. It was a welcomed sight, if it meant getting Peter out of the cold and one step closer to the Compound, but had that really been enough time to get all the tapes? Someone was going to find the bodies, find what they left behind, but as long as the evidence of Peter’s face being there was gone, Tony didn’t care. He didn’t want the rest of the world deciding Peter wasn’t just some kid from Queens like Nat, Steve, and Sam had done.

The kid’s hand shot out, a clear reaction to terror and Tony let the boy latch onto his arm in the eeriness of the forest that was now polluted with the sound of the jet. It hovered above them, welcoming, but it could not land in the trees, so the hatch simply opened as if waving for them to make their ascent into the sky. Tony looked down at Peter who was now shaking, as if he knew what this was underneath, but whatever his mind had suffered, it was blocking out that possibility.

“We gotta go up,” Tony raised his voice a little to be heard over the aircraft, “I’m gonna take us up there.”

Peter’s face blanched, “But…”

“We’ve got to kid, you’re too cold, we can’t stay out here.”

It was said with a firmness, not leaving room for argument and maybe Tony should have been a bit gentler in his tone, but Peter couldn’t stand in the cold anymore, not running the risk of losing some toes. Peter’s eyes flitted back and forth from the Quinjet, to Tony’s face and back and forth again before his head hesitantly nodded. Tony didn’t hesitate. He grabbed him, dragging them both up into the air and towards where the small platform welcomed them into the ship with seemingly open arms.

Tony felt the way the kid’s fingers dented the suit. Actually dented it under his strength and no wonder he had been capable of knocking them both from the sky. Peter’s blood on his head was turning a deep black color as it crusted and almost as soon as they were in the ship, the landing was closing behind them and they were pulled into this silence. Tony’s eyes scanned the area, and up front at the controls was Nat and nearing them were both Steve and Sam.

He could remember a time having them all on the ship, when things were kind of easier. But difficulties arose, and Peter was still holding on tight, even as Tony brought him forward where Sam was seemingly already waiting with a blanket. Peter flinched as it was wrapped around his shoulders and Tony fought the urge to tell them to back off, but they were looking at Peter with horror, clearly disturbed by the blood from his head.

People were talking, they were definitely talking, but all Tony could focus on was the kid. This kid and his frail body as he assisted it in lying down. The last person to lie in the Quinjet, in that very spot was Clint after destroying the Hydra base in Sokovia and God, it felt like eons ago now. Peter wouldn’t lie all the way down, and instead opted to keep sitting up, clearly overwhelmed by both Steve and Sam who had begun to check him over.

“…Tony…Tony did you hear me?”

Tony yanked back into the world, and Nat was peering at him over her shoulder. Peter was gripping his wrist, preventing him from moving away and Tony looked at her, clearly getting the point across that he had no idea what she had said. She sighed, shaking her head back and forth and she turned to stare out the window before repeating, “Ross called while we were getting rid of the tapes…He’s pissed we went in without authorization for a ‘mission’ and he’s sending guys in…They’re going to find what was left in that facility and I have a feeling we’re in for a sh*t-show.”

“As long as they don’t see Peter’s face, it’s fine,” Tony insisted. The hand on his wrist tugged, and Tony whirled. Peter was shivering, under the blanket, his eyes wide and some of the blood had been removed from his forehead, replaced by a sticky bandage that Steve or Sam must have applied while his back was turned. Peter’s mouth was quivering, and he looked terrified at the mention of Ross and the facility being searched.

Steve said something along the lines of, “He’s going to need stitches.”

But he wouldn’t. No Peter healed so fast, but they didn’t know that. Didn’t know about Spider-Man. About Peter and Spider-Man being one in the same. They would never get it. They’d never forgive him for bringing a child to Germany and they would rip him to shreds for it. Then there was the risk of Ross. The risk of the Accords, and wanting Spider-Man to sign and f*ck, the kid had only just been pulled from the most traumatizing situation of his life, and Tony was not prepared to throw him into another shark tank.

Peter croaked, “They’re going to arrest me.”

He sounded like a small child, like a kid that was overreacting from accidentally stealing candy or something. But then Tony remembered the footage. Remembered the brutality, but no…Peter had been defending himself. Peter had done nothing wrong, and if he hadn’t done it, Tony sure as hell would have. He kind of wished he had, if it had saved Peter from that look on his face. That look of sheer horror, as if he couldn’t believe what he had been capable of…

“No they’re not,” Tony replied, “I won’t let them.”

He didn’t miss the way that the kid’s breath seemed to catch in his throat.

“Mister Stark – I…What I did…”

“You were defending yourself,” Tony snapped, sounding harsher than intended, but he needed this kid to listen, he needed him to understand that what he had done…what he had done, wasn’t his fault and the world wasn’t black and white, despite how the kid constantly seemed to view it. He pulled his arm from Peter’s grip and stepped towards the kid, and he was looming in a way that maybe days from now he would realize was frightening.

“What you did, you had to do. Those sh*theads aren’t worth you feeling guilty over. They held you against your will, and you escaped.”

That was where the realization would come…As Peter’s eyes turned into something like fear. Like a trigger had been spoken into existence and before Tony could process it, the kid was covering his ears. His teeth were gnashing down, and he was letting out a low, pained sound, as if someone was twisting a blade in his throat. The boy’s hands then left his ears and went to his neck and he pressed down to the back of it, over his spine. But it was only when he dug his fingernails in that Tony grabbed at his wrist and pulled.

“Hey, hey, hey…”

Peter shouted, “No! No it…it burns, it’s burning I’ve got – I’ve got to get it out – I’ve gotta – “

“Peter stop!” Tony ordered, and Tony tried to pry his hands away, but Peter started to flail on the table. Nat looked back at them, her mouth frowning and both Sam and Steve moved forward, Sam taking hold of Peter’s ankles and Steve assisting Tony in controlling Peter’s arms. The kid thrashed madly, like something from an exorcist film and Tony shoved Peter’s arms down while Steve pressed on his chest. Without warning, the kid’s eyes rolled back, and his body flattened on the table, shaking and shaking and shaking as if the seizure were taking him away completely…

And Tony…Tony was lost.

…

“Shhhhh, shhhh.”

“When you decide to obey, the pain will stop.”

Peter bit down on the belt between his teeth, the shocks ripping through his body, causing his back to arch off the cot. A scream tore from his lips and he felt like a fire was ripping out of every muscle inside of him, pouring, and Peter had never felt so close to never seeing the light of day again because for a moment, brief, and quick he wished to be dead. He wished to be anywhere but where he was, in that cement room with his rabbit locked away and he couldn’t even hold him, couldn’t even comfort himself and Peter didn’t want them to take the rabbit, but he also couldn’t behave, he didn’t want to…he didn’t want to obey.

Then the shocking stopped, and Peter’s mouth open, the belt falling from between his teeth as he let out a sob, rolling onto his side to vomit on the floor. It felt like acid running up his throat and out and they had only just showered him, or more so sprayed him with a water hose as they always did in the morning. Hands grabbed him and rolled him onto his back and Otets appeared above him. He was grimacing, as if he felt bad for this…All of it.

But he didn’t. It was a lie.

“Are you ready to comply?”

Peter breathed words that would have made Aunt May grab a bar of soap…

“f*ck you.”

Peter startled awake, body convulsing and the vomit he dreamed of was real and he was leaning over the edge of a bed, bringing it all up as he choked. There was a sickening splash as it hit white tile and nothing, no air, and Peter gasped as hands covered his body and he felt naked and invaded, and sure enough his chest was bare, and he wasn’t clothed as he was forced onto his back to stare up at a ceiling. But this was not the cement room. It was not perpetual shocking. It was tile, unfamiliar and suddenly a face appeared over him.

Brilliance.

The face of brilliance.

Peter would have been starstruck if pain wasn’t shooting up and down his back and the burning from his neck wasn’t threatening to consume him. Because there he was, Bruce Banner, in all his glory, glasses on his face and mouth set in a frown. Actual concern, not like the man that kept invading Peter’s memories of a captivity that was better off forgotten. Peter had dreamt and clung to many things in the past, but the dream of meeting Bruce Banner was now soiled with this and he was saying something…his mouth was moving, and Peter couldn’t sit up as plastic-gloved fingers prodded him.

They slid over his neck, and Peter supposed maybe if he could hear, he could have heard himself screaming about the burning, about where he had tried to claw at it, and the gloved fingers brushed over the spot at the base of his skull. Peter’s back lifted from the bed as something like lightning rushed down him, maybe even remnants of the electricity that had shocked him into submission and Peter let out a long wail that only sounded like static in his ears.

Then, the ringing faded, and though Doctor Banner’s words sounded far off, they still spoke through the haze like they had been welcomed in dust…

“…there’s scarring…”

Peter managed to croak the words out, “Stop...stop...”

Then Mister Stark’s face appeared as well, and Peter felt like he was deep in a hole, looking up at the faces of the only two men in the world that could see this kind of agony. He felt embarrassed. He felt like he hated himself, but he also hurt too much to care. He just wanted it out…he wanted them to fix it…to fix him and Doctor Banner’s hand touched the back of his neck once more and Peter cringed, eyes shutting.

“Kid…kid, hey look at me.”

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he blinked, over and over again against the bright lights above his head. Mister Stark was staring, and his eyes were unreadable. Like an actual doctor and Peter didn’t know where Doctor Banner had gone.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m going to fix this.”

It sounded like Peter was underwater…And it had been so long since he had seen Mister Stark’s face. The face of a man who could do anything, and so Peter nodded his head, nodded it vehemently just so the man would know he understood and he believed and trusted him…Mister Stark would fix it. He fixed everything. He had fixed the world on countless occasions, and this would be nothing.

It would be nothing.

Chapter 3: Harmonious Shrew

Chapter Text

There was a concept called voluntary apnea.

Peter remembered hearing about it. Remembered watching some show that Ned really liked, where one of the main characters was talking about it during counseling. Talking about air filling one’s lungs, but while you’re drowning…you have this instinct to hold your breath. Until finally…your mouth opens, you let the water in, and you black out. But Peter had decided that such a concept had been thought up by people who had never almost drowned. Because Peter…when his head was exploding…being held beneath the bath water…it felt like his skull was ripping open and suddenly he took in that water but then…all he felt was pain.

But before he could let the darkness overwhelm him, he was brought back above the water of the bathtub. Hands held his shoulders, Peter gasped in, and coughed and gagged, and he wished to be anywhere by there, being dunk repeatedly. Otets took him by his face, and he squeeze tightly. Peter blinked several times, feeling his cheeks bruise and he was sobbing…Peter was sobbing, but he tried to hold back because he was Spider-Man…Spider-Man didn’t cry.

“Shhhhh,” Otets ordered, “Are you ready to comply?”

Peter couldn’t answer verbally. He couldn’t stop coughing. So he shook his head, hard, in a ‘no’ and he heard Otets sigh deeply, releasing his face before running his fingers through the boy’s soaked hair and Peter wanted to break every last one of his fingers because the man’s touch felt vile, and wrong, and Peter wanted out, out, out of his own skin.

“Under.”

There were hands holding Peter to the bed, and he knew he was struggling, he knew he was wrong, he knew he should just stay still and the voices were trying to calm him. But there were too many, and the women in scrubs looked scared of him, and he knew the man’s face…Bruce Banner, and Mister Stark, but for some reason they were hurting him. They were touching him and he wanted their hands off. He wanted Aunt May…he wanted to be someone else.

Peter coughed, trying to reach the oxygen mask they had put over his face, but Doctor Banner’s hand wrapped around his wrist and he ordered, “Peter, don’t, don’t touch that, you’re not breathing, take a deep breath…It’s just air.”

No, no, no….

Peter tried to sit up, and when he looked over, someone was grabbing his wrist. Mister Stark, shoving his hands to the bed while one of the nurses put a restraint around his wrist. The leather was wrapped in cushion, but it still hurt, it was still holding him down and Peter looked at Mister Stark like he had hurt him. Mister Stark looked more terrified than sorry, not terrified of Peter but of how insane he was acting. Peter wasn’t so outside of himself that he didn’t know that what he was doing, this thrashing, he knew it was bad. He shouldn’t…these were the Avengers, but Christ, he was drowning…he was…

“I’m – I can’t breathe – I can’t – “

“Yes you can,” Mister Stark got close to him, and Peter realized they had both of his wrists restrained then, and he was sinking further into a bathtub that was left behind. Mister Stark took him gently, placing a hand over the oxygen mask and another on the back of Peter’s head, and ordered, “Do what I do…Breathe. Deep. In.”

Under.

The back of his neck burned. It felt like flames. Peter tried, he really did, but he shook his head. Mister Stark was close, too close, and his hair was damp on his forehead, sweating. Peter imagined it was from trying to wrangle Peter onto the bed in his panic. Everyone looked disheveled, Peter wondered where the nurses had come from and then he found Bruce Banner, standing at one of the nearby movable tables, several items in front of him. Maybe he was trying to hide them with his body, but Peter didn’t miss the syringe, didn’t miss the vile of something…the way he was whispering to one of the nurses and Peter looked at Mister Stark with teary eyes, lower lip trembling under the mask that the man had pressed to his mouth.

Peter reached out, even though his wrists were restrained, and he felt the leather ripping, surprising Mister Stark slightly. The left wrist remained held, but he managed to tear the right one free and he used his free arm to reach out and grab Mister Stark tightly, causing the man to release the mask to try and push Peter back to the bed. But instead of shoving Tony off, Peter held him close, burying the side of his face in the man’s clavicle, peering around his bicep to look at Bruce Banner as he trembled in Mister Stark’s hold.

“Don’t – no…” Peter whispered, trying to hide himself in Tony’s chest. Burrowing down into his ribcage and abdomen. He pushed himself close, as close as he could because he knew what Bruce was going to do to him with the syringe, he knew what it was for, and he shut his eyes tightly a moment and croaked, “I’ll stop – I’ll stop – I’ll comply, just don’t…don’t.”

Mister Stark’s hand found the nape of his neck and squeezed, the other arm wrapping around his back and holding him tightly. The hand on his neck almost eased the burning a bit, and Peter wished for Mister Stark to tell Bruce to stop. To put down the syringe. But he didn’t. Instead he held the boy so close, Peter could feel him sweating through his clothes. Tony’s hand then slid to space between his jaw and shoulder, pressing against the side of his throat and Peter thought maybe if he choked to death he’d be okay, it’d be better than having the oxygen mask on his face and his left arm restrained.

Bruce approached from the right and Peter pulled his right arm close to himself, hiding it like a child being frightened of a shot. But he was bare, his chest and arms open to whatever needle waited for him and Peter tried to adjust himself to hide his arm between himself and Tony. However once Bruce was in reach, both he and Tony started to pull his arm out from under him and Peter squirmed, looking at Tony with a pleading expression.

“I’ll stop! I’ll behave! No-no!”

Mister Stark wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead he continued to assist Doctor Banner and Peter felt the needle prick his arm and immediately a warmth ran through his body. An odd sort of warmth and usually anesthetics took time to work on him or didn’t work at all, but this one did. Peter’s arm was released, and he pulled it back close to himself, looking at Tony as if he had been betrayed. His mouth shook, and he reached towards the mask again, but Mister Stark pulled him close and Peter slumped against the hold.

He realized…this was the first time they had hugged. And he wasn’t trying to open a door.

…

“What was that?”

Tony’s chest felt like it was about to rip in half. He had the kid close, held tightly in his arms and the boy’s breathing had evened out. The nurses that had become frightened by Peter’s thrashing finally moved forward, reaching out as if to take Peter from Tony’s hold, but the man was reluctant. However, he eventually relented, helping them place the boy back against the pillows, Peter’s lashes touching his cheeks and his face puffy with remnants of tears on it. Bruce stepped back, throwing the syringe in one of the orange boxes before he sighed deeply.

“One of Cap’s sedatives,” Bruce answered, “We’ll need to find something for long term, but it should work for now…Tony…this kid…”

Bruce moved towards the bed once more, slipping on a pair of gloves. He grabbed Peter by his shoulders, turning the kid just enough on his side to show the back of his neck. There was a pink scar…Running from his hairline to the bottom of his neck. The doctor pressed down on it with his index finger and he looked incredibly perplexed…

“The kid doesn’t scar,” Tony whispered.

“Right…” Bruce hummed, “It’s clear they’ve been…well, the kid has been tortured, you can see that.”

Tortured. Tony had seen it. Could see it in the way the kid had been panicking at being touched. That was still…it was difficult for Tony to wrap his head around the idea of someone torturing this kid. Peter Parker, the happiest kid with the most energy Tony had ever seen in his life, had just been sobbing in his arms and begging to be spared from the concoction Bruce was about to pump into his veins and Tony had just…he had helped Bruce. Had helped pry the kid’s arm away from his chest. Had held him down, had to remind himself that this was a panicking kid because f*ck, it was scary to see someone thrashing and Tony had thought the kid wanted to strangle him…But Peter had clung to him, had wanted to be protected and Tony had just let him be sedated.

Someone had tortured Peter.

Hydra had tortured Peter.

It was no secret Hydra didn’t hold a lot of mercy within them. After what they had done to Bucky Barnes, to Tony’s family, had destroyed so much…And Tony didn’t put it past them to torture a fifteen-year-old kid, not by a long shot. But how did they know? How had they found out? They hadn’t taken Peter as Spider-Man, they had taken him when he was going to pick up dinner. It didn’t make any sense. Tony looked over at Peter as Bruce slowly released him and he laid flat on his back once more. Peter was still, the oxygen mask pumping him with the stuff. Tony had been tortured in a cave…Peter though…what had they done to him?

“What does this mean?”

“Means, I think there’s a reason Peter was complaining about his neck,” Bruce muttered softly, “But I can’t be sure without tests. I think we should call Cho, and get her and her team here as soon as possible. If they’ve done something to…change him…we might need her help to undo it. She recently took an interest in altered-humans.”

Tony made a face, standing from where he was sitting on the bed, “Don’t call him that.”

No, because that was probably how Hydra had viewed him. They had probably seen him as this altered teenager, something moldable. Something small, something that could be changed and turned into a weapon. Something that could grow around them. Maybe it was a better idea than the Winter Soldier. After all…he had been grown. And Tony feared…deeply, that they would need to send Peter off, send him where Barnes was. He didn’t want that. He wanted Peter fixed now.

Tony stepped aside to allow a nurse room. She had an IV bag, and was already starting to set the line up in the inside of Peter’s arm. The boy didn’t stir at all as she jostled him, and she seemed to be working quickly. Even if these were the Compound medical personnel, they weren’t used to this. Maybe if they got Cho there quickly, with her team, they could save the nurses a bit of anxiety and Bruce as well, whose hands were still shaking at the rough handling of the boy. Tony’s eyes flickered downward at Peter’s arm as the nurse worked, his eyes settling on the darkness within Peter’s wrist…

Prōtotupos-4

He didn’t think. He nearly lunged forward, grabbing Peter’s wrist tightly in his hand. The nurse flinched back, her IV not getting finished as Tony held Peter’s wrist in almost a bruising grip. His eyes narrowed, and he had to force himself to lighten his hold on the boy for fear he might actually harm him in his slumber. The nurse stepped away even further, maybe noticing how Tony was fuming, the way his hands shook and his eyes bore into the markings like they were something handed down from Satan himself.

Bruce whispered…

“Tony…”

“What does that mean?” Tony questioned, voice coming out hard and slicing like a blade as he ran his thumb over the inside of the pale wrist, “What…what is this?”

No one said anything. It was silent and Tony realized it was a tattoo, like a brand…stuck under Peter’s skin and permanent and he felt his heart sinking lower and lower as the anger rose and suddenly he wished he had gotten to the facility soon enough to kill the bastards. For a child he had only known for a few months…since Germany…God, Tony was messed up. He felt messed up inside and he looked at the nurse and Doctor Banner and shouted despite himself, “What the f*ck does it mean!?”

The nurse flinched and surprisingly she answered, “I think it’s…I think it means ‘prototype’ sir.”

Prototype. What in God’s name…?

“I want it removed.”

Bruce sighed, “A tattoo removal isn’t exactly our first priority right now, Tony. The kid has been through a lot, and there’s still the problem of figuring out why Hydra would do this. Not to mention…Nat said Ross is not happy they went to the facility in the first place without authorization.”

Tony looked at Bruce, flames threatening to erupt out of his ears. So what? So what about Ross? So what about the assholes who did this? Tony would deal with that later…right now he wanted this off of the kid. Immediately. The kid that had clung to him, had wanted him to keep him safe and yet there they were, there they were grasping at straws, not knowing what the hell they were going to do and Peter was probably never going to fully recover from this. Hydra had torn into something that should not have existed. Had made Peter kill and Peter was…the kid was not built to live with something like that. He couldn’t be.

“Remove it,” Tony ordered simply, looking at the nurse this time because he didn’t feel comfortable telling Bruce what to do. The guy was his equal, not an employee.

Tony released Peter’s wrist, turning and nearly stomping to the door on the other side of the room. Bruce let out a startled sound before calling, “Where’re you going?”

“To make some phone calls,” Tony didn’t look back, “Someone has to get Cho here and the kid needs his aunt…”

I need his aunt…I’m not cut out for this, I can’t hold a kid and tell him everything is going to be okay…

I wasn’t there to make sure it would be…

…

May’s hands were shaking, the wine bottle only a few feet away on the dining room table as she stood over the endless amounts of ‘missing persons’ flyers with Peter’s face stamped on each and every one of them.

It was an old photo. Too old, maybe, Peter had grown a few inches since it was taken last summer, with Peter grinning and holding a melting ice cream cone in his hand in front of a Ferris-Wheel. His cheeks were sun-kissed, he looked so happy and May’s eyes burned, but it could have just been the wine that was making all of this much harder than it needed to be. She wanted it to melt away, but instead it had come back ten-fold. Peter had been gone a month…An entire month and she could barely expand her chest anymore.

The police kept asking if there was a chance he had run away. Since he was fifteen…it seemed to be logical, but they didn’t know Peter. They had only gotten their asses into gear when Tony Stark had started to campaign for Peter’s safe return. But why had it taken that? She wondered how many other missing children went under the radar because they didn’t have a billionaire to advocate for them. Her hands trembled with the guilt of that, but should she let herself crumble beneath it? Peter was still gone…it didn’t help…he was gone.

And honestly, at first she had thought it was a runaway thing…She had taken the suit from him, after all, had chewed Tony out for not telling her, and a full week had passed. She had, had time to think it over. She had ordered the pizza Peter was going to pick up because she had planned to tell him while they ate her decision. She was going to let him continue…but there had to be rules. One rule was a curfew and Christ…She had waited up for hours. Had waited for him to come home, but he didn’t. He never did and if Tony Stark couldn’t find her boy then who could?

She grabbed the wine bottle between her shaky hands and pressed it to her lips, gulping it down. She rarely drank…It just wasn’t her thing. May was pretty sure the last time she had gotten drunk was after Ben had died. She didn’t like the way wine tasted, or any liquor at all. It all disgusted her. But it was better than just aching, and yet tonight the wine was magnifying it. She supposed she would never drink again.

The door opened and shut.

No one knocked.

When she turned around, standing in the doorway of her kitchen was Tony Stark himself. Though the room was shaking for May, it must not have been for him because his eyes looked understanding, but also sorry. May tilted her head, frowning and she looked at the wine bottle in her hand before murmuring, trying to hide the slur in her voice, “I was just…you know not many people put up fly…ers anymore. I thought I could.”

“Tonight?” Tony questioned, sounding unsure.

“I thought…well, it’s snowing tonight,” She sighed, “But I don’t feel cold.”

Tony approached her, taking careful strides and May wondered if she looked like a wild animal there, by the way he reached his hand out and started to pluck the bottle from her hand. She yanked it back though, nearly stumbling over the chair behind her, but he grabbed her forearm to stop her. May dropped the bottle and it shattered against the tile, red going everywhere and suddenly it looked like a murder. May cursed, pushing at Tony’s hand as she groaned, “Look what…”

She didn’t get to finish. Her breath hitched and maybe she was crying, but that was when the memory got blurry. She pressed her hand to the side of her face, sucked in a deep breath, and let out a quiet-choked off sob. Tony pulled her forward, away from the broken glass and towards the living room. Neither said anything. He simply helped her to lie down on the couch, pulling her glasses from her face before folding them and setting them on the coffee table.

When May woke the next morning with a hangover…the glass and wine were cleaned up and Peter’s posters had been hung throughout the city. Despite the snow.

May Parker pushed through the entrance of the Compound. She was running, out of breath. Tony had sent Happy Hogan to her house, despite her insisting to take a taxi so she wouldn’t have to wait, but Happy had shown up in record time, and she had practically bolted from the vehicle upon their arrival at the Compound. The moment she was inside, she was running, even though she wasn’t exactly sure where she was going.

She barely made it out of the lobby though before a woman in scrubs called, “Mrs. Parker?”

May froze and looked over at her, taking her in, and sure…May’s eyes were probably wild, but it didn’t look like the other woman was nervous about May, maybe someone else. She held out a hand and called, “You can follow me.”

It was simple. She knew who May was from the moment she had run in. There was something relieving in that, May wouldn’t have to talk…She couldn’t talk. Physically and mentally she was a mess and she followed after the lady, picking up her pace as they took an elevator to the second floor, crossing over hall after hall, until they walked into an area that was more opened up and the walls were practically windows looking into rooms with beds in them. May didn’t know why the Avengers needed a built in hospital. It wasn’t as if there were a ton of them, they were a pretty exclusive club. But it was like going into an eerily empty ER.

It was the last room on the right. May felt like she would remember that forever, just like she remembered Ben’s hospital room the night he had died was the first room on the right. The door had been blue, this door was glass, she could see Tony Stark’s back and the back of another man as the door slid open and revealed them to her in physical being. But more important, was the boy on the bed, the boy who had an oxygen mask over his face, wires taped to the inside of his arm…his eyes were closed, he looked…he looked like himself, despite maybe being thinner…paler. Both men turned to look at her as she walked in, the woman in scrubs stepping aside to allow her access.

She looked at Tony…eyes questioning. There was this silent understanding in all of their suffering.

This was Peter.

She couldn’t help it. She rushed forward, towards the bed, leaning over the plastic railing with wide eyes. Her hand covered her mouth, and she tried to take in deep breaths as her heart fluttered with pure joy…relief, the kind that could not be spoken at seeing his chest rising and falling. The thing about a child disappearing…not dying, there was the lack of physical evidence. But here he was…here he was, he wasn’t dead, but he had been gone so long it felt like had been. It was like seeing a ghost, and she reached out slowly, uncovering her mouth and sliding her fingertips over Peter’s cheekbone.

“Oh God…Peter…”

Her throat closed with a sob, but she bit it back, and it tasted like her mouth was bleeding. May looked at the men again and her mind connected that she had seen the other guy on the cover of one of Peter’s books. Bruce Banner…also an Avenger, on television…The green guy and a scientist that Peter adored. They were watching her, their expressions seemingly patient through her show of emotion and she could hardly inhale. It was like reaching the surface after months of swimming and swimming and trying to get out of an endless ocean.

How endless.

“He’s…what happened?”

“We had to sedate him,” Tony answered and his voice sounded different…it sounded thick and quiet, and she noticed how his eyes were red around the edges. May gulped and Tony went on, “He’s sick…weak right now, and not just sick physically…he’s – May the people who did this, they hurt him. But we have a doctor coming in to check him out, to make sure everything is okay, but right now, he’s not the same…”

She had gotten as much over the phone. A facility in Virginia…A terrorist group. Part of her didn’t care about the details, she didn’t care about revenge, maybe she would later, but right now Peter was pale and lying in a hospital bed, sedated and apparently hurting. Her eyes settled on the restraints…One was broken, dangling uselessly beside the bed and the other appeared to have been removed. Her heart soured, and she reached out, running her fingers through his thick hair. She whispered, “But he’ll be okay?”

“I’m going to make sure,” Tony replied.

Bruce Banner cleared his voice and interjected, “We’re going to do whatever we can, Mrs. Parker. But right now our best option is to keep him asleep until Cho can have a look at him.”

“Cho?” May asked. She had never heard the name before, nothing was really processing now anyway, nothing new. She felt a lot of emptiness folding over. Here was Peter, in her reach, but she could do nothing to wake him. She couldn’t see his wide brown eyes looking at her. She couldn’t hear his voice, because apparently he needed to be kept under, but why?

It was as if the closer she got, the further it felt.

Her finger slid under his eyes, where the bags were. This time, Tony explained, more in depth, the bluntness slipping from his tone, “She’s one of the best doctors in the world. She’ll help us…We’re worried Hydra might have done something more than just…”

He trailed off, and May’s head snapped up, because she knew that tone. She had spent months cultivating the language of Tony Stark. She blinked rapidly, and questioned, “More than just what?”

Hydra…The terrorist organization that for some reason had zoned in on her nephew. Her child, the entire world was lying in that bed unconscious. She wanted an explanation, she wanted to understand, but neither men looked like they wanted to explain it to her. Was it because she wasn’t an Avenger? Was it because she wasn’t anything special? Well…Peter was hers. She deserved to know. So she narrowed her eyes, tried silently to make the men yield and Tony only sighed, running a hand through his hair as he approached where she was still leaning over Peter slightly, like a protective mother. But she didn’t need to protect Peter from Tony, she had seen his eyes when Peter was missing, she had looked at his bruised knuckles from walls like hers.

When the answer came, she wasn’t sure if she regretted glaring for it or not.

“He was tortured, May.”

Her chest hitched, and dumbly, “Oh…”

She looked back down at her boy, took him in. His mouth, his nose, his ears. So familiar, but on the inside, she imagined it might be completely different. An explanation for the sedation. For the restraints on the bed. She was afraid to touch him suddenly, not for fear of what he would do, but…would it frighten him if he was awake? Torture, she knew nothing about it, but she knew it couldn’t be something easy. Not for a teenager, even if he was Spider-Man…And how could she have assumed she would run into the Compound and find her nephew all put back together when he had been gone so long? What a silly concept.

Tony looked like he was going to say more, something to possibly help the bile rising in her throat at the thought of someone harming her nephew. His skin was flawless, he looked more tired than anything. Even in his sleep. But didn’t he heal quickly? Wasn’t that something he had told her during her interrogation after finding him in the suit? There was still so much she didn’t understand about him, about what made him different and strong. Tony didn’t get to say anything because from the doorway, a figure appeared. A figure May had seen many times on the television…

Steve Rogers.

Her stomach did this odd flip. Captain America…He was just a war criminal a few months. Peter had apparently fought him…All the way in Germany, God how had she missed all that? Her body nearly curled inward, she hadn’t noticed anything and now Peter was lying sedated and Steve Rogers glanced at her with a surprised expression, but then his eyes found Tony.

“Ross is here.”

She noticed both men visibly tense, Tony’s hands turning into fists at his sides. He turned slightly to look at May, his mouth set into a line and she understood the silent message, but he reached out anyway…Putting a hand on her shoulder and he squeezed. She had once hated him…And sometimes she still did, but the gratefulness was so much more, and Peter was here, Peter was alive…He was…

Tony broke the thoughts, “I’ll be right back. Press the emergency button if you need something but…stay here, okay?”

There was an underlying explanation for that…Whoever this Ross person was, it probably wasn’t good and it was better for everyone if she stayed put. She glanced amongst the three men, and Bruce Banner was already moving towards Steve Rogers. She gritted her teeth and stiffened her lip, because it time was to be Aunt May again. It was time to heal her child from whatever he had been put through…

“Got it.”

But the moment they were gone…the moment the silence enveloped her and her nephew, she leaned forward pressing her face into Peter’s shoulder.

And there she cried.

…

Thaddeus Ross had been a thorn in Tony’s side for what felt like a lifetime, but it really wasn’t long at all. Not nearly as long as he had been annoying Bruce Banner. The guy had taken a particular disliking for the Hulk, maybe because of his daughter…Tony wasn’t sure, but it felt like everything having to do with Thaddeus was much harder than it needed to be and truthfully, Tony had been tempted to hide in the kid’s room until the guy finally left.

He should have expected it though…Tony had known the risks of letting Nat, Sam, and Steve go into that Hydra facility. He had known they might end up getting tracked, as Ross was constantly watching them now. As if he was afraid they were going to run off before the new Accords could be written up…something that Steve Rogers and his spangled ass might agree to. And Tony’s bitterness knew no bounds, but he understood what everything was. He got it. This was business, it was politics, it was everything Tony had been taught to manipulate but still loathed beyond belief. It wasn’t just boring, it was tedious.

Sam, Nat, and Rhodey were waiting with Ross in the board room. Ross was sitting in one of the chairs at the end of the table, his legs crossed and looking much too comfortable in their Compound. Rhodey wasn’t far from him…always acting as a sort of negotiator but Rhodey’s military awards helped with all that. It made him the most trusted to work with Ross, and Ross wasn’t as much of an asshole to decorated veterans as he was to everyone else that he felt was below him because they had never gone to ‘real’ battle…Whatever that f*cking meant. Nat and Sam had their distance, on the other side of the table, and Bruce and Steve seemed completely ready to do that as well, going to stand beside the two.

Tony however, in all his glory, approached, hands nonchalantly placed in his pockets as he smirked, almost darkly at Ross.

“Great-Grandpa, we weren’t expecting a visit from the farm today,” Maybe that joke would have worked better with Clint, he might would have actually laughed, “What can we do for you?”

Ross’ face didn’t look amused as he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in the chair. He looked at Tony, as if he was staring at a disappointing teenager on the verge of having his ass handed to him. Tony shifted just slightly, ignoring the warning look Rhodey was casting him from the other side of Ross, the way his head was shaking back and forth to tell him not to play games, but that was all Tony was good at…he was good at these games. He was good at pissing people off. He the son of Howard Stark, right?

Piss them off. Get them angry. Their guard drops. Their emotions take over.

At least that was how it worked for Tony most of the time.

As much as Tony was ready to break someone’s face in, he knew the best way to protect Peter and what had happened in that facility was to hide behind his mask of ‘ignorant billionaire’ a mask people could sometimes see through, but he hoped Ross couldn’t. Ross slowly stood to his feet, shoulders straight in a way only a soldier could be. Not how Tony’s were…not the grace of lessons but the broadness of beatings. Of death, or military, or marching for hours and hours. It was different. It commanded different things.

“I think you know, Stark. Romanoff and I had a nice little chat. Brief, might I add…As no one seemed willing to tell me why you were all in Virginia…Imagine my surprise when my guys get there and find that the personnel have been obliterated.”

“Oh, you mean that terrorist facility?” Tony questioned, “Yeah no, we took care of that. Actually, those guys were already dead when Romanoff, Rogers, and Wilson arrived, isn’t that right?”

Sam’s head nodded, “Correct.”

Tony raised his lip in a slight smirk, “Well, there you go. Really, we did nothing wrong. They just went in for recon. Got in and out, didn’t find anything.”

Ross chuckled deeply, “So you wouldn’t happen to know what happened to the security footage?”

“It was set to delete itself after a certain period of time,” Natasha provided.

Ross looked disbelieving, “Yes, we saw that, but even so, those deleted tapes stayed where they were. A few tapes were missing from their slots though…leading us to believe someone took them and they weren’t cleaned when the others were.”

There was a beat of silence. Too long. Long enough to be suspicious, Tony decided as he swallowed. Tony turned to Steve and said loudly enough to hold the attention of the room, “Cap, give Ross a mission report. Let him know we’re just a group of…honest law-abiding individuals.”

Steve looked like he wanted to glare. It wasn’t necessarily pressured, but Tony was asking him to lie. Rhodey looked upset again, and Bruce looked ready to high tail it out of the room. However, Steve spoke smoothly, lying through his teeth in a way Tony hadn’t realized he was capable of because…c’mon, it was Cap…the boy scout. Then again…he had lied about Maria and Howard, which quickly brought Tony’s impressed mood down to that of slight lowness.

“Sure,” Cap began, “Romanoff, Wilson, and I arrived after the Quinjet intercepted a distress signal. It was meant to transfer to a Hydra facility that we had formerly assumed was ‘dead’. We contacted Stark for permission to check-in and make sure this wasn’t a threat. We felt waiting for the approval of yourself and others would risk losing the source of the signal. However…we found the facility in disarray when we arrived. The agents were dead and whoever did it was gone.”

Tony threw out a hand, “There you go! Maybe our murderer took your little tapes, huh?”

Ross looked as if he was about to reply, but Friday’s voice announced, “Boss, Doctor Cho is on the line for both you and Doctor Banner.”

Tony felt a sort of relief. An excuse. A reason to leave. He turned, and was just about to make his way from the room, noticing how Bruce was also inching for an escape. However, he was cut off when Ross called behind him, “Well, you didn’t even allow me to explain what I found, Stark.”

His stomach dropped and Tony froze before turning around slowly, trying not to look as stiff as he felt under his skin. He chewed the inside of his cheek, tilting his chin upward to hopefully appear more confident. He pointed behind himself with his thumb, “Can you hurry? I’ve got plans.”

“I’m sure you do,” Ross came towards him, looking…almost frightening, if Tony didn’t know better. As if he knew something that Tony didn’t, and he went on, drawing his voice out, “We found a file…A file on a fifteen-year-old male called Prōtotupos-4. It’s interesting, because…weren’t you just advocating for the safe return of a fifteen-year-old boy from Queens a few months ago?”

A pause.

“I suggest you tell the truth.”

Tony chuckled bitterly, “There’s nothing to tell.”

His fingers were itching to make contact with Ross’ stupid face. His stupid nose. His stupid mouth. Ross only tilted his head, looking smug in whatever knowledge he held, and Tony wished he had gone back to the facility himself to make sure nothing had been missed…but clearly it was something and Ross hummed, “We know this is tied to Hydra…And the boy in that file was clearly being groomed to be some sort of weapon. Do you know who we think might have put together these reports?”

That…that piqued Tony’s interest.

“Wolfgang von Strucker.”

Tony didn’t get the chance to voice his surprise, because Steve spoke from behind Ross, “Baron Strucker…He died after Ultron, Ultron murdered him – “

“That’s what we thought,” Ross interrupted, and this was a game…it was all a game to him, always, digging and digging until he could get a rise out of Tony and the sickening part was, it was working. Tony wanted to strangle him for looking so on top of the world when this person had tortured a child. Ross didn’t care, he didn’t know Peter, and if he found out about him he’d find some way to get his hands on him, and that was the last thing Tony was going to allow. No…never.

Ross continued, “His name was on several of the files we found. Apparently, you bunch didn’t search hard enough.”

He smirked at Tony, “But then again, you don’t know anything, so it doesn’t matter.”

Ross made his way towards the exit, bumping Tony’s shoulder lightly as he walked by. Tony swallowed thickly, grinding his teeth together as he tried to bite his tongue and not say something stupid or do something that could get someone hurt or dead…They were on thin ice still, still struggling since the Accords, since Germany, since The Raft. Vision and Wanda had never come home, things were turmoil, then they were getting better, but now? Tony didn’t know…He didn’t know what to think about any of it, so he spoke nothing.

“Let me know if you remember anything,” Ross commented.

Then was gone.

Tony turned and slammed his knuckles into the wall, feeling them bruise for the sixth time in ninety-two days.

Chapter 4: Modernity

Chapter Text

Peter looked small, being loaded into the MRI, and his body sliding inside and then enveloped by the giant machine.

They all stood behind the glass, looking into the room. Peter didn’t stir in his sleep, unmoving, and he had been that way since Bruce had dosed him with the sedative meant for someone the size of Captain America. And despite Peter having a metabolism made for a super solider, Tony was still struggling with the guilt of allowing Bruce to do that. The worry that maybe it had been too much, but everyone was assuring him that it was okay…that it was for the better, for now, that Peter wasn’t awake while they were running the tests. Especially since Peter hadn’t been stable in the waking world. Hadn’t been able to think straight or see straight since being brought back to the Compound.

It was almost like they had found a completely different kid in those woods. A completely different kid from the one Tony had seen in the Compound the day he had offered up the suit, offered up the spot on the Avengers, and Peter had bounded away like a small child, clapping his hands together and smiling. It felt like such a distant memory, completely opposite of what he was seeing in the MRI, being loaded up and taken away, shrouded and Tony looked over Cho and Bruce’s shoulders. As if he could look at the screen and see something different from what they were seeing while the images started to process.

May was close to him, had been ever since they had started the tests. She stuck to his hip, as if they were going to hide something from her, as if they were going to continue on without asking her input, but Tony didn’t try to alleviate her worry because he knew deep down there was no alleviating her. Peter had been gone for ninety-two days, how was that supposed to process in her head as no longer being a reality? And now they had this kid back…this kid that was going through the worst moments of his life, and what had they done to him?

They had sedated him and Tony could only imagine what they had done to the boy in the Hydra facility.

“I’ll stop – I’ll stop – I’ll comply, just don’t…don’t.”

Comply. Peter had said he would f*cking comply. Something that Barnes would have said…and the deepest darkest parts of Tony’s psyche tried to push that away. Tried not to make the relation between the monster that had killed his parents and the kid he had tried so hard to keep alive and protect, and Tony had thought distance was the best option when May had been angry…when she had wanted Peter to stop being Spider-Man in those first few days. It had been none of his business, he wasn’t Peter’s father, and yet here he was, plagued by a worry that was not settling.

Doctor Cho had arrived some time before…Hours before and the first thing she had ordered was an MRI on the boy. Mostly because Bruce had expressed his worry about the scar on the back of Peter’s neck that wasn’t healing like every other wound he had suffered. From the outside, if it hadn’t been for Peter’s anxiety expressed, the torture itself would have been completely invisible. He looked like Peter, looked unharmed, looked…fine. But there was something else underneath, something brewing violently.

Tony was ready to call the best therapists in the country, but tell them what? Peter was Spider-Man and had been tortured by a terrorist organization? He was sure he could find silence in a doctor somewhere, but was that what May wanted? He felt like he was overstepping boundaries, even with her right there next to him. Time ticked on as the MRI worked its magic, it would take about thirty minutes he knew, and he wasn’t sure how much time had passed since they had been standing there, looking at each other like a bunch of idiots.

Cho had been fairly quiet since arriving and Tony knew why. She wasn’t happy…She wasn’t happy to find out that a boy Peter’s age was involved with the Avengers in any shape or form. Even though Peter had turned down the position, it was still clear Tony had enabled him…which was something the other Avengers were dealing with as well. They weren’t unaware of his status as Spider-Man…Bruce’s knowledge only extended to the fact that the boy was different…not about the fact that Tony had given him a suit. But it felt like Cho could just sense it under Tony’s guilt. Like she was reading it off of him and he still didn’t know how he was going to face the others with the truth.

What were they going to do?

Maybe Cho was just holding back because May was there. Because of bedside manner. But he could only imagine what it was going to be like when they were alone. When she could rip into him without worry of ethics. Tony wasn’t family, he was an adult that had known better and he had told the woman next to nothing about Peter. Just the necessities, and May hadn’t offered up the information either. So Peter slept inside the MRI and Tony watched, watched and hoped something, an explanation could be found.

May whispered, “What is it that we’re looking for exactly?”

“An explanation,” Cho answered, looking back at the woman, her face much softer than when she would glance at Tony with distrust behind her eyes, “Doctor Banner told me the boy has a healing ability. There must be a reason for his neck not doing so. And if what they say is true, and he has been complaining of pain there, then it needs to be looked into. This terrorist group is known for their extreme alterations to the human body.”

She paused, then, “We need to cover all of our bases.”

A beat passed, of Cho tapping her fingers on the table. Maybe Bruce knew what she was going to say because he shot a look back at Tony…A look that seemed more like a warning in the dimly lit room. Sure enough, Cho took another breath and questioned, “What aren’t you telling me? Other than him being enhanced.”

May looked at Tony, biting her lip. In her eyes, Tony could see she wanted him to answer…May didn’t know this woman beyond her being a good doctor. May didn’t know this world of secret identities. Who could they trust? Well, two people they could trust were Bruce and Doctor Cho, but Tony wasn’t necessarily ready for the repercussions of that. He knew it was coming eventually, the other Avengers were probably convening at that very moment to get ready to tear into him. It felt like his only ally, Rhodey, possibly wouldn’t be an ally in a situation like this considering he had withheld Peter’s existence even from his best friend.

But there had been the thing with being shot out of the air and well…Tony had never gotten the chance to bring it up again.

Bruce seemed like he would like to know as well, and Tony felt confliction stirring within him. This wasn’t his secret to tell, and Peter was adamant about his identity remaining under wraps. Tony had kept it that way, not just because of his self-reasons of not wanting to deal with the repercussions of hiring a fifteen-year-old to go to Germany. Things with Steve were uneven still, things with everyone were uneven, and not just that…Peter didn’t want them to know. Tony was sure it had to do with being respected…wanting to be seen as a hero and if all they saw was some little kid then that wouldn’t happen, no matter how old Peter got.

Kids processed things weird, but Tony understood. He had been a child surrounded by professors and college students.

But May’s eyes held a yearning. She wanted Cho to know, if it would make it easier to help Peter, but he didn’t know how them knowing he was a vigilante would help. He wasn’t even sure if Spider-Man was tied to this whole incident. Tony scratched the back of his head, and he gestured towards Peter’s body behind the glass…

“He was uh…A potential Avengers recruit.”

Bruce’s eyes widened and he dropped the pen he was holding. Cho’s brows just furrowed and May…Well, May made a face like she was nauseous and looked away, swallowing. The other two seemed to notice her actions and Bruce hissed, “She didn’t know?”

“She found out recently,” Tony gritted his teeth.

“Oh God, Tony,” Bruce swiveled away in the desk chair.

Doctor Cho’s mouth was opened, and she looked at May who wasn’t making eye contact, “You’re this boy’s guardian and he was doing this behind your back? I would sue you, Stark. Followed by a restraining order not to let you anywhere near this child – “

“He was going to get himself killed,” Tony snapped, “The kid was already – he was doing what he was doing in a f*cking onesie, jumping around the city with some homemade webshooters, and I did what I had to do to keep him alive, the suit and me intervening protected him.”

“Webshooters?” Bruce muttered, staring at the desk before whirling to look up at them, “Is this kid…Is he Spider-Man?”

May, who had yet to say anything, flung out her hand and she waved it, her voice wavering slightly, “Please just worry about the task at hand right now, I really don’t want to talk about my failing to notice that his odd behavior wasn’t just usual teenage angst.”

She sounded like she was on the verge of tears, but none appeared on her face…She was just red, and looked disturbed by the entire exchange, as if the more people knowing, the less safe her nephew was. Which might have been true, but Tony was more worried about how Peter would feel about others knowing. Cho sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before she shook her head.

“I’ll need a list of his enhancements,” Cho mumbled, “Doctor Banner told me that he sedated him with drugs meant for Cap’s metabolism, I want to make sure that’s safe or he’s not going to build a tolerance towards it. Seems to be a theme when doing surgery on these individuals.”

Tony pursed his lips, but nodded in agreement. Bruce was eyeing him, a look of disbelief on his face and Tony wanted to smack him on the back of the head and tell him to turn around, especially when the MRI finished, and the image flashed up on the computer screen. Cho slipped on a pair of reading glasses, scooting her chair close to the computer as she narrowed her eyes on the results and Doctor Banner did the same, the two almost struggling for space in front of the screen and Tony could only see a bit over his shoulder. May stood close still, but it was clear neither of them understood what they were looking at in front of them.

The more moments that went by, the more anxiety Tony felt plague him and the tighter May was holding the sleeve of his shirt. He almost wished she’d be angry at him, but the time for that had passed…they were there now, it was the rest of the team’s turn to be mad at him. Finally though, Cho turned, she and Bruce whispered something to each other and Tony didn’t like that. Cho’s finger rose to the screen, giving room for Tony and May to see properly, and Tony may not have been great at reading MRIs…Never enjoyed medical science…but he could see the problem.

It was in the form of a speck at the tip-top of Peter’s spine, on the back of his neck…tucked right between the vertebrae.

“See that?” She questioned, the anger in her voice from earlier, gone.

Both Tony and May nodded in unison and she went on, “I think that’s the source of our problem…I’ve only seen this one other time, a human trafficking case…Nothing low-level, no low-level organization is going to have this kind of tech. In simple terms, it’s an implant. If I had to guess…”

She paused, gauging Tony’s and May’s expressions before she finished, “…this one was probably used in some sort of attempt to force Peter into submission. If he has been conditioned to feel torment from it, then there’s a chance it could just be phantom pains. But you did mention the man they suspect is responsible wasn’t found in the facility, and so with him out there, it could be posing a danger.”

Tony didn’t think, he just snapped, like involving the tattoo.

“Then take it out.”

“It’s won’t be that easy, Tony,” Bruce sighed, removing his glasses, “It was implanted extremely close to the vertebrae, they do that on purpose, so people don’t dig them out…The surgery will be delicate, if we aren’t careful we could run the risk of permanent paralysis.”

Tony glared, “You got all that just from looking at it?”

“Well, we won’t know for sure until we can run more tests, but it’s enough to theorize. But just like any other surgery, we can’t just go in and rip it out…We have to form a strategy for its removal.”

Bruce’s voice was bleak. Not without hope but just…blank. Probably because Tony’s breathing was picking up with frustration and May’s eyes were watering and he just…He wanted to fix this. He wanted it fixed right then, and he wanted to find Strucker. To kill him himself and he couldn’t believe they had just let themselves believe Ultron had killed him just from a picture. The way they had ignorantly trusted that news, it would have been too meaningless of a death for a Hydra agent…No he had to go out with a bang, and apparently that bang was torturing Peter. Making him into some kind of weapon, as the file had said, molding him.

Tony looked through the glass one last time. He wanted to tell May he was going to fix this. That things were going be okay, but he couldn’t. His own shortcoming were leveling up with him. His stomach was dropping, and he didn’t know how to make her feel better. He wanted to get away from her and the emotions right then…Tony didn’t want to be there. It felt like he was about to explode with anxiety, the same anxiety from New York.

Tony’s voice wasn’t strong, it was rather fragile when he ordered, “Figure it out…Now. Someone…someone needs to contact Wanda and Vision, their last location was Edinburgh, I think. Wanda has dealt with this asshat before, maybe she’ll know something.”

He turned, and he walked out of the small room, Bruce calling his name, but he didn’t stop. He felt guilty, for leaving May there, for not standing beside her as the news settled in. But it was one of those awful patience games, and if the ferry incident hadn’t been a sign, Tony wasn’t good with patience. Maybe that was Howard’s genes coming back to bite him in the ass, he was constantly having to hold his tongue. And as he rounded the corner into the hallway and nearly ran into Natasha, almost plowed over her, a string of curses left his mouth in frustration and partly terror as he held his chest.

“sh*t, Romanoff,” Tony snapped as if scolding a child, “Maybe leave a calling card next time.”

Natasha’s face didn’t falter. No usual smirk or anything of the sort, just one simple order.

“You need to come with me.”

There was the underlying message that they had found something, though Tony wasn’t extremely sure what that would be. He didn’t feel stable enough for more news and he prayed it had nothing to do with the kid, but he knew it would because that was all that had been circling amongst them since returning from Virginia with the boy in tow. Peter Parker was an anomaly. He was odd to them, they didn’t understand his importance. Why Tony would search for a boy from Queens, and then said boy was seemingly found in a Hydra facility. Said boy was enhanced. Said boy seemed normal to everyone…but he wasn’t. No normal kid captured the attention of Tony Stark. It didn’t work out that way…

So a part of him told himself to turn and run from the woman like a coward. Like he had just done to May. Shut down, call Pepper, tell her he needed to run away until all of this righted itself. But he couldn’t leave Peter, and he was torn between his own selfish desires for escape and the child lying in the next room. This was not his kid, and yet it dug so deeply like a blade, and he didn’t want to accept the fact that this hurt way more than it should. That the kid he had just intended to keep alive was somehow imbedded.

It was right under his chest cavity.

Like pressure.

Tony followed her, because standing there hurt too much, he was smothering. He had almost expected to go back to the same conference room he had originally gone to see Ross in, but instead they went to the lounge, which didn’t feel anymore relaxed from the moment they entered. Everyone was there again…Steve, Rhodey, and Sam. A deep dark silence fell. Things were different, not just since Germany, but because Clint wasn’t there. Thor was in Asgard, or wherever the wind took him. Hammer…f*ck whatever. Wanda and Vision were overseas, a distance that made things easier with Ross breathing down their necks. The Compound was a different home. Not home anymore, the word was wrong.

Tony felt vaguely left behind.

Steve was leaning over an opened folder, hands set flat on the table top. Tony knew it had been a bad idea, he decided he had been right when eyes looked up to greet him. The air in the room was…void. Steve stared at him, his jaw set and Tony couldn’t tell if it was anger directed towards him, or disappointment, or something else entirely. But he didn’t like it, and he wished he had run from May earlier, maybe so he could have missed Natasha in the hallway. Also, he wished he had never been born but…whatever.

“This feels vaguely like an intervention,” Tony stated, gesturing towards the folder, “What’s that?”

Steve stood, stepping back to allow Tony room to approach. It was a silent beaconing, and Tony looked at Rhodey, as if searching for reassurance. The man only swallowed, and Tony knew it was bad then…that he might be in serious trouble. He took slow strides towards the folder before his eyes glanced over it, and it had the same handwriting as the one they had seen in the facility. But this page was different…this folder itself was different and Tony shook his head, not understanding as he questioned, “Someone going to explain this to me?”

“It’s the file Ross found,” Natasha said, “The one he was talking about, with the fifteen-year-old male subject…the one we’re assuming is Peter Parker, the missing boy from Queens, you know…sedated a few rooms over.”

“Yeah I know,” Tony snapped, glaring because he didn’t feel the need for the sarcasm, “Get to the point.”

Steve stepped towards him pointing at the papers, “Read it.”

Tony looked up at the slightly taller man. His eyes narrowed at being ordered, but he turned nonetheless. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to see anymore…after reading about the ‘shock therapy’ he was almost tempted to burn the pages. But he read them anyway…read them and took them in and hated the world because they existed.

Log 1:

Prōtotupos-4’s strength has been shown capable of defending him against, at most, seven men attacking in unison. The eighth brought in by surprise managed to land a hit, rendering the boy unconscious.

Log 2:

Prōtotupos-4 appears to have a sixth sense of sorts, able to sense a strike before it is inflicted.

Log 3:

Prōtotupos-4 nearly escaped scaling the wall without the use of adhesives, pulling a vent off the wall. Forceful measures were taken to restrain him. Risk of overdoes due to the boy’s superior metabolism.

Log 4:

Prōtotupos-4 is against killing.

Log 5:

Prōtotupos-4 continues to refuse to kill.

Log 6:

Prōtotupos-4 will need to be given incentive to kill.

Tony stepped away, mouth setting into a line as he snapped his teeth shut with an audible ‘clack’. This was why everyone was looking at him like he knew something they did not. He waited…he waited a long time for someone to speak and finally, Rhodey cleared his throat and he had his hands in his pockets, “Tones…what kind of kid did you guys find out there?”

“What do you mean what kind of kid?” Tony growled, “A human kid, Rhodes. That’s what we found. A human child that needed rescuing. A child that was tortured, and now your buddy Ross is getting in this sh*t and it’s just going to make things a lot more difficult – “

Sam interrupted, “This isn’t just some kid. Look at those notes, those aren’t things a normal teenager does…And a normal teenager doesn’t get the attention of Tony Stark to parade his face around on television asking for his safe return.”

Tony said nothing. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. Honestly, this was not how he wanted this to go. He had already been forced to tell Bruce and Doctor Cho, and sure they hadn’t exploded, but they were more worried about the kid’s implant and the fact that May had been in the room when he had said something about it. But these guys weren’t going to bite their tongues on the subject, they were going to let him have it and Tony was half-tempted to fly Peter somewhere…rent out an entire hospital if it meant getting away from the friends that had only just stabbed him in the back a few months prior. The friends that were still walking on eggshells because the government was struggling to pardon them for their insolent actions.

Steve was close enough that Tony felt like he was being shadowed over as the man spoke, too much like a soldier, “Look…if we’re going to help hide this kid from Ross…We need to know what’s going on. Hydra isn’t going to just grab some random boy off the street, there’s something you’re not telling us.”

Tony’s head whipped in his direction and a moment of insanity took over as Tony smiled cruelly, “There’s a lot I don’t tell you anymore, Rogers. Kiddo is my problem. Alright, got that? Mine…so stop overstepping boundaries I have purposefully put into place.”

“Tony,” Natasha breathed, “This kid…you didn’t do something to him did you?”

The insinuation almost made Tony’s f*cking head explode. He looked at her, his eyes glazed over with a crazed expression, like he was about to burn down the whole building. Match in hand and ready to go, ready to end it. He pointed a finger at her, the smile contorted into rage. To even be asked that, like he was some kind of…mad scientist, like Hydra, going around and cutting into kids, changing them, doing experiments, messing with the natural order of sh*t, God, he could have strangled her –

“Oh yeah Romanoff,” Tony growled, finger still pointed at her as he took a few strides forward, causing Steve to follow and both Sam and Rhodey moved as well. Not for Nat’s protection, no, for Tony’s, if he attacked her, she could end him with her bare hands. Tony clearly wasn’t thinking…he had just looked at an MRI of Peter’s body, had just seen an implant stuck in the back of that kid’s neck, a device that had been used to force Peter to submit…to ‘put him in his place’ and excuse Tony if that lit an uncontrollable fire within him.

Tony went on, seething, mouth drawn with venom, “I just love snatching up children and experimenting on them, giving them abilities just so Hydra can find out and take them away. It’s actually a secret hobby of mine. I’m running an underground mutant business because I think the world isn’t making them fast enough naturally!”

But when he was close enough, close enough to hiss quietly towards her, “Even entertain that idea again, and I swear to God I’ll…”

He cut himself off, biting back something he’d regret later, even if Natasha’s face wasn’t faltering. This wasn’t hurting her the way it was hurting him. He stood back up, straight, and maybe the question was called for. He had…well, yeah Ultron. That was him. He did that. Was it so crazy to think he’d make Spider-Man? But they didn’t know about that…about Peter and the mask and Germany and Tony’s shoulders sagged and he shook his head.

“I would never do that. I would never lay a hand on him.”

Especially not to this kid.

The interrogation only continued though when Wilson murmured, “Is he…yours? Y’know…”

“No, no,” Tony shook his head, and grabbed his temple, shutting his eyes, “He’s not, he’s just…he’s…”

Then Rhodey, “Tony, you need to tell us.”

“We just want to help,” Steve added. And f*ck, Tony was going to flip a table.

Tony slammed his hand down on top of it instead, looking at the ceiling. His thoughts silenced, the room did as well. He wanted to pull his hair out as he counted each and every dot, trying to find somewhere he could fit his mind and place it and nurture some semblance of sanity. But he could not. They weren’t going to let it go. Maybe they were invested now too. But it wasn’t fair, and it was territorial, and he wanted them to get away, but they would not. Not until he told the truth, or at least some of it…the parts that mattered.

So…in a silent plea, he asked the unconscious kid for forgiveness.

I’m sorry, kid.

“He’s…he’s like us…he looks out for people he’s just…”

Tony paused, rubbed the side of his face, he had a migraine coming on.

“Peter Parker is…Spider-Man.”

There was a beat of silence. Rhodey sat down slowly in one of the plush chairs, his mouth opened before he slowly ran his fingers over his jaw, much like he had done when Tony was dying, when they had stood in that shop and Rhodey had been so worried about him, worried about his well-being. But now it was different, in the stunned quiet. From what he could tell, no one looked shocked, no one looked slapped in the face, they all just looked…tired. Like they were being brought down, deep in thought, no where to go but downward, further and further and further…

And that was where Tony felt like he was.

“Spider-Man…” Rhodey breathed, “That kid in Germany?”

Tony nodded in confirmation. Steve’s head snapped down towards the file and he muttered to himself, “Fifteen…fifteen-years-old…Tony, you brought a child to our fight?”

“I wouldn’t really call it a fight,” Tony hummed, “A lover’s quarrel – “

“This isn’t a joke,” Steve looked horrified, “Tony, I threw punches at that kid.”

Tony grounded his teeth together. Now the concern. Now the worry…Well they didn’t have a right. None of them did, Tony had been looking out for Peter since day one, since he had deduced his identity in his lab and found out at the time, it was a fourteen-year-old boy from Queens whose uncle had been murdered just a few months before. Tony had always been watching, keeping tabs…if the kid disappeared too long he tracked him down, kept his distance, he only went in when it was necessary. As far as he was concerned, they could take a step back, they could get the hell away from the kid he had invested this emotion in. Tony was tired…it was hard for him to allow this sh*t to happen. Because he couldn’t trust assholes, after Germany, but he had still let Peter in somehow, he wanted them to go –

“He was capable,” Tony said.

“Yeah, really capable,” Sam argued, “He got grabbed by Hydra. Clearly they were keeping an eye on him if he was dressing up as a red and blue spider and they figured out who he was under the mask. You enabled him.”

Tony scoffed, pacing across the room, away from there, like a trapped animal, “I’ve been protecting him. The suit has a tracker, the suit has an AI that informs me if the kid even so much as gets a f*cking bruise. Was I supposed to let him just go around in that onesie of his?”

“You were supposed to put a stop to it,” Rhodey leaned forward in the chair, “If you knew a child was under that mask, you should have gone to his aunt, or someone and – “

“And what?” Tony growled, “Tell them the kid is different? Yeah, that would go over well, while they cut into him like Hydra did. Peter wasn’t born this way. They’d wanna know what makes him tick, just like Cap. Might even want more of him, make an army. I used to build weapons for the military, I know how they work. I know how hungry they are for the next big thing.”

Sam sighed, “They wouldn’t hurt a child.”

“You really believe that,” Tony said, “Really…you can say with certainty Ross wouldn’t love to get his hands on this kid if given the excuse.”

No one said anything in response. A valley opened, they were trapped inside. The walls came down and a wave washed through. Yeah…there they were. There they were. Tony looked at Natasha, who had said nothing and he laughed bitterly, “What? No comment all of a sudden?”

“My comment is this,” Natasha replied, “I’ve seen younger go to war…far more violent wars than Germany. I have no doubt Peter Parker was capable of holding his own, I heard about him catching Bucky’s fist – “ She glanced at Sam, before looking back at Tony, “ – do I think there was a better way to go about it…yes. But…”

She paused and sighed…

“I’m sure he would have found some way to keep going…with or without Stark’s support.”

When everyone looked shocked, including Tony, she gestured to the folder, “Look through it…He was fighting them every step of the way, even after weeks of shock torture. Water boarding. Drugging…murder. It’s just…he would have had no problem finding a way around being Spider-Man.”

Tony almost forgave her for her comment earlier.

Natasha Romanoff had actually agreed with him…sort of.

That must have meant the end of times.

…

The rabbit was happy to be there.

Peter didn’t know how. He wondered if it had been born inside, maybe it had never seen outside of the concrete room. But with Peter on the floor, the rabbit bouncing from corner to corner, seemingly content with its little life, unconcerned with Peter and his own desperate sadness or the ache in his muscles from his punishments. When the rabbit got a bit too far away, Peter held out his hand and made a clicking sound and the rabbit bounced towards him. Once it was in reach, Peter took it close to himself, squeezing a bit.

“Are you sad to be here?” Peter questioned it.

He paused, then, “Because…I am.”

Peter had scratched a guard for trying to grab the rabbit from him. Clawed him right across the face. Peter could still see blood under his fingernails. He was just waiting for them to come…For Otets to come, and he knew it was going to be awful. He wondered if they’d actually kill him this time. Just…end it. Peter didn’t want to die, but he wanted to go home so badly, if he was useless and broken maybe they would just…throw him out?

He jumped when the door slid open, rolling and clanking with the heavy metal. Sure enough, Otets stepped in, followed by a guard, a new one, not the one Peter had abused. Peter stood hurriedly to his feet, almost like a guilty child who had been waiting for their parent to return home from work. Otets had something in his hand. Something that looked like a small pair of pliers.

He squirmed, squeezing the rabbit, almost expecting the creature to squeal from pain, but it didn’t. But its little heart raced and Peter’s did the same as Otets ordered, “Put the rabbit away.”

Peter hesitated, but ultimately did as he was told because he didn’t want either of them touching the creature. Peter put the rabbit in its small cage, closing it, and Otets stepped towards him. The man questioned, voice almost soft, “You scratched one of your caretakers today, yes?”

The boy ground his teeth together.

“You mean one of my prison guards?”

It was without warning, but then again it always was. The shock that ran up his neck and through his body and Peter’s being convulsed, going weak and sending him into the floor as he continued to shake, muscles tense and unable to be controlled. He groaned, spit coming out of his mouth and he tried his best to breathe, but couldn’t until eventually the shocking subsided, as it always did, it always stopped eventually, but before he had a chance to regain his composure, he was being yanked to his feet by the back of his shirt and shoved down onto the cot.

Peter squirmed heavily, gasping as he threw his hands out, but his muscles were still shaky, his strength gone as Otets used his superior body weight to hold him down. Otets grabbed his wrist, raising the pliers to one of Peter’s fingernails and he questioned fiercely, “Are you ready to comply?”

“Get off!” Peter managed to scream, begging his arms to work, begging the remnants of the shock to fade away so he could shove Otets off of him, “Get off! Get off!”

“Are you ready to comply!?”

“Get – AH!”

The pliers grabbed hold to his fingernail and ripped and Peter screamed as his index finger was left bare. A sob welled in his chest and he couldn’t breathe with Otets sitting on his abdomen, forcing Peter’s other hand under his knee. He felt blood and stinging as the pliers moved threateningly over his middle finger and he felt terror take hold, and grip him and he just…he couldn’t breathe –

“Stop! Sto-op!”

“Are you ready to comply?”

Peter thrashed, pulling at his hand and just when he thought he was going to be able to wrench from the grip, another bolt of electricity went through him. Peter couldn’t even scream, his jaw going shut as a long drawn out cry escaped and Otets wouldn’t – he wouldn’t let him breathe, he couldn’t breathe – he was too heavy and f*ck…he needed air.

The shocking continued and Peter finally managed to open his mouth just enough to cry, “O-kay!”

Immediately it stopped, Peter’s body fell lax into the cot. His chest heaved and he gasped, he pushed at Otets, pleading, “Get off…get…I can’t breathe…”

Otets loomed over him, leaning downward and he questioned softly, grabbing Peter’s hair and tugging in a warning, forcing the boy to look at him.

“What do you say?”

Peter swallowed, eyes blinking teary…

“I’m ready to comply…Otets.”

Otets’ face softened. It was fake. This always happened, Peter tried to remind himself. This was a game. They hurt him, then they were kind…like the rabbit. They gave it to him to be ‘nice’, they called it their gift to him. But he knew it was just a way to mess with his head. The hand holding his hair released, and Otets smiled, despite the fact Peter’s chest was quaking with tears and the fact someone’s entire body weight was preventing him from expanding it all the way. Otets put a hand on his forehead and whispered softly…

“Shhhh, zaichik. You are frightened now, but I will care for you. Only I do…you are an abomination outside of these walls. But here, you are something.”

Peter wanted to spit in his face…but the fear of another shock…of being hurt again made him shut his eyes.

Peter woke up screaming.

Someone was touching him.

He didn’t want hands on him. He didn’t want anyone touching him, no one near him. Peter wanted to be alone, in his skin, and he wanted the sounds inside of himself to stop. His muscles felt weak, like after a punishment and Peter sat up, like a rod, throwing out his hand and he felt his knuckles make contact with something…someone not terribly hard, and then there was a shout that followed behind it. But the problem with the shout was that it wasn’t the sound of Otets, or one of the guards…It wasn’t the sound of any man.

It was a woman.

Peter’s eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room he was in, sunlight coming in through the windows and the white bedding and walls, and floor reflecting so much he could hardly take it. His senses objected and he looked over to the source of the scream and now he realized maybe it hadn’t been something soft because his hand was hurting. It was throbbing and the person next to him was turned around and doubled over, clearly holding their face. Peter didn’t know them, he didn’t really even know where he was he just…

The forest.

The Quinjet.

The Compound.

Doctor Banner and Mister Stark injecting him with something.

And then slowly, slowly the person turned around, standing back up straight as if the shock of what Peter had done had worn off and clearly, he had maybe been shocked, or the sedatives hadn’t worn off because if he was at full strength, it would have knocked that person unconscious. He felt guilt, but it ignited ten-fold when he saw the woman’s mouth was bleeding from a busted lip. But then…that guilt turned into a horrific realization when Peter’s mind processed the face he had only seen in dreams for the past lifetime.

May…Aunt May.

Aunt May standing right there, her mouth gushing blood from Peter’s fist and it was definitely his fist. Peter had hit her. Had woken up and had hit her and Peter just…his mind couldn’t wrap around that realization that slammed into his body, his mind, it ripped him open and he almost cried out, but instead his eyes just bulged out of his head and he cringed back, grabbing both sides of his head. Maybe Aunt May saw the instant ignite of panic, before she held out a hand, taking a hesitant step forward, and how could she move towards him? He had just hit her…he had just hit his Aunt May.

“Oh my God…” Peter breathed, and he turned stumbling out of the bed, ripping the IV out in the process and it burned only a second as he struggled like a newborn deer, his knees feeling weak as he moved towards the corner of the room. Aunt May stepped around the bed as if she was going to approach him, but he held up a hand and ordered, “Stop! St-stop! I just…I just…”

Aunt May shook her head and insisted, speaking around her bloody mouth, “I’m fine. Look…it looks worse than it is, it doesn’t even hurt.”

Peter grabbed at his hair, and shook his head, “No, no, no I’m…oh God, I’m so messed up I just…why did I…”

“It was my fault,” She said calmly, still trying to get closer, “I woke you up, you were having a bad dream, but it’s fine, I’m fine.”

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to tell her no, that he was dangerous, that he had done something horrible, and his body felt broken, her face was bleeding, f*ck, it was bright red and Peter felt like he was about to faint. He shook his head rapidly, pulling his hair harder as he shouted, “I could have killed you!”

Aunt May looked stern, “You wouldn’t have, hey, hey look at me, Peter stop pulling your hair, you’re going to – “

The burning in the back of his neck silenced everything. Peter shut his eyes, reached back and dug his nails into the tender spot. Aunt May got closer and Peter ordered abruptly, “Don’t touch me!”

“Stop, stop touching it,” She tried, but she did as she was told, she didn’t put her hands on him. She didn’t make contact with his skin. She took a step back actually, holding up her hands in surrender, giving him the desired space, but her face was still contorted into concern, “Stop touching it.”

Peter dug his fingernails in…Deep, and he realized for the first time the one that had been removed was back, so quickly, it must have been his healing that had saved him from the time that it took a normal person to recover from such a thing. Like the night a guy had knocked out his tooth and it had grown back on its own, even though it was an adult tooth. Peter squirmed, not digging any deeper, because he was interrupted by several people rushing into the room, clearly called by the shouting.

Come home, come home, come home, come home….

God, he needed it out.

The faces processed in his mind. First Mister Stark’s, then some woman he didn’t recognize…Bruce freaking Banner, Captain freaking America…other people that couldn’t fit into the room and suddenly Peter was horrified. God he had hit his aunt…they were there to take him, arrest him, put him down and Peter dug his nails deeper, trying, trying, trying to get the calling to stop, it wouldn’t though, it wouldn’t release, it was too deep, Peter felt too…he felt too.

“Peter,” Mister Stark said slowly, and Peter noticed the way he gently pushed Aunt May behind himself and of course they had to protect her, Peter had hurt her, “Kid, stop…”

Peter croaked, “I hit her.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mister Stark insisted, “Alright? Just c’mere.”

Peter felt blood pooling around his fingers and he just…

“I gotta get it out, I gotta – “

“Peter.”

“I gotta get it out, Mister Stark you don’t understand!”

“Stop!”

“I have to - !”

His voice was cut off. The panic was cut off. When a bit too much blood spilled out, warm, Mister Stark lunged forward. Peter didn’t get time to do anything past raise his hands in defense and Mister Stark grabbed him by his wrists, pushing him to the wall. Peter shoved back, as hard as he could, but it wasn’t strong enough, he didn’t understand where his strength was as both he and Mister Stark were sent plummeting, and Mister Stark managed to maneuver himself to be on top. Just like Otets had been able to do. Just like – and he couldn’t – he couldn’t breathe again – it was too much weight –

“Get off!” Peter choked.

The woman Peter didn’t recognize moved to one of the tables, and he heard the vials, loud and clear and he turned his head just enough to see her grabbing a syringe, just like Doctor Banner had done and everyone was shouting, they were shouting at Mister Stark and Peter alike and Peter sucked in a breath as best as he could, and when he looked up it was Otets there, but then it wasn’t…it was Mister Stark, looking worry, looking sorry, and Peter pleaded, “Don’t let her…Don’t let her…”

“Cho, stop,” Mister Stark ordered, and Peter felt hope bloom in his chest and maybe he didn’t have to fight so hard, but his neck was still burning, he still felt broken, and Mister Stark went on, “I can…I can calm him down, just stop.”

The woman…Cho apparently, stopped and Peter felt relief, but it still hurt to have Mister Stark on top of him, holding his stiff limbs down and Peter craned his neck back to look at Aunt May, and she was crying now, crying and bleeding and Doctor Banner was holding her arm, looking as if he was trying to inspect her face and Christ, there were other Avengers…just in the doorway, looking torn between intervening and just plain shock. Peter was embarrassed. He hated himself.

Peter managed to squeak, “I hit her.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mister Stark insisted, but how could he know? He wasn’t there.

“Yes it is,” Peter tugged at the man’s hold, “I hit her – I hurt her – I’m just another one of their things…Otets was right, I’m nothing…”

And Mister Stark…Mister Stark looked mad.

Not at Peter, but Peter felt a sudden panic rise in him as the man gave his arms a slight shake to get his attention. To make him look away from his aunt who was still being held back, and clearly Doctor Banner thought Peter was dangerous if he was keeping her away from him. Mister Stark ordered, “Look at me.”

Peter did. He did as he was told, it was easier that way, and maybe soon he would get off of him, and he could breathe, Peter was trapped.

“I don’t know who Otets is,” Tony growled, “I have a pretty good feeling but…that’s not true. This isn’t your fault, you say it right now. It wasn’t you. Say it.”

But he couldn’t…that was a lie and he had hit her –

“Peter.”

Peter’s body jolted when his name was spoken. He swallowed thickly, but nodded, nodded so slowly, and the first time, it came out weak…it was a whisper, quiet and barely there, but Peter did his best to make it sound convincing. To make it be believed, he so wanted to be believed. He wanted to believe it himself.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Again.”

“It wasn’t me.”

Peter hadn’t noticed his arms had gone lax, but Mister Stark was slowly releasing his hold on him. Peter just laid there on the cold tile, unable to look at the faces of the Avengers, the heroes that he had wanted to be a part of so badly, but he supposed he never would be now…not after what he had done, and he felt so…useless. Mister Stark started to remove his weight, before falling over to the side on his bottom and running a hand through his hair, letting out a deep sigh. Peter just stared at the ceiling, swallowing.

Mister Stark squeezed his knee, “You’re alright.”

But the back of his neck continued to burn come home, come home, come home…

Chapter 5: Where Does it Hurt?

Chapter Text

It was his first bath since being in the Compound.

Which wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. He knew it wasn’t and he kept telling himself he was fine. He wasn’t going to be hurt by the nurses who were used to helping people bathe their bodies, they had done it many times before, and it wasn’t even really a bath. He was just supposed to sit in a few inches of water while they, embarrassingly, helped him clean off the muck and blood that had been clinging to his skin since he murdered those people in the facility. Murdered. That was the word, he knew it. Sometimes he was too exhausted to feel terribly guilty about it, but sometimes he was an awful person like that. Head lulling, left to decay.

Peter wished he didn’t feel things. A girl had never seen him naked before. Well, these women weren’t girls, they were nurses. They were grown women just there to help him, but the embarrassment clung deeply, especially when he saw the shallow bathwater and he stilled in entering the bathroom, stopping in both nurses’ holds. He couldn’t remember their names, they had told him, they worked for Doctor Cho. Two of the best, she had said, but he tugged back away from the tub, and they looked at him slightly confused, but keeping their expressions soft, as if understanding. But they didn’t. They didn’t understand how scary the water was for him. What the tub was, and how many times he had been dunked below the water.

He got in nonetheless, after a lot of coaxing and they turned the faucet on, letting some of the water out simultaneously, thinking maybe it would help him to turn it more into a sponge bath. He still shook though, shivered, thought about being brought down below the surface that was barely a few inches. It was snowing more than that outside, and yet, and yet, and yet…he could not control the animalistic instinct to run.

But he stayed still.

It was better that way.

It got less punishment. Peter knew the nurses weren’t going to hurt him. Wouldn’t even dream of it. They were nice, they talked to him like Aunt May always did. And Aunt May was in the next room because he had begged her not to be involved. Maybe it was easier for strangers to see him in such a compromising position than his own aunt. He didn’t want her to see how afraid he was of a stupid bath.

So he suffered in silence. And he couldn’t lie, it was nice for the dried blood to finally be washed off of his skin. It was nice to be cleaned, as the water ran brown and maroon. Peter blinked rapidly, and the constant burning in the back of his neck had become second nature. It worsened with movement, he basically had to lie completely still most days, it was his only defense against the pain. The only way to fight back against the voice telling him to come home, and they had told him there was an implant, that they were going to remove it, but Doctor Banner and Doctor Cho had to come up with a plan of attack, because the removal process risked damaging his spinal cord. But Peter…sometimes he wished for it to be removed so badly, he wouldn’t care if he was paralyzed for the rest of his natural life. If it meant freedom, why did it matter?

Of course, he supposed he would be trading one prison for another.

Life felt very hard. He didn’t think it was so hard to understand before everything happened. Before, there had been good and evil and now he didn’t know, because the voice in his head, telling him to come home…it felt trustworthy. It felt honest. It felt like he should open himself up to it, and give it everything he had to offer. Peter flinched when the nurse washed his hair and used a cup to pour water over it, whispering for him to shut his eyes so the soap wouldn’t get in them. It did anyway, he was scared to close his eyes, but he didn’t complain even though it burned. There had been worse. Peter felt on the edge of himself, but the voice in the back of his head, it wouldn’t let him move any further. He wanted to talk, wanted to speak to his aunt, and Mister Stark…all of the people who came to visit, but the implant prevented such things.

Peter didn’t realize he was crying until his aunt appeared at the door worried, and the nurses were trying to console him. He said nothing, and really the crying was just a few choked off sounds and because his face was wet, one could barely see the tears. But his eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks were pink. And Aunt May kept asking to come in, but Peter kept shaking his head because he didn’t want her to see that he was afraid. He wasn’t – but he was and it was a lie. He resisted the urge to reach back and try to dig into the skin of his neck again, but he knew that would result in a sedative or some kind of drug to calm his nerves and then we wouldn’t feel like himself. Even though he didn’t already, but it would be worse. It would be foggy, and he would be alone.

They still weren’t sure of his doses, they’d give him too much sometimes. Then he would sleep too long, or then not enough. Maybe it was his metabolism, all messed up, making it hard to keep him awake or asleep. His heart hammered in his chest when they pulled him from the tub. He wished the world would stop blurring around the edges of his vision into monsters, while the towel was tugged over him and Aunt May wrapped her arm around his shoulders the moment he exited the bathroom. And then he was clean, but he felt smothered, and he wasn’t happy to be anywhere.

Peter dressed himself. He could do that at least.

…

“Sorry to ruin your vacation.”

Tony wasn’t sure if the joke was to more-so calm his anxieties, or Wanda’s. Mostly because he realized the position he was putting her and Vision in, having them come back to the states. It wasn’t that Wanda wasn’t welcomed back, as the rest of the Avengers had been after many…many meetings, but it was clear that the tension with Ross and that of altered-humans was still ever apparent, particularly with Wanda after basically strapping her in a jacket and locking her away in The Raft. A big part of that was Tony’s fault…a lot of it actually, and sometimes he thought he should apologize for what he had done wrong, but it felt out of place in that moment.

Wanda stood at the end of the hallway with Vision beside her as Tony approached the two of them. She had an uncertain look on her face, though it wasn’t bitter at all…more so calculating the man and gauging the situation. Tony had given them the money to go to Edinburgh, to the frustration of Ross who wanted her under watch. But Tony knew that was no way to live, and Wanda was going to fight tooth and nail anyway, so he had just supported it in the best way he could. Wanda seemed to recognize this fact as her mouth upturned slightly.

“I’ll allow it. When someone needs help, only.”

He had explained what he could over the phone. Peter Parker. Spider-Man. Hydra…Strucker apparently not being dead and some kind of implant. Wanda hadn’t seemed to know much about the implant, but she felt she could be of service in other ways. Though reaching into people’s minds was frowned upon after several lectures from members of the team, Tony was willing to allow it if it meant getting them a step closer to figuring out how to make Peter comfortable until Bruce and Doctor Cho could figure out what the hell they were going to do about the implant.

Tony nodded, then looked at Vision, questioning, “Staying out of trouble?”

“Well,” Vision answered honestly, “We had to intervene last night when our neighbors were making a ruckus – “

Wanda held up a hand, “Let’s not talk about it. Focus on the boy, yes?”

Tony could only agree silently. He was glad she was on the same page about the urgency of the entire thing. Tony gestured for them to follow, and they all made their way down the hallway towards the medical wing where Peter was staying.

They walked in unison, and Tony wracked his mind for small talk, but it was difficult now, he supposed, to talk about anything other than that damned implant. It was all he could think about, staying awake, leaning over his desk, just blinking and blinking and blinking blearily because this wasn’t his expertise and he didn’t know how to help and he felt utterly useless. Only able to call other people for help with the issue, and Tony felt swallowed whole by the entirety of it. By the pure sham he was putting up, of knowing everything and having answers and assuring the kid things were going to be okay, he could fix it, he would figure out how…but he hadn’t. That was the funniest yet most frustrating part about everything: he hadn’t figured it out yet.

And why?

Because he didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand how they had found nothing, how even Ross and his men hadn’t found anything…and even though they weren’t meant to be looking for things concerning Peter, they still should have been looking for Strucker and Tony was supposed to believe that they had come in contact with nothing concerning the asshole since being gone?

Sure…sure fine.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe it, Ross wouldn’t hesitate to rub such information in their faces. But they had kept their noses out of everything, for Peter’s sake, after all…They were trying to handle the repercussions of everything. They were tying to keep Peter’s presence a secret from everyone, he didn’t want his ego and his anger to get in the way of helping Peter and May out of this situation so that the kid could just go back to his normal life where he wanted to be, because he certainly didn’t want to be there. Not at the Compound, but even then, Peter seemed like he didn’t want to be anywhere.

When they entered Peter’s room in the med-bay, the first thing he noticed was how much of an absolute wreck Peter looked. The boy’s hair was wet, he was wrapped tightly in a blanket, wearing scrubs, different from the ones the nurses surrounding him wore. They were helping him to lie back on the bed and if Tony didn’t know any better, he would think he looked more like a toddler, peeved about so many hands touching him when he wanted to do things himself. He simply looked disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes. Tony had known the boy wasn’t sleeping, he didn’t know to what extent.

Wanda and Vision paused in the doorway, while Tony came forward. Peter was just then adjusted and one of the nurses casted Tony a small smile upon his entrance as she and the others began to leave the room, one of the nurses leaving behind a glass of water with the instructions for Peter to ‘drink’. May seemed to perk up, bruised mouth and all, when Tony came in with the other two and he noticed the hope that dwelled in her eyes, the one that tried to chase the desperation away from them. Because there they were, on the edge, and Peter was breaking…Tony didn’t know what had upset him, but the whites of his eyes were bloodshot and he was trembling in the blanket, before he sat up, crossed legged and held the cup between shaky fingers. He barely looked at Tony and May stepped forward before whispering, as if it were a secret.

“They helped him bathe. He didn’t uh…”

Peter’s head snapped up, and he stated, voice sharper than Tony felt he had ever heard it, “I could have done it myself.”

It wasn’t like the kid to lose his patience, but to May’s credit, she didn’t falter. She spoke, soothingly, “You would have fallen.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Peter insisted, “I could have – that was stupid and embarrassing and – “

May’s eyes looked sympathetic, “Peter, you were still covered in stuff from days ago, and you can barely stand.”

Peter’s expression flashed suddenly, in a way Tony had never seen. And he didn’t know if it was the stress of the past several days, or if it was whatever was in the boy’s neck that made him so short tempered, but Peter’s voice cracked as he raised it, “And whose fault is that!? You people have me on drugs half the time I can’t even see straight! You’re acting just like them!”

May looked…struck by the statement. Tony held up a hand to silence the boy immediately and snapped, “Peter.”

The boy’s mouth clicked shut and his back went stiff. He blinked, rapidly, as if his mind was catching up with what he had just said. He looked amongst the adults in the room, even glancing at Vision and Wanda before his mouth opened and he looked like a fish out of water. Gasping for oxygen, but then he just shook his head, looking down at his hands in his lap, swallowing, swallowing, and then…

“I-I’m sorry I…I didn’t mean to say that.”

The room felt tense suddenly, as if someone could cut it with a butterknife. Peter tugged the blanket around his shoulders tighter, setting the cup of water aside on the table. His lower lip shook, heavily, and he wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone. Tony stepped forward with great care, casting a glance towards May who only nodded her head, having been briefed on the situation earlier. Once Tony was in reach, he slowly held out his hand and gripped Peter’s shoulder, squeezing, “Hey…it’s not – it’s not a big deal to us. Just…do you know Wanda and Vision?”

Peter’s head lifted up at them and he nodded slowly, “I’ve seen ‘em on the news.”

Wanda moved forward, smiling a bit, “That’s not always the best impression.”

Peter’s mouth only upturned slightly, before it seemed it was too much and it fell back down. Vision seemed to move even further back, maybe feeling he was inadequate for the situation at hand. Tony leaned forward a bit and tried to explain as gently as he could, “She’s here to help. We know there’s…well, there’s the issue with the implant, and trying to get it out. But it’s clear it’s hurting you still and with Strucker roaming around – “ Tony didn’t miss the way Peter flinched at the name “ – we want to get a better idea of what’s going on and what it’s doing to you.”

Tony said it as carefully as he could, almost stumbling over words. Peter’s face immediately grew concerned though and he began to worry on his lower lip, ducking his head. It almost felt like an attack on the kid himself, when it wasn’t…it was just another step in this process, but Tony never knew anymore if they were taking the right steps. Not with Peter anyway, and Peter wasn’t his…but he was making these decisions because May didn’t know what to do. He didn’t really know either.

Wanda must have noticed Peter’s discomfort because she came even closer, holding out her hand, her smile maintained. It was an offering, for Peter to take, and his hand lifted, paused, then finished, wrapping his fingers around hers. Tony felt like she looked almost relieved, when she stated, “You shouldn’t feel anything. You may see something…but I will try to be as gentle as I can. Do you trust me?”

And though Peter had only just met her, his head bobbed up and down, which Tony didn’t know if he was relieved or worried about. Relieved the kid could trust anyone after what he had been through, but worried that it was still there, and maybe it shouldn’t have been. The kid had been through too much for a child…too much for most grown adults. And yet he was there, he had argued, he had nodded his head though that he trusted her when he had just debated on whether or not the bath was needed. Peter wasn’t the same, but then again…Tony hadn’t been after Afghanistan, New York, Siberia. It had all taken remnants of him.

Tony moved away to give Wanda space to work. Her eyes lit up, bright crimson, and it formed around the tips of her fingers. Tony only casted one glance at Vision who was in the doorway still and then back at Wanda once more…noticing how Peter’s eyes were flickering red now. May was next to Tony in an instant, whispering as Peter’s face went blank behind the glow, “Is this - ?”

“It’s ‘normal’,” Tony answered, gripping her arm.

It was all he could say. It wasn’t quite normal…never would be for any of them, but for now it was what they had. He was relieved she had agreed to come from Edinburgh, out of hiding from Ross to help them. The terrain felt uncharted and rough and frightening and Tony gripped into every broken part of himself to stay calm while Peter’s face went lax and his mind was taken over. He wondered if this was the right thing…if he had made the right decision and he so hoped he had because Peter had suffered so, so much. Broken people, especially broken children were not his forte. He didn’t know how to do any of this, and he felt utterly useless standing there with May…she probably felt the same.

Tony didn’t know how to properly care without hurting.

He wasn’t good at it.

He decided it had been the wrong decision though, whenever Wanda’s body jerked back suddenly and she let out a quiet shriek. Peter did as well, falling into the headboard of the bed and immediately May was rushing forward to the boy who looked terrified all of a sudden. Vision appeared next to Tony, grabbing Wanda as she nearly tripped over her own feet onto the floor. The red faded, Peter’s eyes were round and Bambi-like once more as he wrapped his arms over his abdomen, and stared at the woman as if he had done something terribly wrong.

“I’m sorry!” Peter exclaimed, voice cracking, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean – I’m so…”

He trailed off, looking lost as May kneeled on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, shushing him quietly. Tony moved towards Wanda, who was breathing heavily in Vision’s arms, staring almost…blankly at the floor below her. Suddenly Tony regretted everything, but urgency overpowered that as he took Wanda by her elbow and squeezed, grabbing her attention. She slowly lifted her head, first looking at Peter’s flushed face and then turning to Tony, her mouth agape.

She appeared perplexed, but also frightened…worried. Tony couldn’t quite place it into one emotional category as she swallowed thickly.

“What happened?” May questioned from the bed, “What…?”

Tony leaned close and whispered, “What did you see?”

She didn’t seem bombarded, but Peter was shaking in the corner of Tony’s eye. Wanda looked away from Tony, at the boy and Tony felt something rise in his throat, something like protectiveness because he didn’t know what she had seen, but he was worried she was going to hurt him. However her expression wasn’t angry or confrontational…and Tony only relaxed slightly until her words made him tense enough to grip her arm tighter.

“He is calling Peter home.”

…

Bruce Banner had been comfortable during his time in India…before everything concerning the Avengers.

While the medical sciences hadn’t been his favorite, they had been useful, and he had helped a lot of people while there. A lot of people who could not have received treatment otherwise. But if someone had told him long ago, that he would eventually be working next to Doctor Helen Cho in an attempt to remove an implant from the spinal cord of a fifteen-year-old meta-human…he probably would have laughed in their face. Weirder things had happened though, obviously, they had occurred with him. His research, Harlem, all that bullsh*t. Bruce was kind of known for having a screwy life, and clearly this kid was suffering the same fate.

He adjusted his glasses on his face, leaning down low in front of the simulator…A holographic representation of Peter Parker’s spinal column, along with a figure for the implant. It was probably his fiftieth attempt at the ‘removal’, but he moved his fingers slowly, nonetheless, and just when he thought he had finally figured it out, the blue screen beeped loudly with a red outline and he groaned, throwing his head back and standing up straight, pulling his glasses from his face.

“This is so…” He trailed off. Usually he was good at the more tedious work, but time felt short…Peter Parker had this in his neck right at that very moment and there was no telling what was being fed to him through it. Bruce’s mind raced, at the thought of Ross coming back, being his usual dickhe*d self and possibly messing all of this up. This lack of progress was troubling and Helen stepped forward, looking over the data that replaced the simulation.

“Frustrating?” Helen questioned, “Yes…I agree. They definitely did their homework when choosing the most optimal place for the insertion point.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, “It’s like anyway we go about it, we damage a nerve. There and there and…I don’t know where to go from here.”

She only sighed in response, “We might have to start considering how much we’re willing to risk…or even lose. The removal is probably worth the damage, but is that even what the boy would want, or his aunt? There are several factors, and I just have a feeling that perfecting its removal isn’t going to happen in the timeframe we need to protect this child from further psychological harm.”

He stepped away from the table, feeling as the frustration bubbled up into something more and he ran a hand through his hair. It felt like an excessive amount of pressure, for everyone involved and everyone in the Compound and Bruce wasn’t even sure why himself. None of them really knew this boy, but he was still a child nonetheless and he was important to Tony, that much was clear. Important enough to have hidden the kid’s identity and basically everything about him from the rest of the Avengers.

It was almost as if Cho could read his mind…

“What is this boy to Stark?”

Bruce turned to look at her, where she had one hand placed on the edge of the table, her brows furrowed in genuine confusion. Bruce didn’t know how to answer, and his shoulders raised and he replied, “Honestly? I have no idea…I just know I’ve never seen him like this about some random kid, so he’s not just that. I mean…obviously he’s not, he’s Spider-Man, but it seems like…more.”

“More,” She echoed, “You know…as frustrated as I often am with him and his decisions…I do feel very sorry for him. His attachments so often bring him pain.”

It didn’t sound like it was an accusation towards Peter. More so towards Tony Stark’s luck and the kind of cards the universe had dealt him. When looking back, Bruce figured they had all been dealt some sh*tty cards, but Tony especially, and they still wondered why the guy messed up in the morality department. But the fact of the matter was simple: Tony Stark always tried to be better. He tried to do better. And he was not evil or cruel, but he was flawed just as they all were and suddenly Bruce was quite frustrated with the way he and the others had felt about Peter Parker being Spider-Man. Jumping to such ‘holier than thou’ accusations was…wrong.

“They do…don’t they?” Bruce mused quietly, as if he were staring into a light…An explanation…Something beyond himself, “But that’s why I want to save this kid. I mean, also because he’s a child that needs us, but because it kind of looks like Tony needs him too. I dunno if you saw all the news coverage, but Tony was putting a lot of effort into bringing Peter Parker home.”

And he always would, wouldn’t he? Tony was always so intensely attached to people.

The thought struck Bruce. Yes. Tony got very attached. Not easily, but when it happened it was like trying to unstick a rat from a trap. Bruce hummed quietly at the thoughts bouncing around in his skull and he approached the table once more, waving a hand to bring the simulation back up. Because this…it needed to be fixed.

“Let’s go again.”

…

May was smoothing the top of his hand.

Peter couldn’t really look at her because her mouth was still purple from where he had hit her.

They were sitting in total silence. The deafening kind. Peter had never understood that, how a silence could be deafening, but now he got it. Wanda and Vision had left, and Mister Stark stood in the doorway, leaning against it with his thumb under his chin and May was just staring at Peter…just looking at him and so he could not lift his head. He could only sit and wait and hope someone was going to say something that wouldn’t make him burst into the tears that were threatening him so viciously.

It was almost like being told he was dying, but now everyone else knew too because Wanda had said it. And he had kept silent so long about the fact that he could hear the voice…could hear someone beaconing him on the edge of the world, everything was fumbling, and Peter looked up, thinking maybe he should make a joke, maybe it would make it easier, and he still didn’t look at Aunt May because her face and his heart and everything was pounding so loudly in his ears, like his senses were cranked to eleven and Peter tried, he really did…

“Guess I didn’t know Wanda was like a…technology telepath…kinda reminds me of that movie from when I was a kid, Sky High. Course that girl was evil and Wanda isn’t evil – ”

Mister Stark’s head turned in his direction, “Peter.”

Right…not the time for jokes. Because Peter was in trouble.

“Why did you lie?” The man hissed.

“I didn’t lie,” Peter defended, shaking his head slightly, and Mister Stark began to walk towards the foot of the bed. Peter watched him grip the plastic end, his knuckles turning white and suddenly Peter grabbed his aunt’s hand, heart rising to his throat, and Peter continued, “I-I never lied to you about it.”

Mister Stark narrowed his eyes, “You omitted the truth. Still lying, why didn’t you say that…”

He trailed off, voice fading into nothing and Peter felt something well up in his throat. Something like anger…maybe frustration, he couldn’t be sure, but he felt sort of sick suddenly with the urge to scold Mister Stark in return. Because omitting the truth…well, he had to. He had to do it. It was a necessary evil, because he couldn’t have them knowing, they were already giving him meds for anxiety, for the constant fear, and he was so tired of being drugged up and then…and then…

God, the damned bathtub.

“Because how would you guys have reacted to me saying there’s a voice in my head telling me to ‘come home’?” Peter’s voice cracked as he pulled his hand from May’s and he felt guilty when out of the corner of his eye she flinched, “Huh? How would you have…No, I’ll tell you. You would have told Cho or Banner and they would’ve stuck me again or something – “

May argued, “Peter, we’re not going to sedate you.”

“You’re lying!” Peter screamed, and his throat stung with welling tears, “Just like them, they lied! They told me it was mine and it wasn’t they still made me kill it and you’re saying I’m free and I’m not going to be stuck again but it isn’t true!”

Silence. Complete silence and it gave Peter a moment to ponder over the words that had just flown from his mouth. May’s eyes were wide, he could see her lip now, so he looked away from her to Mister Stark. He was unreadable, his shock wasn’t etched out like May’s, if it was there, it wasn’t a language he could understand. So he stared at the man’s eyes, his own growing ten times their normal size, because yeah…that had been a lot of unloading and he wasn’t sure he had ever even had those untrusting thoughts, but he must have, they had been spoken into existence. Mister Stark leaned forward slowly, hands pressing to the mattress, and Peter pulled his feet away, biting down on his tongue to keep quiet.

Mister Stark questioned, “What?”

“Nothing,” Peter whispered, “Nothing.”

“Kid,” Mister Stark tried again, “They made you…what did they make you kill?”

Squirming, squirming, squirming…

A high pitch sound left the back of Peter’s throat, and finally – finally he looked away towards the wall, running his fingers through his hair that smelled like soap now. His eyes burned, so he shut them and just replied, “It was just a test. And I passed.”

“Peter,” Aunt May said, and she sounded desperate, sitting on the opposite side of the bed from where his head was turned…She tried to cup his face, tried to make him look at her, and her fingers were soft, her voice inviting, but Peter could not arrive with the hope of escape. He was met with a brick wall, “Honey…listen to me. We aren’t going to hurt you here. We aren’t going to make you do any of those things.”

Peter ground his teeth, he felt angry, and he didn’t know why, “You made me get in the bath, and I was…”

I was scared, May. You could see I was scared.

But he didn’t finish. He simply turned, not looking at her, he wondered if he could ever look at her again without seeing the purple on her mouth. Instead he looked at Mister Stark, and he knew his eyes were bloodshot as he gritted his jaw. He didn’t feel like himself, glaring up at the man. He felt angry, and a part of him knew it was because of the burning in the back of his neck. This anger was foreign, not his own, telling him these people were not his, when they most definitely were his. They were the people in the world he loved and admired most and yet his fingers twitched with the urge to wrap his fingers around their throats like some mindless animal.

Mister Stark stared intently, and it was as if he could see the complexity behind Peter’s eyes. The rage that…oh, it was surely the implant. The Normal Peter screaming beneath. Begging to be let out. Mister Stark was still leaning forward, and he didn’t so much as glare as he just narrowed his eyes on the boy…like he knew Strucker was somewhere beneath, that he could hear them…they knew he was there, in the room with them in some odd and sick way.

Peter flinched when Mister Stark’s hand shot out and grabbed his jaw.

And Normal Peter was on the inside, but Angry-Strucker Peter tried to slip through and Peter yanked at his head, but the hand did not release. Peter couldn’t see May’s face, but he had seen the twitch of her body, and his fingers raised, grabbing a hold of Mister Stark’s wrist. Normal Peter stopped him from striking the man. He would not survive hurting someone else he cared about. There was a distance there, between them, they hadn’t grown close, Mister Stark had made sure of that. Always so distant. Letting Happy ignore his calls. Stepping on him by taking that suit away when Peter was just trying to help.

He is a threat.

“He’s not…he’s not,” Normal Peter thought in return, desperately.

He is.

“Strucker,” Mister Stark said, as if talking to a demon that had possessed the boy, “If you’re listening…I want you to listen closely. Either get out of this kid…leave him the f*ck alone. Or I’m going to kill you, you hear me? I will make Ultron look like parasailing in Fiji, you deranged asshole.”

Kill him. He is a threat. Obey.

Obey.

Obey.

Peter felt his eyes burning with tears…Normal Peter coming to the edge of everything, washing the anger out, leaving only residue.

“I cannot be obedient.”

Mister Stark looked confused, hand released his face as if it had been burned. Peter slouched, body aching, the back of his neck on fire. Neither adult said anything and Peter murmured, “I can’t…I can’t comply.”

He didn’t flinch when Aunt May’s arms wrapped around him. When he looked back into Mister Stark’s eyes over her shoulder, he saw the uneasiness. Peter didn’t blame him. Being split in half was an untrustworthy state, and who could say when the other would arrive for him with the expectation of compliance?

Chapter 6: Dead Indeed

Chapter Text

A man of words and not of deeds,

is like garden full of weeds.

Sometimes people have to bug their friends when they’re going to be attending a hearing about a warrant to search said people’s compound.

It was a real-world issue, and of course that friend ended up being Rhodey himself, much to his dismay.

He wasn’t surprised though, he had stopped being surprised by the ridiculous and illegal things Tony had started asking him to do forever ago. So, assisting in hiding a fifteen-year-old with a Hydra implant in the back of his neck from the government meant he was going to be put in yet another very uncomfortable position where he risked losing his military status and his entire career, and for what? The Avengers and this kid he didn’t even know. Maybe it was selfish, but Rhodey was thoroughly annoyed…Even if he knew he had to do it.

Ross wasn’t frightening per se, in all of his asshole glory. He was frightening in that he had people in the government that were loyal to him. Loyalty came in the form of shady individuals who were more interested in what they could get out of people and Ross’ position than the actual positivity that could be done in the world with their power. So the entire hearing itself was dumb. Because Rhodey knew what the decision was going to be before he even walked in with the wire on his body, ready to record the entire meeting for the Avengers that he knew were listening.

Ross was directly beside him. Truthfully, Rhodey didn’t know why he was there. Not fully…Ross kept him around, he supposed to have an inside hand on his ‘side’, but Rhodey would never choose Ross over his best friend, despite how angry that made him at himself because Tony could be an irritating variable in his life sometimes. But Rhodey stayed. Remained at his best friend’s side, and pretended things were alright with Ross because it was the only way they were going to have any idea about what kind of sh*t storm was headed their way.

Rhodey pressed the mug of coffee to his lips as they waited for the judge to enter. The room was undeniably silent in a way that told Rhodey that Ross knew something was up. Maybe not about Rhodey being bugged…not exactly, but he could feel the tension, and it was thick and smothering to Rhodey at least…Though Ross looked incredibly nonchalant as he turned to face Rhodey, the same tenseness in his shoulders that always seemed to be in that of a military man. Ross stared at him, waiting for Rhodey to lower the mug from his face and back onto the table, like he had something very, very important to say when in all actuality, it was an irritating interjection.

“You know Colonel Rhodes, I’m not sure if I’ve ever asked,” Ross started, sounding like a forced interest was lodged in the back of his throat, “But what makes you keep hanging around the likes of Stark?”

Rhodey turned stiffly, heading tilting, “I’ve known him since we attended MIT together, sir.”

“Just has to be tedious,” The other man shook his head, sighing loudly as he leaned back in his chair, some of the formality leaving his tone and body language, “Just in the time I’ve dealt with him, I’ve found him to be almost unbearable. He has no respect for anyone, even those who clearly know better than he does…It’s almost like his entire personality is narcissism.”

Rhodey kind of wanted to laugh, mostly due to the fact that he knew Tony was listening over the device under his clothing. It was funny, but also a bit irritating because Tony wasn’t just narcissism. Tony had these moments where mercy and kindness made itself clear as day, and Ross must have been purposefully avoiding those moments, because he turned a blind eye without a second thought. It was much more, Tony was much more. Rhodey had seen his best friend in some of the lowest places. He had watched him climb out of his alcoholism, out of his self-hatred, out of so many things that exploded in a rush of ignorance from Ross.

But he breathed out calmly…

“I think he’s just a bit distrusting right now.”

Ross scoffed, “Distrusting of what? We’re not the ones who beat the sh*t out of him in Siberia. Yet he has an easier time welcoming Rogers back into his ranks.”

Rhodey’s mouth clicked shut. He didn’t know what to say to that, because the entire fiasco had been just that…a fluster clucking fiasco. So instead, Rhodey opted to go down a new path, and he took in a deep breath, questioning only slightly off topic, “Why’re you doing this? Why’re you so desperate to search the Compound?”

There was a beat of just nothing. Nothing besides some of the other men in the room. The heater running, everything, as Ross tapped his fingers on the table top. His mouth formed into a line, before he leaned forward, almost as if Rhodey was a small child who couldn’t even begin to understand the gravity of what he was about to speak into existence. Into the world around them, and Rhodey’s back only straightened just slightly in anticipation, trying to calm his racing heart because he couldn’t imagine what it was…

“Stark is hiding something,” Ross stated, “And if I had to bet? I think it has something to do with that missing boy from Queens and the files were found at that Hydra base. Two fifteen-year-old boys…And I’m just expected to believe that Stark started to advocate for this missing boy out of the goodness of his heart? Funny.”

Rhodey breathed deeply, trying to speak as evenly as possible, “There’s nothing for him to hide, I’ve been in the Compound – “

Ross interrupted rather harshly, “No offense, Rhodes. But you’re bullsh*tting me.”

Rhodey stilled, eyes narrowing slightly. He nearly opened his mouth once more to say something, something that would sting, something that would probably get him into trouble. Risk his position, maybe even get him thrown out of the room. But the judge chose then to enter, everyone standing from their seats. Not many of course…it was simply a warrant, but it was enough to feel like pressure.

And Rhodey…all he could do was hope the judge decided Ross was full of sh*t.

…

And when the weeds begin to grow,

it’s like a garden full of snow.

Ross was so full of sh*t.

Tony had come to that conclusion the moment the judge had handed over the search warrant and the com had gone dead, because clearly Rhodey had assumed they had heard enough and had cut the feed. Both Tony and Nat pulled the headphones from their ears, Tony’s eyes blazing with a tumultuous rage as he glanced back at Steve who was standing there, leaning over the chair slightly. His hands shook, and there was nothing in the world other than that absolute terror digging its claws in deep into the pit of his stomach. Tony couldn’t really recall the last time he had experienced such a deep rage towards someone, but it always seemed to be Ross that was triggering such things.

Because it wasn’t enough that Tony was dealing with the anxiety of Peter being sick…sick and anxious and something was hurting him…Voices, Strucker, and f*ck him. f*ck Ross for making it so much worse when Tony was busy trying to save this kid that had somehow weaseled his way into the pit of Tony’s stomach and dug his teeth in very deep. Into this world that Peter wasn’t even supposed to be a part of, and if Tony could go back…Back before Germany, back before the suit, back before Peter had been grabbed just going to pick up some dinner for himself and his aunt…he would change things. He would have tried to stop Peter, and maybe it wouldn’t have worked, the kid might have still wanted to be Spider-Man, but at least Tony could have tried and he hadn’t…And now the kid was suffering because Tony couldn’t have just been a f*cking adult. He had been a child, when Peter was the actual child, a child that had needed someone to look out for him and Tony had just kept pushing him away, adding more distance, just…more and more and more…

Because Peter had said it, he had said he had just wanted to be like Tony, and Christ…that had sent terror up his spine in a way he thought nothing ever could. Not since Afghanistan, or the wormhole or anything…Looking at the sincerity behind Peter’s brown eyes and seeing that truth there, Peter had been honest in those moments…When he had been staring at Tony. He had wanted to be like him…and Tony had torn into him. Peter was not his. Could not be his kid, but sometimes he had caught himself thinking that.

So the distance had been a necessity.

Until it had made things difficult.

Because then Tony hadn’t been there.

Then the gavel had slammed down, he had heard the judge award the search warrant, and just a few floors above them, Bruce and Cho were still practicing the surgery itself and nothing was ready…they weren’t prepared, but Peter couldn’t be moved or hidden until that damned thing was out of his neck and there was no telling when Ross and his guys would arrive. Tony grabbed his own hair, putting his elbows on the table as he tugged almost nonsensically, and growled, “What the f*ck, what the f*ck – “

“Why are they always handing things to him?” Steve whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Natasha only scoffed, “Easy. He’s an asshole with power. A smart asshole with power, and they don’t like to get on the wrong side of those. Judge probably figured it was easier to give Ross the warrant than deal with the Avengers and that’s saying something…”

Tony could say nothing to either. He simply pushed himself away from the desk, moving to the door and ignoring Steve’s voice asking him to wait. Maybe to talk…to deliberate on what their game plan was going to be. Tony didn’t have a game plan anymore. Something needed to be done, at least in the next few hours, before Ross came knocking on their doorstep, before he decided to bring the fight to them…And Tony was having to fight enough. He couldn’t do it anymore. It needed to happen now, today…

It might have been the only way they were going to save Peter.

From Strucker and from Ross.

There was a definite sense of pain under Tony’s skin. Rage had a way of doing that, along with everything else…Having the urge to just push the thoughts away, to run, to not care anymore. He had spent so much time telling himself that Peter was just another kid, that this was all a very difficult existence. He wondered for a moment why people purposefully brought children into the world if it just meant fretting at every turn. And Tony pushed himself into Bruce’s lab, fully ready to collapse into a ball of simple and ready horror, but he didn’t. Both Bruce and Cho jumped in surprise though when he walked in, both of their eyebrows shooting up in shock.

They must have been able to read his face, despite the fact he had said nothing. Had said nothing to Nat or Steve. Had said nothing to anyone besides screaming silently at the voice in the back of his head, telling it to shut up and let him think, but it never did. Never would, and Tony felt like a small child, trying to figure everything out and maybe Bruce and Cho felt the same way attempting to figure out a way to save a fifteen-year-old down the hallway who was slowly but surely being driven mad.

“What?” Just proof Bruce could see the urgency, “What’s happening?”

Tony entered the room further, approaching the table and he was breathing heavily. Which meant he had run there, and he hadn’t even realized he had been sprinting through the halls upon the realization of what Ross was going to do to them. To all of them, and including the kid and he just couldn’t let it happen, not like that, not when he was trying so hard to fix everything and everyone involved in the entire mess they were being sucked into further and further everyday without getting a step closer to fixing it.

So he swallowed, “Ross…the sh*t head got a search warrant, and there’s not telling when he’s going to get here. We need to do the surgery now, so we can stabilize the kid and move him.”

Doctor Cho stood slowly, holding out a hand, “Woah, woah…This surgery is still completely unpredictable, Stark. We’ve only had a hand full of successful simulations – “

Tony interjected quickly, sounding more desperate than he had intended, “Then make one of the test runs work. I’m going to tell Peter and his aunt that we’re moving forward with the surgery and the two of you need to start prepping things now.”

He turned, not waiting for a response, but when he was halfway to the door, Cho called angrily, “You are risking this boy’s life! We aren’t ready!”

“There’s no f*cking time for more test runs!” Tony whirled around, and he couldn’t remember the last time his heart had hammered so fast, the last time he had been so desperate to wrap his hands around Ross’ throat, the last time everything had seemed so hopeless and daunting. It needed to be now. That day…in the next few hours if possible. Tony continued, “Get that thing out of this kid’s neck, Cho, that’s all I need from you…Just do it, I am begging you to try.”

Silence filtered in. Tony almost cringed at his own voice, at the way it cracked, at the way it sounded full of a dying void. The kid couldn’t be so important, and yet he was, and Tony wasn’t willing to let this go on any longer with Ross coming to f*ck everything up. They’d take Peter in or something, connect the fact Peter had done the murdering in that facility, and he couldn’t very well risk them locking up a kid that was already on the verge of something so dark. It would only get worse, every step would be a launch.

Tony tried…

“I need you to save him.”

Cho and Bruce glanced at one another, and Tony’s whole body felt like it was actually made of iron. Not strong, but heavy, and sinking fast. He didn’t want to ask others to put Peter’s life into their hands, but at that point he was going to have to. He needed help…He couldn’t cut Peter open himself, but at that point he was getting desperate enough to try, which was just no good for anyone involved. He could see Peter’s face in his head, when it used to smile, and it used to be happy to be alive, but now all his face ever looked like now was either tired, or conflicted about the thoughts that were being fed to him through the device and Tony just…it needed to go.

When they looked back at him, Doctor Cho swallowed, murmuring softly…

“I’ll get an OR set up. My team will be prepped in the next half-hour…You need to tell Peter and his aunt.”

She made it sound easy, but she also sounded so afraid that Tony only felt the iron pull him down deeper into nothing.

…

And when the snow begins to fall,

it’s like a bird upon the wall.

“I promise it’s good, Peter.”

Aunt May’s voice filtered into the static he was listening to in the back of his mind. Peter blinked almost blearily at his aunt as the tray of food was moved closer on the table that slid over his bed and she was sitting on the other side of him, coaxing the fruit and eggs towards him. Peter was trying not to be difficult, but he honestly felt so nauseous from whatever medicine they had been giving him to help him sleep that he couldn’t even consider food at the moment. But he could tell he was hungry, from how his fingers were shaking…from how he felt slightly smothered by the entire universe wanting to swallow him whole.

Peter picked up the fork, nonetheless, not wanting to argue. Not wanting to make things worse despite his stomach churning with nausea. He stuck the eggs, before shoving them down his throat and forcing himself to swallow and swallow and swallow, bite after bite. Because it made his aunt happy to see him eating, and he had been bombarded with so many thoughts telling him to hurt her and Mister Stark that this was good. It was better to see her happy when he had wanted to harm her. Not just intentionally, sometimes it was accidentally and Peter was drowning in some of that, in a way that was unsettling.

He just wanted to behave…to make things easier for her.

“How’re you feeling today?” She questioned, reaching out and pushing a strand of hair out of his face, “Still groggy?”

Peter nodded mutely, before he got the food down and then lied, “Only a little. I feel okay.”

She must not have believed him, because she only hummed in response to that. Peter thought he had been good at lying now, but after she and Tony had found out about the implant telling him things, about him not telling anyone…they didn’t really believe him anymore. Which was frustrating, because teaching himself to lie through his teeth had been a matter of survival within the facility, at least from what he could remember of it. He lied a whole lot. He lied about his submission, his compliance, the way his brain was fried from the drugs, and then the beatings, the orders…All around psychological manipulation, and Peter had to lie to make it stop. Sometimes he really did have to submit to them, and so he did the same thing with Tony and Aunt May, because they were like Hydra in that way, they were relentless, and they wanted the truth when Peter just was not willing to offer it up in the way they wanted so desperately.

Peter was broken. He had to lie.

“When we go home I’ll get you one of those breakfast burritos from the restaurant down the street, you know Reggie’s?” May explained, tilting her head, “You’ll probably like that a lot better.”

Peter blinked a few times, “Mister Stark is never going to let us leave.”

May laughed, though it sounded kind of forced…maybe a bit concerned or awkward, Peter couldn’t tell. He was having trouble hearing past the static that sometimes got louder, so loud he had to cringe and fight the urge to cover his ears in response. The world was always shifting oddly, he could barely walk around from the weakness in his limbs, but he ate and ate, to hide the awkwardness of May’s stare as she responded, “We’re not prisoners here. Tony isn’t keeping us against our will.”

“Sure he’s not,” Peter wasn’t sure where the bitterness was coming from, maybe from the voice, the one that hated Mister Stark with a burning passion, the one that frightened Peter and made him feel like some dangerous antibody in their lives, “He just has cameras watching me 24/7 and makes the nurses drug me to sleep – “

May shook her head vehemently, “It’s not a sedative, honey. It’s just a sleep aid.”

“It’s a f*cking sedative if it’s strong enough to make someone with my metabolism sleep,” Peter snapped sharply, face turning pink around his cheeks with anger, “And you’re being stupid to ignore what he’s doing.”

Her face contorted, and she spoke, tone hard, like when he got into trouble, “Hey.”

Peter startled at that, eyes going wide as he became more aware of himself…yeah, yeah…that definitely wasn’t him speaking, but then again, it had come out of his own mouth and the words had bounced off the walls. Still echoing. Peter dropped the fork on his plate and shut his eyes, groaning as he pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. Peter muttered, lowering his head just slightly, “Sorry – I’m sorry, I dunno why I just said that, I wasn’t…”

He paused, then, “God, I’m awful. I’m so…I’m so…”

“No, no, hey,” She moved the tray out of the way, scooting closer to him with the free space between them. She reached out, and moved his hands from his head, “It’s not your fault. I know it’s not your fault. And when all of this is fixed, you’ll know that too.”

Peter wanted to say he already knew. The amount of times someone had told him things were okay, that he was okay…that Mister Stark was going to fix everything and Doctor Banner and Doctor Cho were working on a surgery…God it just felt empty at that point. Peter allowed Aunt May to hold both of his hands though, to comfort him, even if it still felt messed up. The tub in the bathroom screamed at the back of his mind, the drugs that they gave him before it was time for bed wailed. Peter sunk deeper beneath waves of suffering that he hadn’t realized existed.

He was having a hard time, and a worse one when Mister Stark walked into the room, followed by several nurses.

Whatever was in his neck didn’t like Mister Stark. It didn’t like him being around and Peter felt a heavy burning there upon his entry and even worse when he noticed the way the nurses had started moving around without really acknowledging them or offering an explanation as to what they were doing. Mister Stark on the other hand made a beeline for Aunt May who stood from her place on the bed, putting herself in front of Peter. Maybe not to protect, but there was a clear discomfort in the way she was standing, in the stiffness in her shoulders, and Peter knew this wasn’t a part of any plan…

“What’s going on?” He heard her whisper.

Mister Stark replied, getting too close, moving forward too quickly, and Peter stiffened. His hands flattened down at his sides and he gripped the sheets tightly below his fingers in an odd reaction. One he could not place, as Mister Stark glanced down at him, clearly not missing how Peter pushed himself towards the head of the bed slightly. How he had gone from clinging to terror, he didn’t know…it was the thing, the thing screaming, saying danger. That Mister Stark was a threat, even though Peter knew deep down he was not.

The nurses were pushing several machines towards him, and Peter bit down on his lower lip, not missing the one nurse who was hooking a mask to one of them. Voices were ringing, and Peter jumped when a hand touched his knee and gripped it tightly, sending a shock up him. He looked at the source, Mister Stark, who was leaning down and staring intently at his face. Clearly he and May had exchanged words, words that Peter had missed in his concern over the nurses and Peter’s breath hitched slightly…Because Mister Stark was too close, he was too dangerous and Peter might hurt him –

“Did you hear me, Peter?”

Peter shook his head and Mister Stark sighed, “We’re doing the surgery.”

“Now?” The boy questioned, wavering.

“Yes now. It needs to be now…”

Peter didn’t get to push his questions further when one of the people in scrubs approached him. A tall woman, holding an oxygen mask, but he had a feeling it wasn’t oxygen underneath it. Not attached to that machine, not what was happening and Peter swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat, wanting to scream immediately. Surgery meant they were going to drug him again. They were going to knock him unconscious once more and that wasn’t what Peter wanted. He didn’t want any of that. It felt like – it felt like he wasn’t even in control of his own autonomy and –

God, he was thrashing.

“Kid!” Mister Stark was holding his wrists, and how did it happen? Peter wasn’t sure when his brain had clicked off, leaving behind something completely outside of himself, but it had and he wasn’t breathing as he was held. But he stopped fighting immediately, because fighting, non-compliance, it meant needles, and that wasn’t what he wanted. Not in that moment of complete and utter pity. Air wouldn’t expand in his chest and God, he was afraid.

“You haven’t – “ Peter was grasping for excuses, “You haven’t tested it enough.”

“You’re going to be fine. We have to do it right now, though.”

Peter shouted, voice raw, “Why!?”

“Because I said so,” Mister Stark gave him a slight shake, but didn’t release his wrists. Peter’s eyes flashed to Aunt May and he couldn’t understand why she was letting Mister Stark do this to him, and the betrayal was not his, it was the thing inside of his neck. It was screaming. Danger, it was danger, Mister Stark was dangerous.

He shook his head, “Please…please…”

Aunt May bit her lip, and moved forward, reaching around Mister Stark to cup the side of his face because he wouldn’t let go. Peter could not escape them, as they loomed over him, like a set of helicopter parents…Like he was about to get a vaccine, but it wasn’t that because the nurse was getting closer with the mask in her hand and Peter was terrified. He didn’t want to go to sleep, and Aunt May brushed her thumb over his cheek that he realized was wet as one tear slipped through…just the one, streaking down his skin.

“Honey, you know Tony would never hurt you.”

But he didn’t. Because the voice, the implant, it was saying things and Peter knew logically it was untrue, but whatever was working inside of his very being…it said otherwise. Peter was not a part of his own DNA, he was a part of someone else, Otets more than likely, and he could no longer exist freely because everything was so, so wrong. He wanted to die.

When Peter shook his head back and forth, Aunt May pushed it in the slightest where she was cupping his cheek to look at Mister Stark. His eyes were stern, yet sincere as she asked, “Does he look like someone who wants to hurt you?”

He didn’t…but…but well…

Peter whispered, blinking at Tony, “No.”

Because it was the truth, it just didn’t feel like the truth, because everything in the back of his mind had blurred into a thick lens of despair and loss, and Peter didn’t know where to turn. But he didn’t fight the nurse as she placed the mask over his face and pumped him full of anesthesia strong enough to down an elephant. Or twenty elephants. He didn’t fight back as they both laid him down against the mattress and Peter continued to stare into Mister Stark’s dark irises, hoping to see the promise of salvation.

He didn’t. The voice in the implant erased too much of it.

…

And when the bird away does fly,

it’s like an eagle in the sky.

They wouldn’t let Tony and May in the OR of course.

Suddenly Tony understood how Pepper and Rhodey felt behind the glass during his surgery…Watching him get put under, the blue tarps around him…The people in scrubs that were almost like aliens and Tony watched with his hand squeezing May’s shoulder, much like what Rhodey had done for Pepper way back when…Hoping everything would go smoothly as Bruce and Cho turned Peter onto his side and began to prep everything, Peter finally having allowed himself to be put under…

“God, I hope this works,” May whispered softly, “It has to work…right? It has–I just don’t know how much more he can take.”

A pause, then, “How much more any of us can take.”

Tony bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t sure what to say…or how to reassure her that everything was okay. Because it wasn’t and watching as both Bruce and Cho moved in the room behind the glass…He could almost certainly see the hesitancy there. The worry, the utter and pure set backs that it promised. Life was gripping all of them, they were relentless in their pain. Tony could not lie, but he did anyway.

“It’s going to be okay. They know what they’re doing.”

“And this general…” May started, sounding quiet, “He’s coming?”

Tony nodded slowly, “He’s coming. But I’m not going to let him lay a hand on this kid.”

May’s eyes looked grateful, but also unsure. Tony himself was unsure in every sense of the word, so it was as if he understood in some deep, dark way. He wanted Peter to be…Peter again. He wanted him to be able to go home with his aunt, to be safe. But Tony wanted to dwell too much on that silent pleading. The eyes that he wanted to cure of this. It was his fault. Tony wasn’t sure how, but wasn’t everything? Peter Parker was his fault, May had made that clear right after finding out, and she had said sorry and all that, but was it true? Tony had given Peter the suit. He had enabled him…And now Peter was being cut into, and Ross was going to try to take him away.

He didn’t get to say anything else though, because footsteps were running down the hallway and Tony whirled to see Wanda there, breathing heavily. Her eyes were wide, as if with terror, mouth slightly parted when she gasped out, “You need to come with me.”

Tony knew.

There wasn’t enough courage in his bones to reassure May everything was fine, so instead he ran after Wanda who had begun to retreat from where she had come. The two took several turns down the hallway before emerging on the open balcony, overlooking the glass windows to the front portion of the Compound, opposite to the lake shore. Several military Humvees and other vehicles were slowly but surely approaching them further down the road and Tony stepped towards where Steve, Natasha, and Vision were waiting for them. Wanda whispered, also staring at the amount of vehicles in awe, “It’s Ross.”

Tony grabbed the railing of the balcony, squeezing. He could feel Steve staring at him, maybe waiting expectantly for something…Anything to happen, and nothing was. Air was dissipating, Tony didn’t like this. Rhodey was probably with them, so blowing up their armored cars wasn’t an option…Of course he probably would have refrained from such a thing in the first place. He didn’t want to kill these people, but Christ…they were coming for Peter…

“Did they start the surgery?” Steve questioned.

“Yeah,” Tony breathed quietly, and for a moment he forgot Siberia. He forgot the scolding he had received earlier. Tony’s eyes scanned the group and he questioned, “Where’s Wilson?”

Nat pointed upward, “Roof. Giving us a higher vantage point.”

Tony nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek as he rolled the thoughts around. He looked at Vision and ordered, “Go tell him if any of them get too close to the perimeter, to hold them off. Nothing lethal, that’ll get him in trouble…just enough to obstruct. I can haggle them for leeway on that, but if he accidentally blows up a vehicle he’s screwed.”

Vision nodded, flying upward and fazing through the ceiling with ease. Tony looked at the three remaining Avengers and Wanda asked, “Are we going to fight?”

“We’re going to try not to,” Tony admitted, “You all are still being watched…thin ice is melting. But we’re going to do our best to make this the hardest search of Ross’ life. I think a ‘malfunction’ is in order, don’t you all agree?”

Steve and Wanda looked confused, faces contorting into something unreadable. However, Tony turned back to face outside the window as the vehicles continued to approach. It was like watching a movie, while horses were riding into battle, prepared to mow down whoever was in their way…whoever dared to stand up against them and Tony was going to be that idiot who brought three-hundred warriors to a battle involving thousands. But that was just how it went sometimes, he supposed. It was Stark luck.

“Friday,” Tony ordered, “Shut ‘er down. Keep all medical facilities up and running, but no one comes in.”

“Lockdown confirmed, Boss.”

A red light flashed, the main lights dimming in the slightest.

Steve sighed, “Here we go.”

…

And when the sky begins to roar,

it’s like a lion at your door.

There, there, it’s there.

Peter sat on the cot. His skin smelled of the medical soap they always used to wash him clean, and his eyes burned from where it had entered them hours ago. The rabbit was sitting still between his legs, and he simply ran his fingers through its thick coat, trying not to rock back and forth like some kind of baby searching for comfort. He longed for his aunt’s fingers to comb through his hair, to hold him, to tell him he was alright when he was not. Because he was drowning, always, his lungs were full of liquid. He felt sick, but even if he was, they weren’t going to do anything about it. If they did, it would in the form of needles.

He was thankful for the change of pace, to be left alone with the rabbit, the one he had yet to name, and he never would. It was easier, he should not have been attached to begin with, and when the door opened and turned that thankfulness into vapor he was suddenly lifted into the dark realization of what was about to occur in his small room of four walls and just him. Just him and nothing. The Room was his world now, besides Otets and the guards. Otets entered though, dragging a new person he did not recognize along with him.

It was a man, a man dressed like a guard, but then another was holding him and the guard looked terrified of the world around him, terrified to be there. There was a simplicity in all of it, but Peter knew deep down this was something broken and ferocious as a blade was thrown his way and it landed at the foot of the cot, right in front of Peter and his rabbit. Otets’ face was stone cold, and there was something behind the cruel twinkle in his eyes that told Peter this was why he hadn’t named the rabbit. The dreaded feeling had come to pass.

The order was simple.

“Either kill the guard or the rabbit.”

Peter couldn’t breathe, looking down at the soft white fur below his hand. There was a beat of silence, the guard had begun to sob, speaking in a language Peter didn’t understand while he was restrained by another guard and there was no air in Peter’s lungs as he questioned a world he was not attune to. Peter shook his head, he couldn’t kill the rabbit. The rabbit had been the only thing in The Room that had brought him any kind of socialization outside of what he knew deep down to be manipulation.

“No…”

“The guard or the rabbit,” And then Otets was placing a hand over the guard’s throat, “Decide, zaichik.”

Decide, bunny…

Decide.

Decide.

Decide

Decide.

“Stop…stop…stop it!”

Peter covered his ears, voice going shrill.

“Do it. Do it now.”

“Stop!”

“Now! Or I’ll kill the guard myself!”

When weighing a human life against that of a rabbit, Peter might would have chosen the rabbit over one of the guard’s that had probably taken part in his torture at some point. But the man was pleading, was crying, was begging and begging and fat tears rolled down his face. How was Peter going to kill someone? A human being? When a rabbit below his hands would not beg, and would not plead, would not be missed by anyone but Peter.

And so Peter grabbed the blade, while the man wailed and while Otets shouted at him to choose, and Peter chose, digging the blade down into the rabbit.

Peter cried while he did it.

But then Peter wasn’t just stabbing his rabbit, he was jumping to his feet and he was stabbing everyone. He stabbed Otets in the abdomen, he stabbed both of the guards, even the guard he had killed his rabbit to try and spare, but the thing in Peter’s neck was screaming and Otets was bleeding from his stomach, but unlike the others, Peter could not finish him off. Because despite everything, Otets has brought him food, had brought him blankets, had sat with him after torture. Peter knew this was Stockholm syndrome to some degree, there was some kind of weird reason he had to not stabbed Otets again.

But he stabbed everyone else.

And woke in a bathtub.

Because they had made him kill the rabbit. The only thing The Room had to offer him.

Peter woke, but he wasn’t awake.

He knew he wasn’t because people in scrubs were screaming for him to stop fighting, to stop throwing things, to stop wailing and crying and throwing out punches that could not be stopped. He threw a woman back into a table, metal clattered to the floor and Peter cried and cried, expecting his hands to be bloody and a needle ripped from his arm as he stumbled to his feet, wearing only a hospital gown while falling to the tile floor under jelly legs. Life was nothing, and Peter was crying as he fought to get out of the room, pushing people, and hitting them and clawing and clawing until he was born into the hallway and he sprinted down it, bare feet pounding against the floor.

It was like escaping a hospital, but he knew deep down he was in the Compound every time he turned corner after corner and the lights were dimmed for some reason. Everything felt empty, and Peter was drowning in it. In the bathtub, in the rabbit’s blood and Otets’ blood and Peter slipped, hitting the floor before crawling back to his feet and searching for a way out while a siren went off overhead. Peter was in a fever dream, all alone, lights flashing and his brain couldn’t comprehend anything that was happening. He was just cold.

Cold until he threw himself through a glass window and into the snow below from the second floor…

Then he was freezing.

The lake behind the Compound looked almost frozen. Not a viable escape though, not like the several military grade vehicles parked in the back, unoccupied, but there were more people in the front. People were screaming and Peter’s arm was bleeding profusely with a glass shard sticking out. He looked up at the window, seeing people peering out, calling and shouting for him and his bare feet felt cold. Worse than when had escaped the first time. The blood pooled into the snow, melting it, and it looked like his rabbit’s fur coat.

And then Peter was running…Running and running and running until the trees took him into a cradle, and he disappeared from sight.

Come home. Come home. Come home.

…

And when the door begins to crack,

it’s like a stick across your back.

And when your back begins to smart,

It’s like a penknife in your heart.

And when your heart begins to bleed.

You’re dead,

and dead,

and dead, indeed.

Chapter 7: Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere

Chapter Text

There was a list of bad things accumulating in the Compound, whirling around Tony’s head. A list that pushed him to the verge of a panic attack, in a way he did not need in that moment because things were bad, and then worse, then so much worse. Life had a way of kicking Tony in the gut when he least expected it, and sure, they were building up to a sh*t show, but he hadn’t expected what kind of sh*t show it would be. For one, Ross was never supposed to get inside. For two, the surgery was supposed to be what he was afraid of, not Peter waking up before it had even really started and knocking half of the nurses unconscious, along with the doctors before making a run for the hills. So the list continued…

Bruce had a concussion and Cho’s nose was bloodied.

Ross was in the Compound.

They were being questioned for obstruction.

And not to mention…Peter had escaped.

Thrown himself out of a second story window was a better description of the kid’s disappearance. Not so much an escape, as it was a suicide attempt, before sprinting out into God knows where. Then Ross’ men had seen…had gotten involved, were trying to find the boy, but with that help came Ross himself, and his knowledge that Peter wasn’t some hypothetical kid anymore. A kid separated from the boy in the files. They were one in the same. It was sort of disheartening that someone as dense as Ross had figured it out, but he probably wouldn’t have, had the kid not thrown himself through the window like that in front of so many witnesses. The snow was bloodied, the kid was hurt, wherever he was, but the trail had gone cold. So now Peter was out in the elements, Ross’ men were after him, and someone was controlling him through the implant in his neck.

It was f*cking pandemonium.

Tony didn’t want the help. They needed it, he wasn’t ignorant to that, they needed everyone out there looking for Peter, but he didn’t want Ross’ help. Because once they got Peter back, there would be too many questions. And Tony didn’t want to risk him somehow prying the identity of Spider-Man out of everything. As far as Ross was concerned now, Peter was a fifteen-year-old from Queens who had been captured by Hydra and was somehow connected to Tony. If he figured out that connection, Tony didn’t know what he would do to repair that damage.

Flip out…probably. There was a good chance of that, even if Tony denied it every time someone gave him a concerned look. Bruce sat, staring at him worriedly as he wore the icepack on his forehead where a giant bruise had formed. Whatever Peter had hit him with, it must have been hard. Cho had a cloth under his bloodied nose. The world was shaken, and Ross was across the foyer, yet close enough to be a looming presence. Tony looked down at his device, every suit was in the air scanning for Peter, but it was almost as if the kid had just disappeared.

Gone.

Again.

It was the second time Peter had just vanished, and Tony was so tired of that hopeless feeling. He was so tired of looking into May’s large pained eyes, and she was doing it again. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and it was clear she was doing her best to fight back tears as she stood beside him. Ross was speaking angrily into his cellphone, and Rhodey was beside him, and Tony felt safe enough in the room of Avengers to allow May to be there, but the minute things went south, he didn’t want her anywhere near the sh*t storm it was sure to brew.

She leaned in and whispered, voice unsteady, “Anything?”

Tony glanced at her, and he knew his face was sorry. He didn’t want to necessarily be passive, but things needed to be more clinical and less emotional with Ross there in the room. He shook his head and answered as gently as he could muster, “Not yet…I’m widening the perimeter.”

“Well you need to widen it even more,” Bruce leaned forward, “Even with Wanda, Steve, and Nat out there, we don’t want Ross’ men finding him first. There’s no telling the kind of force they’ll use on Peter, even if he’s a kid. They’ll only see the fact that he’s enhanced…They might not be enough to hold them back.”

It was sort of easing to know Steve, Nat, and Wanda were with Ross’ men in case anything went…crazy. Vision and Sam had continued their place on the roof, with the hopes maybe Peter would become coherent enough to try and stumble back to the Compound when he realized it was f*cking freezing outside. But the chances of that seemed slim…Whatever had made him leave, it was too convincing…too strong, and the kid would have to be dragged back. But the moment he was, Tony wanted that implant out. Risks be damned.

“What will they do?” May questioned.

Tony didn’t want to say. Ross was known for his force. Tony simply murmured, “We’re gonna find him first, so it doesn’t matter.”

Forced optimism was still optimism, right? And he was always told he needed to be more optimistic.

Or maybe this was just his choice to be ignorant. Either way, he didn’t like the situation. He didn’t like where they were headed with this. The minute Ross hung up his phone call and Tony saw the way Rhodey had tensed and tried to stop Ross from moving towards them, he knew it was about to get even worse. The moment Ross was in earshot, his long strides coming directly towards Tony and May, Tony had half a mind to shove May away and tell her to leave. But he knew she wouldn’t…she wasn’t going to go as long as her nephew’s life was at the mercy of Ross.

He called sharply, “Do you know the kind of sh*t storm you just caused?”

“Me?” Tony breathed, laughing bitterly, “I caused this? You guys are the ones who went over our heads for a warrant.”

Ross replied, “With good reason. Clearly, you’ve been hiding the boy this entire time. I ought to have you all arrested for obstruction, you’re lucky other officials easily roll over to the sh*t you Avengers pull or you’d all be shipped off to the Raft. Now we’ve got some incoherent enhanced being running around with no clue of what he’s capable of.”

“That enhanced is a child,” May’s voice spoke. It was quiet…not nearly as loud as that of Ross and Tony but it grabbed their attention nonetheless, “He’s a child, and he’s my nephew, and right now someone is manipulating him. So, I would appreciate it if you’d stop talking about him like some kind of…animal and start looking at him like a human being while putting in the effort to find him and whoever is responsible for this.”

Ross stared at her a few moments. Just stared, almost blankly, as if she were insignificant when in actuality…when it came to Peter, she was the most significant. Ross slowly turned to look at Tony and he questioned in a low tone, “So what did you do, huh Stark? Took this woman’s nephew and…experimented on him? Made him enhanced just so a cell like Hydra could snatch him up? There are few things I would put past you, but I thought even you knew human experimentation was wrong.”

“f*ck you,” Tony growled, “f*ck you…okay? I didn’t experiment on anyone. If you had even the slightest amount of deduction skills you’d know that. So stop looking at people to point your fingers at and maybe start thinking about the priority here…Which is to find that kid before Strucker...in whatever hidey hole he’s in, probably somewhere back in Virginia.”

Ross shook his head vehemently, “We already searched the facility, it was clear of any personnel.”

“Well you must not have searched hard enough,” Tony snapped, “Because I can only guess that’s where the kid is going, if he’s ‘going home’ like Wanda said…It has to be somewhere Peter would know to go. So if we can’t find him…if he somehow gets out of the elements, that’s where he’s heading, so we need to start making plans for that.”

Tony paused…

“Ross,” It grabbed the man’s attention, “Let me be very clear…I don’t want your help, but I know right now it’s our best chance…having more hands on this. But I swear to God if even one hair is misplaced I’ll…I will not hesitate to take you out. Government officials or not, I will end them. And you’re welcome to arrest me afterward.”

Ross glared, “Are you threatening me, Stark?”

“No, you dipsh*t, I’m promising you,” Tony answered.

A long moment of silence ticked on. Rhodey had stepped forward, putting a hand on Tony’s chest where he had almost stepped too close to the man. He met Rhodey’s eyes, seeing the concern there, seeing the slight shake of his friend’s head, but he wanted him to understand that this was not Ross’ area…This was Tony’s. This was something Tony was invested in, desperately, and he needed this kid to get out of it alive. Because Peter had been there, he had been in the Compound, he had been safe, and Tony had let him jump out of a window and run off and he didn’t know how to forgive himself if he let the woman beside him down…if May had to go home one day without Peter.

He continued on, “That kid has rights. He ends up dead, I can guarantee the world will hear about how the secretary and his soldiers go around executing fifteen-year-olds. They will love that.”

Having the urge to strangle a man was different when Rhodey was pushing him further and further away. Ross’ response was simple, blunt, as if speaking to a roach underneath his shoe and not apologizing for stomping his guts out…

“We’ll make plans for Virginia. I suggest you do the same. I’m not making any promises…The kid is currently a menace to the public. He’s out of control, and we will do what we have to do to stop him and protect the wider civilized body.”

Ross took those words and turned on his heels, heading towards the exit. Tony tried to bite his tongue, but he called towards the retreating back, “Touch that kid, and you’re f*cked!”

There was no response.

…

Peter had never stolen a car before.

He was pretty sure he hadn’t stolen anything, not since he was a kid and he took a pack of gum out of someone’s backpack in kindergarten. Peter had felt so guilty, he had brought the kid two more packs of gum to replace the one he had taken and well…stealing a car was a lot different, a lot…but he had to…He had stumbled into the road…a barren highway of just trees, and his toes and fingers had been so cold…the man had stopped and…well it probably wasn’t everyday a kid was found in the middle of the woods in upstate New York…snow, frozen, his eyelashes stuck with ice and eyes burning with tears.

Peter would have felt guilty, if his brain wasn’t set on a record…playing over and over again “come home, come home, come home,” and Peter gripped the steering wheel…He didn’t really even know how to drive, he had only done it a few times with Aunt May – and then, when her name or face entered his mind, the thing in the back of his neck would cry out, Peter would cringe, fire would climb and climb up his spine and his ears would flicker. The snow looked red, like waves of fire over the highway but Peter just kept driving…Unsure of where he was going exactly.

His mind wandered, and maybe he wasn’t really driving at all, and darkness set overhead, the sun went away. Peter was…he was anywhere but there. Not driving really, more so far away, inside of memories, as the clock ticked by in the form of hours. He was still bleeding. Glass stuck out of his arm from the jump out of the window. The floorboards were drowning in blood, between the cracks in the matts. Peter swallowed, swallowed, and swallowed down. He never thought…well, he was glad he hadn’t hurt the man he had stolen the vehicle from. The clock continued on. Hour one, then four, then six…

“Zaichik.”

“Stop calling me that,” Peter whispered…glaring at the man across the room, “Stop…stop calling me that. That isn’t my name.”

The man, Otets as he called himself, smiled at the boy. It wasn’t cruel, as Peter would have imagined a kidnapper to smile, but it was a gentler form. Manipulative and inviting, and Peter was so hungry. So hungry he couldn’t stand from the corner he had curled himself into. He had been there for what felt like days, but he wasn’t sure. He was outside of time…they were starving him to death. Slowly, he approached, humming in response to Peter’s harshness, as he tilted his head, “It isn’t a name.”

Peter didn’t know what that meant, as the man kneeled down beside him, placing a hand on his knee. Peter resisted the urge to yank away, he was too hungry…he was too weak, he could hardly move. His metabolism was eating him alive. His hands were shaking too much, despite how badly he wanted to fight back. Otets shushed him after Peter cringed away though, and he whispered, “It’s alright.”

“Get away,” Peter ordered, “Get away from me.”

“Now, now, no need to be contrary,” Otets murmured, reaching into his pocket. Peter watched as he pulled out something in wrapping…Something that resembled a granola bar. He watched as Otets opened it carefully, as if to make sure Peter was watching every movement with wide eyes. When it was opened, Peter saw it was in fact a simple granola bar. Otets waved it around a bit before saying, “This is for you. A gift from me. Say thank you, Otets…And you can have it.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, “Screw you.”

Otets tsked…raising a simple eyebrow. He was frowning, deeply. There was a sigh from him and he hummed, “Well…if you don’t eat it now, you’ll have to wait another three days. I have a feeling, with that enhanced metabolism of yours, that things are getting pretty rough at this point. Pretty soon you’ll barely be able to stay awake. Hopefully we won’t have the urge to cut into you when you lose consciousness. Might make you much more pliable.”

Against his will, fear rose in his chest. Up and up and up…Like a burning into the sky, fire erupting. Peter wanted to go home. He wanted Iron Man to show up and save him. He didn’t want to be there anymore. He had started so confident, how was he losing just because he was hungry? Was he just supposed to listen…for now at least…just to get enough food to stay alive? Peter wasn’t sure…and he couldn’t text Happy or Mister Stark to ask the conduct that was expected from a prisoner.

Peter swallowed thickly…imagining himself, being cut into…unconscious. He had been knocked out once already, and when he woke his neck was tender and something painful was protruding inside of his skin. Peter shivered at the thought of whatever was underneath, what they had done and refused to explain…they had yet to tell him and he imagined they never would. Ever. And so Peter swallowed down his pride, because this was surviving, and pride was vicious when trying to do so and he managed to bite the words out, frustration bubbling behind them.

“Thank you…Otets.”

There was nothing genuine in the words. But a smile spread across the man’s face anyway and slowly, he held out the granola bar for Peter to take. Shaky fingers grabbed hold and Peter bit into it without hesitation. If they were poisoning him well…it was probably better than starving to death there in the cell…The fear disappeared.

Peter didn’t get poisoned. He supposed later on he’d wish the opposite.

Peter shook out of the memory on the millionth hour.

It did feel that long…but it wasn’t a million, his mind was in too much of a haze, but it was definitely dark and he had definitely lost a lot of blood. He supposed he couldn’t heal until the glass came out of his arm, and he just wasn’t willing to dig at that moment. Driving into the mountains took a focus that the implant provided, pumped him full of, and it was confusing. A fever dream, always and always – it snowed heavily and the windshield was covered in the flakes. Peter didn’t know what time it was, he couldn’t even read the clock, numbers wouldn’t compute in his mind and he was on autopilot.

‘Come home, come home, come home.’

Home had been Queens, once upon a time. In an emptiness he could not recall. With his aunt and safety. Ascending the mountain he had escaped from seemed counterproductive in a perplexing motion. Peter was warm though, the heater had thawed his numb limbs. Things felt less broken within himself, he was slowly stitching it together in a vague memory. But he couldn’t stop driving, couldn’t stop going up the twisting roads of the mountain. He didn’t recognize it, it all looked the same, but it felt…on the inside it felt wrong to be going back to the place where he had murdered all of those people.

He knew he was getting close, the further up he drove, but then the rabbit ran out in front of the car and Peter’s instinct was to swerve. Which he thought…was probably one of the first things they taught people not to do. But he did it, and it was ironic and funny, but not right then. Probably not ever, but he never knew. He hit the snow bank, and he wasn’t sure how fast he was going because the numbers still looked blurry…Like trying to read in a dream.

The next thing Peter knew, he was stumbling out into the snow, barefoot, cold…his arm still bloody, and now he was pretty sure his mouth was too, with broken glass and a steering wheel to the face. Breathless, puffs of air in front of him as the headlights beamed off of the trees, and Peter supposed he wouldn’t have known where he was stumbling, if the implant hadn’t been leading him, lost on a snowy mountain in the dark and Peter’s body felt like metal, heavy…weighing him down and everything was numb besides a sharp pain in his ribs. He ripped the glass from his arm…having driven so many hours with it imbedded into his skin probably wasn’t the best, but it bled even more then, and he tried to breathe, breathe, breathe.

‘Come home.’

Stumbling up, like a zombie, Peter trudged on…Even though he fell over and over again, knees scraped, hands cold…He’d probably need to have toes removed, he didn’t know how long he spent walking after hitting the snow bank to avoid a…a f*cking rabbit. Of all the things to walk out in front of him it had to be that. He wouldn’t have been able to hit it, it would have killed him. Even with the implant screaming and screaming, Peter wanted Aunt May, or Mister Stark, or someone. He wanted them to stop him, to kill him.

No you don’t

No you don’t…no you don’t.

Otets is doing this.

It’s him.

And yet Peter continued his journey to him. Body ruined…mouth still gushing. He sucked in shaky breaths, and he knew he was gasping…A part of him urged to just jump off the side of the mountain, into a rocky ravine, it would be the only way to stop him. To stop the compliance. There was no telling what Otets was going to do to him when he got there, and he wasn’t willing to find out. Not at all…He just wanted…he wanted to go…

For miles, he could still hear the radio playing too loudly, rattling his skull. That was miles though, even more and then there was only silence, he couldn’t feel his feet. It was so cold. Peter gasped, chest expanding and closing…he didn’t even know where he was going exactly, the world was opening into stars above, and Peter felt like he shouldn’t have been…Just been.

‘You’re almost there. Come home.’

‘Almost. Almost.’

‘Closer.’

‘Closer.’

‘Closer.’

Peter’s brain felt like it was on fire, as he approached the building. A familiar one…one he had run away from, when his mind had malfunctioned, when they had made him kill the rabbit, when he had stabbed the guards and Otets and had awakened in the same water he had been tortured in. Where the one guard had tried to drown him in him a desperate attempt to preserve his life. But Peter had killed him nonetheless, and still almost drowned. And Peter pushed himself into the horror filled facility…the one that had been ransacked by the secretary’s men…and he felt nothing. Peter knew he should have felt something, but it was an empty abyss.

“Behave. Do as you are told. We are all you have now. Come to terms with that.”

It bounced over the long corridors. Peter moved down, it smelled like bleach, they had taken their evidence and cleaned the place out. Nothing more…no more blood, the tub was emptied. The walls were riddled with the bullet holes of that day. Peter took the stairs to the basem*nt level. Down – further, still, and he couldn’t see numbers, but he knew where the hole in the wall was. The one that only needed a simple push, like behind a bookshelf in an old movie that hid every secret that could be dreamed up. Or in this case…a nightmare.

Peter’s brain was fogging over viciously.

The room, the tiny one behind the wall – it’s a f*cking wall Peter, focus – it opened into nothingness. It was untouched by the soldiers, Peter could only guess by the sight of the cot that became visible when he shoved through…but it was only confirmed when hands were grabbing onto him, gripping him, coming from around the corner, and Peter flinched heavily. When he looked up, he was not surprised…because this was where the implant had meant for him to be all along…All along.

Otets.

Peter almost screamed though, despite not being terribly startled. Otets’ hand grabbed the side of his face, and shushed, “Shhhhhh, shhhhh zaichik…”

He did as he was told, instantly, but this was wrong. He was not supposed to be there. He was not supposed to be with him. Peter regretted everything, running, but the implant had told him, and Otets was holding onto him too tightly. The room was warm, a space heater in the corner. Peter had stabbed him, he had, but clearly, he had managed to hide within the facility while it was searched, and Ross’ men had been too stupid to find the room. Peter wanted to kill him. Strangle him, but his limbs were not his to control and Otets was studying him closely, as if to make sure that was the case…like the implant had failed him before…which it had.

“Finally,” Otets breathed, grabbing Peter’s head and shoving it downward. Peter cringed when his fingers pressed to the back of Peter’s neck, as if making sure the implant was still in place. He questioned, more to himself, “Seems they found it…tried to remove it. I’m glad you heard my call in time.”

He was released, and Peter’s head snapped back up as Otets moved away, clearly trusting him not to run, even though Peter so badly wanted to. How he had ended up there was a blur, the room was swaying, Peter felt…sick…and not in control. He couldn’t attack…couldn’t make himself hurt Otets as the man began to slip on a coat. Peter did manage to get his mouth to move as he croaked, “H…how?”

“How?” Otets questioned, tying his shoes, “How am I alive? Well, quite simple. I know how to suture a stab wound. Then I hid here, until those government officials finished collecting their data and moved on. Now you’re here…and we’re leaving.”

Otets seemed to notice Peter’s bare feet that were bright red, as if burned, turning almost purple. The man only hummed, before turning and grabbing another pair of the military boots and Peter felt himself whirl to that day, waking in the tub, taking the shoes off the corpse. Otets approached him, forced the boots onto him, before tying them for Peter. So…clearly he wanted him alive, despite the fact Peter had tried to kill him. Once Otets finished, and stood back to full height, Peter did his best to find words, but they were evading him viciously…carding, and cutting and hurting.

“Where?” Peter whispered, “Where’re we going?”

Gloves next. First Otets, then Peter. Otets did it for him…Peter was still struggling to move as the man explained, “Overseas. There’s a faction waiting for us in Siberia. A small compound outside of Novosibirsk…You’re going to help me get there…”

He finished putting the gloves over Peter’s fingers and he questioned, “How did you get here? Did you bring a vehicle of some kind?”

Peter hesitated. He wondered if this would result in punishment as he swallowed thickly and blinked rapidly. He wanted to lie, but the implant continued to scream at him viciously, fast and like fire and Peter almost crumbled as the words were forced out against his will, “I hit a snow bank. It’s…it’s stuck…but I think it still works.”

Otets sighed, clearly irritated, but the abuse didn’t come. Instead a hand patted the side of his face, and Otets stepped around him without striking him. Peter’s eyes found the cot, in the corner of the room…so much like the room they kept him in, the cot he had slept on for weeks and weeks…waiting and just hoping someone would come when he was shocked, writhing. Peter’s lip shook, anger seeping in, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight back. Maybe Otets had done something to the implant, to prevent what happened last time from happening again. The cot was dangerous, Otets was dangerous, Peter wanted the implant out, out…Otets wasn’t Mister Stark.

“Boy,” Otets said, sounding frustrated, and Peter supposed he had been trying to get his attention for a while now…but the memories had overpowered him, “Come.”

Even if Peter couldn’t harm Otets, he could speak…he could…say something…

“You did this,” Peter croaked, “All of this…it’s your fault…that I’m like this. That I feel…crazy.”

He turned to face Otets, who looked more annoyed than anything. Peter tried to step forward, anger flashing, but his back arched. A shock ran down his spine, and Peter groaned, falling to his hands and knees on the concrete floor as Otets sighed, his feet moving towards Peter, echoing as he chastised, “We don’t have time for this. This is my fault, hm? And what exactly are you losing? You’re a weapon, little one. That’s all you are. You murdered people here. My men. You belong to Hydra now. So get up, come with me. We are leaving before those ignorants arrives.”

A hand grabbed the back of his jacket, the jacket Otets had put on him, and Peter was yanked up, muscles still spasming slightly from the electric shock. A hand grabbed his face forcefully and squeezed, “Do not make me shock you again. I need you strong enough to pull the car from the snow bank you apparently crashed it into.”

Peter was shoved in front of Otets and forced to walk towards the stairs.

…

“You’re telling me, Peter stole a car from some old man.”

Steve looked at Tony with a disturbed expression. It had taken some time to get the quinjet in the air. Mostly because more bullsh*t from Ross and his men. Things like threatening to arrest Tony and the others if they didn’t wait, but wait for what? Wait for Peter to get further and further away? It had taken hours just to establish Peter was no longer in the woods, the search dogs had made that much clear when they had been led out into an empty highway. Steve set the communicator down in front of him and shrugged, glancing at Nat who was flying them.

“That’s what Ross’ guys just said,” Steve replied, “Apparently, we’re looking for a 2007 blue Nissan. Took it from some guy who stopped to ask Peter if he needed help. The kid didn’t look good, according to him. Was barefoot in the snow, bleeding…”

Tony placed a hand over his chin, resting it…biting his tongue to stop from cursing. It was just the three of them. Once again Ross sticking his head where it didn’t need to be. Wanda and Vision were his least favorite people in the universe, so they were left at the Compound with Wilson. A simple limitation, and if the Accords weren’t still up in the air, Tony would have fought harder. Maybe would have come through with his threat against Ross. But they all needed to find Peter…wherever he was…in the middle of nowhere with snow plowing down on top of them.

“Shouldn’t be hard, kid is driving up a f*cking mountain during a snowstorm in a Nissan,” Tony growled, standing to his feet before beginning to pace through the small space, “He doesn’t even have a license, that’ll end…that’ll end great.”

Nat spoke over her shoulder, “Maybe it’ll slow him down enough that we can get to him before he makes it to Strucker…if we’re still assuming that’s where he’s going.”

“That’s where he’s going alright, Wanda said that damned implant was telling him to ‘come home’,” Tony spoke more under his breath than anything, tugging at his hair in a sort of desperation to get his mind to stop whirling. To stop thinking of all the worst-case scenarios that could have been going with Peter at that very moment. Whether he was driving, with Strucker, or freezing to death in the middle of the wilderness. Kid had run off in scrubs and bare feet…He was out of it, so far gone…Tony just…

He yanked away when Steve was suddenly standing, trying to take a hold of his arm. Tony realized he wasn’t drawing air into his lungs. He moved to the other side of the small space, and suddenly he was in Siberia, lying and looking up as Cap’s shield was shoved into his chest. Cap’s face was bloody, Tony was choking on blood. All in his nose and mouth, gushing almost, but then he wasn’t there anymore, trying to avenge his parents’ murders. He was in the quinjet, with Steve looking worried, and Nat glanced back from the window in front of her, ice covering the windshield.

Right…not the time.

Tony shoved the panic attack down. That was annoying. He straightened his shoulders, as Steve questioned, “Tony? Are you alright to do this?”

“I’m fine,” Tony stated, harsher than necessary but the memory was clinging a bit too strongly, and he was suddenly angry again that Barnes was elsewhere, even if it was to receive treatment, “Just don’t touch me.”

Steve looked slightly hurt, but nodded, moving further away and giving Tony space. Tony cleared his throat, going towards the windshield to peer at the controls. Nat had a course to follow Ross’ caravan of soldiers who were driving below them. They were nearing the mountain, getting closer and closer, and Tony could feel anxiety welling as they stayed just above the tree line, as to be close enough to intervene when needed. He could feel eyes on him, especially from Natasha, and he heard her let out a breath of impatience, making Tony frustrated.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” She started, “But why do you care so much about this kid?”

Tony didn’t know if he was taking it the wrong way. Must not have been…because he didn’t feel particularly offended by it. There were no insinuations behind it, she just seemed genuinely curious. Slowly, he looked down at his feet, sighing as he crossed his arms over his chest and listened to the snow slamming against the windshield. He shut his eyes, thinking…and he felt…well, he didn’t know how to answer. There was a wide precipice. And he was falling inside. Lower and lower until…gone.

Finally, he answered, “He’s my responsibility.”

“But he’s not yours,” Nat replied.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony countered, “Still my responsibility. Listen Romanoff, I don’t…I don’t particularly understand it myself. But I look out for him. Have been ever since before Germany. I make sure he stays alive.”

Nat gave him a knowing glance, “If you say so…I just feel like there’s a lot more than that.”

A lot more. Tony pretended he didn’t hear that. He didn’t have to pretend very long though, when the screen on the board started to beep vehemently. A voice came over the com, and Tony supposed it was one of Ross’ men that Natasha had been in contact with as they followed the caravan. He noticed the night vision on the screen showing the vehicles beginning to speed up down below on the highway, surrounded by trees, and not far in front of the group of military personnel was one lone car, speeding to get away.

“Eyes on the suspected vehicle. Enacting PIT maneuver.”

Tony leaned forward, pressing his hands flat onto the dashboard in front of him. His eyes were wide as he stared, as he watched, resisting the urge to grab the communicator and tell them to be careful, because if the kid was in that car, they didn’t need to try to run him off the mountain. It was hard to see on the monitor, because the night vision, and he wished it was daylight. He wished for the sun to come up, but they were hours away from such a blessing. Tony felt like he was going to have to bite his nails off completely, as Ross’ men sped forward, surrounding the car easily…Better vehicles, made for such maneuvers, and God, Peter was just in that small car…

“Is Ross down there?” Tony questioned.

Nat raised an eyebrow, “What do you think?”

No…Of course not, Ross loved having others do his dirty work for him. He had the men for it, why not? Steve moved forward beside him to watch the screen as well as they continued above the caravan. Tony could feel his heart rising in his throat, his mouth was dry, he felt utterly helpless and he had half a mind to get in a suit and go down there and intervene himself. But there was always the risk of complicating things – and if Ross’ men viewed him as a threat – if he couldn’t protect Peter because he was somehow detained or moved aside or –

The worried thoughts didn’t matter, not in the end.

It happened, just as the saying goes…Not being able to look away from a car accident. The burning of bile raised into his throat. Up and up and up…Until he felt he was bordering a meltdown that would counter some of the outbursts Howard Stark used to conjure up in his childhood and teenage years. His fingers tightened…nails digging into his palms as the car swerved, pushed by one of the trucks, hitting the ditch and they didn’t need to see the accident clearly to make out the snow and dirt that went flying as it slammed into a tree on the other side of the ditch…And Tony…Tony saw his mother…his father…their car hitting that tree after Bucky Barnes had caused them to crash – he didn’t want that to be Peter down there.

“Open!” Tony ordered, moving back towards the hatch, his suit already beginning to envelop him as they pulled the lever to release. Breeze immediately rushed into the belly of ship and Steve was shouting at him to wait, but Tony was already jumping out, bursting into the air.

It was a rush of cold, even through the metal as his suit struggled to catch up with his last-minute actions, still wrapping around the edges of his ankles in the process. Tony flew straight down, towards where the mess was in the dark. Tony snapped harshly, “Friday, illuminate.”

The HUB brightened the area around him. Military personnel were already beginning to jump from their trucks, surrounded the car that was basically smashed into the destroyed tree. They had their weapons drawn, and Tony slammed into the ground in a crouch, before standing to full height. He turned to face the soldiers, holding up a hand, not charging the blaster in the process as he snapped towards all of them, “Do not fire! Do you understand me? Get back!”

Last thing he needed were a bunch of trigger-happy assholes coming up on the kid. Tony whirled around, from where he was standing near the trunk of the vehicle. Friday was processing the damage, as Tony moved around it, steam rising from the damaged hood. That was the first thing Tony’s mind processed in the haze of adrenaline, after jumping from the sky, and the sound of the quinjet overhead was still lively. The second thing he noticed made him feel like he was out of body suddenly, the cool night turned warm…not in a nice way, but a burning and panicked sort of way.

Strucker was there…body halfway out of the windshield on the driver’s side. His head was on the crumbled hood of the car, masses of bodily fluids kissing the snow. The horn was going off, the headlights bright. Tony’s chest started to expand and shrink rapidly, and he rushed around, taking in the fact the windshield was absolutely ruined, and there was no Peter in the passenger seat…And if Strucker had been thrown from the vehicle…Peter must have been too and f*ck – f*ck – f*ck…

Tony turned, facing the trees…there were drag marks in the snow, as if someone had slid to a stop, and sure enough, at the tail end of the markings was a lump…lying there…completely motionless…

He couldn’t see much at first, besides what the car was illuminating, but Tony ran. He ran, even though it felt like he couldn’t get there fast enough. Once he was standing over the small form though, he felt his stomach beginning to sink. Fear and horror clung on…Because it was Peter. Peter, lying face down in the snow. Ejected. Truthfully, car accidents didn’t frighten him. They seemed so mundane. Peter couldn’t die from a car accident, not after surviving Strucker for all those weeks…not when Strucker was finally dead, halfway out of the car, eyes staring vacantly into nothing. Tony kneeled down quickly, swallowing – he couldn’t do this – Peter couldn’t die…Tony couldn’t – it didn’t make any sense and a scream was on the edge of his tongue as he took Peter by the shoulder and attempted to roll him over –

Tony was met with a scream that was not his own.

Peter sat up suddenly, eyes wide, mouth open as he suddenly grabbed Tony, suit and all, and shoved him so hard he flew out of the tree line and landed on his back. Tony groaned, staring up at the stars, his breath knocked out of him, even through the protection around him. He wanted to lie there a moment, but it was opted as being a bad idea, because as he flew forward into a sitting position, he heard several of the soldiers behind him ready their weapons. Peter was in the tree line, and Tony turned, shouting, “Wait!”

He then climbed back to his feet, taking in the boy who was standing there, gasping. His chest was heaving, and his forehead bleeding. Tony held up a hand, trying to put himself between Peter and the soldiers as he approached the boy, arm held out in a pacifistic manner as he stated through the suit, “Peter…you in there, buddy?”

Peter said nothing. But the wild look in his eyes told Tony Peter was in fact, not in there. Tony continued his careful movements towards the boy, and he continued, “That’s alright. That’s alright, cause I’m here. But I need you to cooperate with me, because these guys…they’ve got no compunction about shooting a kid. So you need to come here, and I’ll fly us up to the quinjet.”

Peter’s eyes flitted to the body on the hood of the car. His own body was trembling, and even though Tony was a few feet away, he didn’t miss how Peter’s pupils were dilating and shrinking over and over again. Peter sucked in a deep breath, head snapping back towards Tony suddenly when something below the snow snapped…probably a twig or a piece of glass in the wreckage. Whatever Strucker had been doing…it was still happening. The implant was still working, and Peter looked absolutely mad. Out of the world, not on planet earth.

It was only when Peter turned to run that Tony lunged forward.

It was his mistake. In retrospect, it might have been the biggest screw up in Tony’s life. He tried to wrap his arms around the kid, and fly him upward towards the ship. Peter’s elbow flew backward, slamming into the helmet of the suit and Tony was sent back into the snow over Peter’s shoulder. Tony looked up, finding himself once more on the ground because of the kid’s brute strength and Peter climbed on top of him, fist raising into the air as the lights from the military vehicles illuminated him from behind. He looked like a shadow, and Tony braced for when the strike would come, when the world would implode, but instead it exploded, and not in the way Tony thought it would…

There were three strikes against the air. Tony had almost forgotten what gunshots sounded like, but they rang out over the mountain, overpowering the horn from the crashed car. And because of that explosion, the fist never connected with the side of his helmet, but a bullet did imbed itself into his armor. He felt it strike, just when blood sprayed and Peter’s body jolted…It jolted with each rip, and Tony knew he had screamed, had screamed when Peter’s body fell forward limply on top of him…shot like a wild animal attacking Tony.

In retrospect. Retrospect. It was always floating. Peter was the threat, the soldiers had shot the threat that was attacking Tony and could have quite possibly turned on them.

Tony threw himself up into a sitting position, and shouted, “NO!”

He flipped Peter over, the kid fell on his back into the snow, and even just from the few seconds of his body lying on top of Tony, his armor was already glimmering with crimson. Tony felt like vomiting, as his mask lifted, taking in the sight below him in the darkness. Peter’s eyes were wide, staring up at the sky, and he was choking. Three bullets had ripped through his back and all the way out the other side, and Tony watched helpless as the blood soaked into the kid’s clothing. Peter looked at him, the feral expression from earlier gone, a look of clarity striking him as his hands flew out, and he grabbed a hold of Tony’s arm.

He made a sound. Something like a small squeak, and blinked over and over again, trying to get his mind to process. Three. Three bullet holes. Peter was gushing, the soldiers were still surrounding him, and one began to move forward, moving towards them. Tony could smell the blood that was melting the ice. He had half a mind to shoot the soldier, but he didn’t need another hail of bullet to befall him or Peter, not when Peter was beginning to bleed out. Peter whimpered, and it was so strained, “O-oh G – God…”

“Hey, hey look at me,” Tony grabbed his face, “You look at me. Stay awake. You got me? Breathe.”

“I ca-I can’t…” Peter sounded small. So small. So young, and the awareness was startling. A part of him wished Peter wasn’t aware, but he knew it was good that he was, at least for now. Tony glanced up at the sky, the quinjet was still hovering, and the moment one of the soldiers got too close, Tony instantly began to scoop Peter up into his arms. Peter let out a pained shout at being jostled so much, but he needed to be steady enough to fly them up and –

“Stark, put the suspect down!”

“f*ck you!” Tony screamed, shutting the mask, “You’re dead! Every single one of you, I suggest you hide your faces, and tell your boss if he sets foot in my Compound again he’ll be in the same goddamned boat!”

Without another word, his blasters sent him up towards the quinjet above. Tony landed on the ramp, and before he was even fully stable, Steve was already there, already rushing towards both him and Peter. It was clear he had seen what had happened, probably too late to intervene. It had been sudden, Tony could barely remember the gunshots now as both he and Steve brought Peter towards the examining table Tony was pretty sure hadn’t been used since Clint had been skimmed all those years back in Sokovia. Nat glanced back and shouted, “How bad!?”

“Just go!” Tony’s voice was hoarse, laying Peter down. He was still in the scrubs from earlier. He nearly lost balance as they took off, and Steve was dragging equipment towards the table. They could get him stable at least…at least until getting to the Compound, but sh*t – “Romanoff, call the Compound, tell Cho and Banner to get an OR ready. We got…gunshots wounds…”

The suit fell away and Tony was exposed to the room. Peter was writhing, staring widely up at the ceiling, and Tony grabbed scissors from the tray Steve had brought over. Steve had already removed Peter’s jacket and gloves, and Tony started cutting into the shirt. The moment Peter’s abdomen was exposed, he was almost overwhelmed by the sight of the blood.

“How many?” Natasha called behind her, “Tony, the docs need to know how many we’re talking about here.”

She sounded too calm, though her voice was slightly raised. Tony stared at the blood, trying to get his mind to count. One…one…one…

“Three!” Steve answered for him, “There’s three! Entries and exits!”

Tony blinked. Peter’s wounds were blurring together, but he could make them out on his chest and abdomen. Steve had already started to press gauze to the wounds, and the moment he did, Peter’s wide eyes shut tightly and he cried out, flailing for a moment. Tony grabbed his wrists, and the boy was surprisingly weak in his state, easily pinned back to the table as Steve did his best to apply pressure to the wounds. But Peter was bleeding from both sides…it wasn’t just the exits wounds on the front, the entry wounds existed as well, and blood was already pooling off the edges of the table. Tony swallowed, shushing Peter.

When the boy only continued to fight, Tony shouted, fiercely, angrily…Angrier than that day at the ferry, “Kid stop! f*cking stop it! Stay still!”

Peter complied, and even through the haze of the blood loss, Tony saw horror there. Fear. Guilt. Tony shook his head instantly…No, no, no because if Peter…if he died…He won’t – he can’t…That couldn’t be the last thing Tony told him. Tony grabbed Peter by the chin, squeezing, trying to comfort as Steve worked to stabilize him, “Look at me. We’ve got you. But you’ve gotta keep looking at me.”

Peter choked, and Tony was horrified to see blood on his teeth as the kid whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t you dare,” Tony ordered.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up!” Tony didn’t know why he was being so awful…He just felt…he needed Peter not to say sorry while he was bleeding out right in front of him. He couldn’t have that. Peter flinched at his tone, but he was blinking so blearily now, and Tony could see his awareness beginning to slip away. Tony tried, “Hey…hey, no you stay awake – Peter stay awake.”

But Peter either heard him and didn’t obey…or just couldn’t. Because Tony watched helplessly as the kid’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“Peter! Peter wake up!”

There was no response to his screaming…just the sound of Peter’s unconscious labored breathing.

Chapter 8: Uncle's Lullaby

Chapter Text

Tony couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so much blood.

Maybe never. But that seemed like it had to be lie after years and years of being in his line of work. Maybe when he had been laying in the Afghanistan desert, when he had opened his shirt and there had been so much shrapnel in his chest that it was disorienting. But even that seemed like it didn’t hold a candle to the amount of blood covering his hands as he and Steve fought to keep Peter alive in the belly of the Quinjet. Steve was doing most of the work. Mostly because Tony could hardly breathe so he had been tasked with providing pressure to the wounds, and that was about all they could do, stabilization wise as they flew back to the Compound that felt too far away. But the Quinjet was fast, faster than the average aerial vehicle.

Peter had come in and out of consciousness a few times during the flight. Every time he did, the pain etched into his face was startling though. He had on an oxygen mask, his hands would reach for it, and press down, smearing blood over the plastic. Peter was awake then, as Tony was pressing down on the wound over his chest cavity. Peter coughed, blood spilling into the oxygen mask and Tony was speaking, but he wasn’t sure what he was saying. The boy groaned loudly, and Tony didn’t miss the distinct sound of a sob as it escaped Peter’s mouth.

“Steve,” Tony finally spoke, but it came out as a croak and he hated how weak it sounded, “Steve, he’s – he can’t breathe.”

Steve shook his head, letting out a frustrated sound. He grabbed another handful of clean gauze when the one he had been pressing against the wound beside Peter’s navel became blood logged. When he pressed down again, Peter’s muffled cries escaped past the mask, and Tony looked up at the ceiling. He pushed down whatever was climbing up his throat. Whatever horror was living there on the edge. Natasha glanced back, and Peter’s voice sounded like he was gargling water.

“Stop – stop…”

Tony said nothing. He couldn’t comfort him, because he was too close to freaking out to do anything. His hands were completely caked at that point, and he heard Steve speak from beside him, “I think he has a collapsed lung…we’re gonna need to hurry – we don’t have the stuff we need to – “

“We’re coming in,” Natasha’s voice spoke from up front, “ETA thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds, Peter could survive thirty more seconds, surely. Just until they got to the landing and got to Cho and Bruce. Tony finally looked at Peter, and his blood-stained skin and face. His eyes were shut, not unconscious. It was as if his body was clinging to consciousness just to torture him. His healing was trying to save him but three bullets from a high-powered military rifle just weren’t to be trifled with. They carried with them, the promise of death. Any normal human being without Peter’s abilities would have been dead, and Tony tried not to think that Peter was verging on that. The ship jolted as they landed, and Tony continued to hold the gauze down over Peter’s wound, Tony’s eyes burning, his body feeling like it was going through a shredder.

It was nothing compared to where the kid was at.

Then there were people. People in scrubs everywhere…Nurses and other medical personnel and they were shouting orders that Tony could hardly process through his haze. Steve moved away, holding up his bloodied hands, but Tony couldn’t – he couldn’t stop, because if he did Peter would die. But they had a gurney, they wanted to move Peter, they wanted to roll him away – to take him, and logically Tony knew they were there to help Peter, but something deep down was shouting that this was all wrong – and it was. Peter should not have been dying. And Tony was drowning in that irrevocably violent thought.

“Tony, you have to move,” That was definitely Bruce’s voice.

And there he was, with Cho, and they were trying to get through. The other people there, the nurses, they had the gurney and Tony shook his head, throat too dry to speak. Cho flew forward, almost instantly, and Tony didn’t miss how Bruce cringed at her movement, as if he thought Tony was going to snap at her for coming near him and Peter. Which he might would have, had his limbs allowed him to remove pressure. Cho grabbed his forearm, and she pushed his shoulder with her other hand. Her voice was much less kind than Bruce’s, more harsh and genuinely pissed off at the man for being in the way, “You have to move! We’re going to help him, but we can’t if you don’t let us work!”

Cho was a doctor. Her sworn duty was to save lives, and her loyalty was to her patient. Peter was her patient then, and Tony stumbled back at the force behind the shove. He swallowed thickly, bewildered, it smelled like coins. Peter screamed suddenly, as his ankles and upper torso were lifted, and he was shifted from the table to the gurney within seconds. The oxygen was ripped from his face and replaced with a new one as they started to push him down the ramp. Tony felt someone grab his arm, and it was Steve, but he ripped from the grip as quickly as he could and went to follow Bruce, Cho, and the others…Because they were taking Peter, they were taking him away and he knew it was – he knew it was –

Tony caught up, as it hadn’t taken terribly long to do so, even though they were in a sprint wheeling Peter down the hallway. He watched them duck into the OR, and Tony rushed in behind them, only pausing in the doorway because everyone looked like bees. Moving and moving and moving. He didn’t want to be in the way – but Peter was writhing. He was twisting and no one was doing anything about it, but of course they couldn’t…it wasn’t their fault, it was just Tony demanded things to be instant and this couldn’t be instant. He held the doorframe, blood smearing on the white and glass and it looked like a horror movie come to life. Which it was…Tony felt he was in some sort of sick film that was displaying his worst fears.

He knew they were speaking, but it felt like hearing a foreign language as both Cho and Banner were giving out orders and Tony could barely even see Peter through all of the people. His chest was exposed though, they were already hooking wires to him and Tony watched Cho move around. Peter’s face was changing colors, as if straining and Tony stepped forward hurriedly, heart racing, and he wished Steve had followed because Tony could barely stitch his memory together enough to recall what he had said in the Quinjet about Peter – about his lungs – and he couldn’t breathe –

“Rogers said it might have collapsed!” Tony called over the chaos, “His – his lung I mean – it might have – “

“Tony, you need to step out,” Bruce turned to him, holding up a hand.

“Listen to me,” Tony snapped, “His lung, check his lung – Cho!”

She looked in his direction before she pressed a stethoscope to the boy’s chest, only for a moment. He heard her say something along the lines of “pneumothorax” or something – which seemed obvious, didn’t it? But Tony’s mind was so broken up he could hardly figure it out and he inhaled again, because suddenly – with Peter’s wide eyes staring at the ceiling in agony – Cho stabbed a needle through his chest. Tony stepped forward when Peter cried out, and Bruce grabbed him, but almost instantaneously, Peter was inhaling a large breath.

Cho nodded in Tony’s direction. Almost like a good job, but he didn’t want or need that. He wanted the kid to be alright. He wanted them to fix him – to save him from what was almost certain death. Bruce released him and rejoined the work in front of them – not work – the teenager. A new mask was being pressed over his face and Tony tried his best to stay upright, but he kept fighting the urge to leave the room. He didn’t know what to do…and Peter wasn’t his. But he couldn’t leave him there, he just didn’t know how he was supposed to be of any help.

“How do you want to do this?” Bruce was speaking to Cho, “Scans - ?”

Cho shook her head vehemently, grabbing a syringe, “No, there’s not enough time for that. We’re going to go in, assess the damage. I want a central line inserted – we’re putting him under...”

Bruce stepped aside for a nurse that was beginning to cover Peter’s chest with some odd orange liquid. The boy was still awake, mask over his face, chest heaving, and Tony stepped closer, but not close enough to be seen. He just…he didn’t know what to do. Bruce argued vaguely in the back of Tony’s mind, “We used the last of Cap’s anesthesia when we tried to put him under to remove the implant.”

“Well, we’re just gonna have to make do,” Cho growled harshly, eyes glaring. She pressed the needle near Peter’s neck. The boy barely showed any discomfort, clearly too shocked and pale to react properly. Tony blinked rapidly, his mind trying to make sense of that statement. Make do. Make do. Making do didn’t sound ideal, especially not if they were going to be exploring Peter’s abdomen. He gripped his bloody hands into fists and bit down hard on his lower lip as she injected something into the IV. Peter’s eyes didn’t even flutter, other than the disorientation behind the pain.

Cho grabbed another syringe, beginning to inject it as well. The boy’s face scrunched, and he started reaching for the mask, but the nurse pulled his hand away. The moment she made contact with his skin though, his arm flew out, knocking her off balance and backward onto her bottom. The table behind her clattered, metal objects going everywhere and the sound seemed to startle the bleeding boy up, and he attempted to claw for a sitting position. Bruce moved forward immediately, and Cho jumped back, holding the syringe up that she had meant to insert into the line.

“Woah woah, Peter!” Bruce shouted, “Lay still!”

Peter cried out. Not a wail, but a shout, and he was kicking and squirming so much Tony could hardly think. Soon though the crying turned to screaming and Peter was trying to rip the mask off of his face. It seemed the regular anesthesia wasn’t even affecting him and Tony didn’t know how he could even move while he was bleeding so much. Tony could see the gurney, see the blood from the wounds on his back as they rolled Peter on his side and he continued to fight them every step of the way. The nurses were pressing gauze to those wounds, and Cho was injecting him more and more and more –

“f*ck,” Tony growled, his feet finally moving forward as he pushed his way through, and he didn’t know what he thought he was going to do, but he had to do something. They laid Peter back down, and he continued to try to thrash, one of the nurses taking his ankles. Tony leaned over him, trying to drown out the orders all of the medical personnel were exchanging as he loomed over the boy. Peter’s eyes were on him, but they were unseeing, Tony felt invisible as he reached down and placed a hand flat on Peter’s forehead, trying to hold his attention.

“Look at me,” Tony ordered, “Look at me, right now. You’ve gotta stop. These people are trying to save you, you’re safe with us.”

But then Peter wasn’t screaming anymore. He was grounding words out between his teeth…

“H-Hurts, it hurts.”

It was the most comprehensible he had been since being in the jet. Tony bit the inside of his cheek, watching tears slip from the kid’s eyes. Tony wasn’t a crier. He didn’t do that, and so he swallowed the emotions, because it needed to be clinical enough for him to stay coherent or else he would lose his sh*t. Tony’s head yanked in Cho’s direction and he snapped, “Put him under.”

“I’m trying,” Cho hissed, “You were ill prepared for this situation – the boy doesn’t have any documents – no altered drugs in the case of injury – “

“He’s fifteen, I didn’t think we’d be cutting him open anytime soon!” Tony defended, even though the words resonated deeply, and the blame cut him like a blade. Maybe he should have done more to study Peter’s genetic makeup…But he had been afraid. Afraid of someone zoning in on the boy…On everything. Ross was hovering all the time ever since the Rogues had returned. Things were sh*tty…constantly sh*tty. They were being watched.

Tony bit down again, before he finished, “Just…put him the f*ck under.”

He turned back around to look at Peter, and he could barely do it because he was a coward. Tony could see them, continuing to prep Peter to be cut open and God, were they going to do it even if he didn’t take to the anesthesia? Peter’s eyes were droopy though, whether from blood loss or the drugs, Tony didn’t know. Tony sucked in a deep breath, imagining the horror of Peter being opened up while awake and he just wanted Peter to lose it, to go to sleep, to slip away…Unlike what he had demanded on the jet. Peter’s face kept contorting everytime he was jostled too much, and he was looking at Tony like a broken puppy.

Peter wasn’t his, but Tony leaned forward, his head close to Peter’s so he could whisper into Peter’s ear, his cheek scratching against it.

“You gotta go to sleep, kid,” Tony murmured as comfortingly as he could. He mustered the voice his mother would use, when he would cry, when he would refuse to doze off, when life was too scary and the world was threatening to eat him alive, “Let go. Let go, and we’re – we’re going to handle everything. You just gotta go to sleep.”

There was no verbal response. Except for Peter’s gasps, there were not words. Tony jumped, when a hand shot up and gripped the wrist where he had his hand pressed in the pillow on the other side of Peter’s head. Peter squeezed his wrist tightly, fingers almost bruising, but the hold started to slacken, and Tony lifted his head from beside Peter’s ear, looking into the boy’s eyes. They were still agonizing…watery…hardly awake.

But trusting. Not like when Strucker had taken hold.

Peter’s eyes drooped.

“It’s okay,” Tony insisted again, “It’s okay to go to sleep now.”

And so, Peter did.

…

May had always imagined that losing one’s mind was a gradual process, not a thing that happened all at once.

But she changed her opinion rather quickly the moment she found Tony Stark outside an OR, his hands covered in odd shades of brown and red.

It was a relatively startling experience, to be pulled where she had been worrying for hours in one of the many sitting rooms of the Compound by the Steve Rogers. And God, Ben would have never believed it, he would have never believed what their lives had become. Sometimes she wished so desperately she could speak to him, because while she saw Tony standing there, looking into the glass window, his eyes glazed over with an exhaustion she had seen in the mirror too many times before, she suddenly realized this was a situation that had developed much further than she could have imagined.

Steve Rogers stood beside her. She looked at his hands, they too were red, everything and the whole world exploded as she rushed forward, calling out, “Tony!?”

His head whipped upward towards her. First there was surprise, but when he looked over at Steve Rogers, his eyes narrowed darkly. May stepped around him, looking into the room and no one had told her yet, not even Rogers when he had come to find her…she had no idea what was happening, but when she peered inside, she saw a swarm of people in scrubs, all bending over a body on the bed. A body that was opened up, hands inside, a tube down a throat, and eyes closed – eyes, lashes, a beautiful face that she loved so much and her heart clenched in her chest as she realized –

Peter.

May let out a short gasp, putting both hands over her mouth as if in a position to pray, but she did not. Her mind weaved in and out of coherency and burning behind her pupils forced her to look away. She whipped her head towards the men, and Tony was still staring at Rogers and she heard the man snap, “You shouldn’t have gotten her yet.”

“He’s her nephew, Tony.”

“I could have – “

May interrupted. She didn’t want to hear them argue about the best way to tell her something that she needed to know sooner than their arrival, but then again maybe it hadn’t been practical. Her entire world was lying on a bed in there, the last thing she had, ever since losing Ben, and she wanted to reiterate those thoughts into the real world, but she could not through the emotional damage that was ripping her to shreds from the inside out. Like a razor under her ribcage. She questioned, “What happened?”

No one said anything for a long moment. It wasn’t as if she expected them to never reply to her…to never give her what she desired, and that was to know her nephew was going to survive, but she didn’t even know why they were cutting into him. It felt as if…she had gotten him back, but it had never really been Peter who had come home. Then he had gone away again and now he was in an OR before cut into, and she just – she couldn’t imagine reliving the past ninety-two days, but in a manner of eternity. With a boy in a box buried beside her husband. She wouldn’t survive that, and she had a feeling Tony wouldn’t either, with his bloodied hands.

“ – wasn’t your place, Rogers.”

“She deserved to know, we don’t know if he’s going to – “

“Don’t f*cking say it!”

“Hey!” May raised her voice, though it faltered heavily, “Listen to me! What happened to him!?”

Both men finally acknowledged her existence there in the hallway, smothered in the bright florescent lights. She wondered what everyone else in the building was doing. If they knew, if they were carrying on while her nephew was apparently injured nearly beyond repair. Tony swallowed, his throat was bobbing as if he couldn’t find the words and bring them to the surface of everything. Like it was brokenness that one couldn’t even begin to comprehend past internally screaming and screaming and screaming, and May didn’t know how to shake the answers from an Avenger, but she was willing to do it if –

“Ross’ men shot him,” And yet again Steve Rogers answered, giving May the response she so desired, but she couldn’t find it in her to be angry at Tony for not being able to muster it from himself. There was a deep love, she knew, that Tony Stark had for her nephew. A love he would never admit to, but she had witnessed it well-enough since they had come to the Compound. Since he had started working trying to save his life. Sometimes she so didn’t want to share her child, but there was something rewarding in seeing someone else appreciate how wonderful Peter was in each and every way.

Steve Rogers went on, “Three wounds. Doctor Cho and Bruce are doing the best that they can.”

Three. Three. God…May ran both hands through her hair, taking in a deep breath. Her vision blurred with tears, and they dropped onto the bottom of her glasses. She felt so tired. Like she had been drained so, so much that there was no longer coping and not coping, there was just existence and suffering, and trying to step into the path of the next day and hope for the best. She tried to expand her chest. Tried to open it up, but it wouldn’t, and she couldn’t breathe through the tears forming at her lips. Both men paused in their bickering, as they nearly started it up again. They regarded her, concern on their faces, and May met Tony’s eyes briefly. Briefly and widely, begging silently for something she didn’t know if he was capable of providing.

The arguing stopped. Tony held out an arm.

“Okay, breathe.”

When the arm wrapped around her, she didn’t notice the way Tony smelled like blood.

…

The rabbit came to him, despite the fact it shouldn’t have trusted him.

Peter was vaguely aware of how empty he felt on the inside. How the world hazed at the edges and he was in an empty convenience store. The shelves were completely bare, there was nothing on the walls, a light above him flickered and the rabbit made its way down the aisle as Peter stood there, before he crouched down and opened his arms. The rabbit stopped in front of him, and he scooped the small creature up with ease, the familiar softness that had provided him so much comfort while in captivity clinging to the tips of his fingers.

There was silence. Almost the unbearable kind, where there isn’t any background noise. New York was not a place where that happened often, so Peter felt disoriented by it. If he was being completely honest, it felt like he was dead and maybe that explained how he and the rabbit existed in the same place…even after he had murdered it under his hands. He cradled the creature there, between the empty shelves, face frowning until someone appeared from the mouth of the aisle.

The person he saw should have confused him or at the very least frightened him. Because it was a ghost there, a person who had long since been dead. Or Peter had believed him to be. He held the rabbit tighter, seeking the same familiar safety he had felt for weeks and weeks, for ninety-two missing days, locked up in a concrete room with a man who insisted on being called ‘otets’ when he was anything but that to Peter. A torturer, a prison guard, a monster in the night that Peter had nightmares about. But this was not Otets, and it should have been the person that stood in Otets’ place, that deserved the name.

Uncle Ben.

He walked forward, stopping a few feet from Peter, and Peter still didn’t feel shocked. Overwhelmed was a better word, like having so many assignments to complete at once and he knew he would never accomplish them. His hands were trembling and he swallowed thickly, looking for words but Uncle Ben spoke before he did.

“Hi, Peter,” He said.

And suddenly Peter knew where they were. He knew what grocery store they were in.

Gnawing his lower lip, he remembered screaming. Remembered crying as the guy in the hoodie fired his weapon, how it had reverberated off the walls and into Peter’s ears. How his uncle had bled out on the white tile, after refusing to remove the watch Peter’s dad had gotten him for his birthday. Because he had given up his wallet, but the guy had wanted more, and Uncle Ben refused to part with the watch, because Uncle Ben had wanted to pass it down to him one day. To give him a little piece of his father, but little did Uncle Ben know was that he was all the father Peter had ever wanted or needed and then he was gone…gone in the aisle in front of the cash register, eyes daring the ceiling to move.

As Peter recalled, the gunshots that had imbedded into him hadn’t sounded like that. Though the memory was vague, and buried down beneath what the implant had been doing to him, Peter remembered the snap against the night air the three shots had made – bang, bang, bang – it reminded him of watching the news when those big shootings would happen, when on the recordings all anyone could hear were shot after shot after shot. On repeat, for months, until the news forgot. And then Peter forgot.

“Uncle Ben,” He breathed, the rabbit wiggling, “What’re you doin’ here?”

A pause, then Peter finally felt fear.

“Am I dead?”

Uncle Ben chuckled, and it seemed like an odd time to be laughing at him. Especially when he was so terrified that he was about to spend eternity in the aisles where his uncle was murdered. Uncle Ben seemed too chipper to be in the place where he was shot. Peter’s back wasn’t hurting, but he knew deep down pain was supposed to be there. Uncle Ben shook his head, “You aren’t dead.”

“B-but you – “

“I’m dead, but what makes you think you have to be dead too in order to speak to me?” Okay…okay, that was a ‘riddle-me-this’ and Peter hated those. Peter’s stomach churned against his will, tightly, like nausea and he slowly began to sit on the floor of the aisle, holding the rabbit in his lap. Uncle Ben continued to smile gently, despite Peter’s obvious confusion and horror that was engrained deeply into his body language. He too sat on the tile, right in front of Peter, so close their knees were nearly touching, but Peter was scared to touch him…he was scared of what that would mean, where Uncle Ben would go.

Peter whispered, “I just assumed that was how it worked.”

He wasn’t even sure if he believed it was real or just something his brain had made up wherever he was, whatever they were doing to him…as a way to cope with the situation he had found himself trapped in. Peter’s life had become a horror film, and the funny thing was, speaking to his uncle was the most normal he had felt since being kidnapped that afternoon going to pick up dinner. His hopes had been so simple then – to want to be Spider-Man. Then though, in that moment, Peter no longer knew what stitched him together, what made him who he was anymore. He had hurt people, had killed them, and now he was going to die because he had tried to hurt Mister Stark too and –

Without thinking he stated, “You died here.”

Maybe if Uncle Ben wasn’t dead, Peter would have worried about the etiquette of bringing up a murder. But couldn’t he be dead too? Maybe then it wasn’t so bad. Even if Uncle Ben had told him he wasn’t really dead. Peter couldn’t be sure. Dead uncle, dead rabbit…it just made sense for himself to be dead as well. Uncle Ben didn’t look offended by the statement though, and he replied, “I did. Almost three years ago to be exact…it was an okay day, huh? Up until then.”

Peter gritted his teeth down. It had been a good day. A really good one, and that had been the crappiest part about all of it. About Uncle Ben and the bullet and the man who had ruined everything. Life felt split open in all of that. Tilted at an odd angle and Peter gulped in oxygen. Smothering and then smothering more before he finally nodded his head.

“It was…” Peter croaked, “It was an awesome day…Uncle Ben. Blisteringly hot, but someone broke that fire hydrant and Ned and I got soaked…”

Peter paused. That felt so long ago. Before Uncle Ben had died. Before Spider-Man, before meeting Mister Stark. Before life had gotten so complicated and tiring. He could have never imagined what a gun had sounded like up close then, but less than twelve hours later from that memory of the water, he would be watching his uncle die. Peter bit back the tears that formed with the memory, sort of rocking the rabbit as if he was rocking a part of himself within the creature. Everything that could be comforted was, and Peter sighed deeply, before he finished…

“It was a good day.”

Not until it wasn’t. It had been a bad night, but a good day.

“Why am I here?” Peter questioned.

“You tell me,” Uncle Ben replied, “I think somewhere, you know.”

Maybe he did. Past the guts and the stabbing, murdering, his uncle had been murdered there, but what about all the people Peter had murdered? He understood, deep down, the implications of all that. What it meant and the borderline frustration it caused because he didn’t know who to blame. Hydra or himself?

Peter sighed, “I killed those people.”

Uncle Ben tilted his head, “The people who were torturing you?”

Peter nodded his head slowly and the question went on, “And you feel remorse for that?”

“I feel remorse for not being better,” Peter’s grip on the rabbit tightened, “I should have been better.”

Uncle Ben tsked, before he leaned forward. His hand fluttered over Peter’s cheek. It felt more like a feather than skin on skin contact and Peter gulped at a distant memory of calloused hands patting the side of his face as he was tucked into bed. A new bed, in a new apartment, with his new parents, because his birth parents were long gone. Peter had been left behind. And he was once more, when Uncle Ben had slipped from consciousness, but there he was, looking at Peter with knowing eyes, eyes that had matched Peter’s father’s, eyes that matched Peter’s. Parker eyes.

“You’ve gotta be kinder to yourself.”

Peter’s initial response was to argue, but Uncle Ben went on without prompting, “You’re a kid, Peter. And they hurt you. You fought back, you had to. Having remorse is just proof that you’re so much better. But you’ve gotta forgive yourself for the things you did when you were injured.”

His lower lip trembled.

“I hate me, Uncle Ben.”

“I know you do,” He replied, “But you have to stop pointing fingers at yourself when you least deserve it.”

Peter struggled with that reality, with the reality that the rabbit was alive under his hands. Uncle Ben’s grimace turned into to a smile, and Peter held onto the genuine aspect of it.

…

“I just wanted to be like you.”

Big brown eyes, begging, pleading, and Tony wondered how his father could have ever been cruel to him. Because imagining himself striking Peter, hurting him, emotionally destroying him was so agonizing he almost couldn’t come to a proper conclusion about the person that would hurt him. But Tony had, he was taking the suit, had taken the suit…Peter was not his son to discipline, but Christ, he had enabled him and he couldn’t keep letting the kid jump around, risking life and limb. Risking death.

“And I wanted you to be better.”

But he was already better, wasn’t he? He hadn’t started out selfish, the way Tony had, with glory at the tip of his tongue. He had started out with a purity of soul and just wanting to help.

Tony was poisoning him.

“This isn’t working out. I’m gonna need the suit back…”

He had to do it. Otherwise, he’d destroy that kid.

Tony had spent the next several hours trying to stitch back together the remnants of sanity he had.

Peter was in surgery for six of those.

The shower had been filled to the brim with Peter’s blood, washed from Tony’s skin and he had changed, only to down cup after cup of coffee afterward while sitting outside the door to the OR. He dozed there, May close by, both smothering in their respective miseries. Tony had spared most of the details, despite May’s insistence on knowing what exactly had happened with Ross’ men. Wanting to know where Ross was. Wanting those men’s heads on a platter. But revenge could be dealt with after Peter was saved, he supposed, when he had stitched together what remnants they all had of their sanity.

Tony couldn’t remember the last time he had been so sorry.

Nurses had been coming out, giving small updates. By small they consisted of: He’s alive. Nothing in detail, so they had no idea what Cho and Bruce were doing in there to the kid, just that they had been cutting into him for some time but had somehow managed to keep him under. There had been no screaming from the other room. No sounds of a boy awakening with his abdomen open. So Tony sat still, and eventually consciousness slipped. May’s head lulled against his shoulder and both filtered into nothingness.

It was a split second, before a hand had landed on his shoulder and had squeezed until he woke. Both he and May seemed to startle at the same time, the weight on his arm disappearing. When they looked up, Cho was standing there. Bruce was nowhere to be seen and Tony quickly started to push himself to his feet, assisting May in standing also with a slight pull of her arm. Before he was even steady on his feet, Tony questioned, “Where are we at?”

Not ‘is he alright’ because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer. ‘Where are we’ seemed much more stable, easier to handle, easier to hold in the palm of his hand. Better to ask when a teenager had been in surgery for more than five hours having his organs repaired from three through-and-through gunshot wounds. Cho had a bleak expression on her face, but also a flicker of anger there. Maybe at the question, he wasn’t sure, but then it was confirmed when she echoed, “Where are we?”

She paused, then continued, “Why don’t you give Mrs. Parker and me a moment to chat? Considering you aren’t Peter’s legal guardian, despite what you might think.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He knew Cho had been bitter, this entire time, since finding out Tony had enabled a kid to put on a suit and go out fighting ‘bad-guys’ in the dead of night. Everyone found it so easy to judge Tony’s decision-making process, including the Rogues, even Rhodey, but they were going to have to get the f*ck over it already, because he was inching closer to a full psychological break and they were all going to be in the line of fire. Tony hissed, “You think I don’t deserve to know what’s going on with that kid in there? After I f*cking held his dying body – “

“I don’t know what you deserve,” Doctor Cho replied, “I took an oath to protect my patients. And at this point, I don’t know if you’re what’s safe for Peter.”

“You think I took a gun to his back?”

“I think your actions got him targeted,” Cho answered, sounding clinical, and doctors tended to be good at that, “You gave him a suit. You say it was to protect him, but it put him on Hydra and Ross’ radar. I think it should be up to May Parker whether or not you’re allowed in her nephew’s life any longer.”

Cho looked at May. Her face softened considerably upon turning to the woman. May only glanced at Tony just a moment, and he supposed he had expected her to ponder over Cho’s words longer, but with a simple shake of her head, she replied, “It’s alright…he can stay.”

It didn’t sound angry, sad, or hurt. Just tired. Just as if she wanted to know and wanted to keep moving forward and maybe she knew Tony would fight it. Would fight every step of the way. Because he had to protect that kid, and he couldn’t do that from a distance, he had tried that and Peter had gotten snatched. But maybe smothering didn’t work either because the kid had jumped from a surgical table. Cho let out a deep breath, folding her hands together, briefly, before they crossed over her chest and she started to explain, still looking at May…Which Tony supposed was right.

Peter wasn’t his.

“The damage was…extensive,” Cho started, and Tony could tell she was attempting to simplify it for May’s benefit, “His left lung completely collapsed. There was a lot of fluid buildup, but we managed to go in and repair the damage. However, it seems the same bullet caused significant injury to Peter’s spleen and we were forced to remove it. People can live normal, productive lives without spleens, but that’s just more for him to recover from. It’ll leave him more prone to infection, so we’ll have to watch closely for that…”

“But he’s alive,” May whispered.

“He’s alive,” Cho confirmed, “He lost a lot of blood, and we have him on a ventilator right now. Because of his…unique DNA composition, we weren’t able to confidently give him a transfusion. We’re relying heavily on sedation and his healing to help him. Even the amount of sedatives I’m having to give him is risky though.”

There was one last pause…

“One more thing,” Cho added, “Come with me.”

She turned and entered the room where Peter’s surgery had taken place. May followed almost immediately, but Tony hesitated in his steps. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to see the kid, after watching the life nearly leave his eyes, watching him writhe in pain on a table top while people grabbed him and stuck him with needles and Tony could do nothing but watch. Eventually though, he went inside, and the first thing he was met with was the sound of the ventilator in the corner of the room…

It wasn’t a slow recognition, Peter was certainly there. But he looked a lot like those babies in movies, the ones in boxes stuck with wires when they’re premature. Except Peter was fifteen, and he wasn’t tiny, he had been shot multiple times. A sharp and startling contrast and Tony tried not to look too long at his pale face, and the needles in him that would surely frighten the boy if he was awake. Banner was still nowhere to be seen, but Tony looked over as Cho crossed the room. She grabbed a small, plastic box from a pile of surgical tools on the table before she turned and began to make her way back towards the two adults.

She held out the box, and it fit in the palm of her hand. Both Tony and May leaned over it, and Tony’s mind clicked almost immediately…

“Is that…”

“The implant?” Cho provided, “It is. We managed to remove it, and we’re optimistic there won’t be nerve damage. Doctor Banner figured you would want to run some tests on it, and see what you could find, but he seems to think since your suspect is dead now, there may be nothing left on it to study. I thought I’d hand it over anyway.”

Tony took the box. The evil thing lived inside of it. The thing that had made Peter do all of those things. Had gotten him to that point, in that room, his spleen gone and his body lying stiff in a pile of wires and tubes. Everything that scared Peter was now sticking out of his skin and Tony held the box tightly, looking over. May didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in the implant. Peter was free of it, that was all that mattered. She approached the boy, and the first thing she did once she was in arms reach was card her fingers through the boy’s hair like Tony had seen her do so many times before. When he would wander the Compound at night and pass by the room just to look at Peter. Just to make sure he was alive. And May would be running her fingers through his hair and Tony remembered his mother doing that for him.

He missed Maria.

Finally, Cho spoke to him, even though May wasn’t present.

“We’re trying different meds to keep him under,” Cho explained, but she sounded hesitant to tell him anything. Maybe she took pity because of the hopelessness on his face, “Just so his body doesn’t build a tolerance. I’m worried it won’t last as long as we need. If he wakes up, we should all be prepared for the worst. Having a fifteen-year-old altered, in pain and drugged nonetheless, it going to be difficult. And I know…I know you’re emotionally invested in him.”

Tony could only tremble at the idea.

Emotionally invested…An understatement.

Chapter 9: The Boy in the Woods

Chapter Text

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Air!

A surface, and Peter thought he was dragging himself above the water of the bathtub again. Above it all, and he inhaled, lungs inflating, but that was only a memory…Because where he was then, it was impossible to do such a thing. To bring any sort of comforting oxygen into his brain, into his body, because he knew he was alive, he knew he was somewhere breathing, but it felt like he was choking – even if it made no sense it made his mind open widely into an expanse of panic, and Peter…Peter was going to die. All over again he felt as if he was being shoved back down beneath the bath water. Left alone.

This time, there was no voice telling him to wait. He did it on his own volition.

Maybe the more logical portions of his brain screamed, because it knew, he was wrong to grab a hold of the tube inside of his throat and yank. He was wrong to try and remove it from his throat. He did anyway, he had to, it was the only way he was going to survive it and the smothering down in his chest. So he pulled, and it felt as if flames were crawling up and out of him, burning his nostrils, but mostly his chest and it was never going to stop. He was never going to be free of that sensation, and he supposed…well, he was doomed to live inside of that dream forever and the rest of his life and he was willing to accept that if it meant the loop would eventually end and he would fade away.

Peter had told himself that a lot…inside of his cell.

But then he was free, gasping and sputtering for oxygen. Trying to pull the details together like a band of words from a different language. One he could not wrap his mind around no matter how long he lived among its people. He was crying, he was sure, but he gasped, and then hands were pushing on his shoulders. His eyes opened, his hand was wrapped tightly around a tube and Peter was rolled onto his side before he vomited, bile spilling out across a white tile floor and he felt guilty, because he didn’t know whose floor he was throwing up all over, but it definitely wasn’t his. A few more moments passed, his nose burning and him gagging and trying to breathe until he was pulled back and people were shouting.

“ – just f*cking extubated himself – “

“ – we don’t have a sedative – “

“ – it’s not going to work – “

Peter choked back another cry, there was someone rubbing his chest, but he could hardly see faces. Something was tugging in his arm and he reached for it, but something wrapped around his wrist and pulled his hand back. There were needles in his arm that he wanted so desperately to pull out – to remove himself. A scream left his lips as he tried to fight whoever was holding onto him and he threw out an arm. They fell backward, but the hand was replaced with a new one, and this time a face came into focus with it. A face that he recognized as terribly familiar and the screaming on Peter’s lips died down to weak struggling and he looked up in horror, unable to get the rawness out of his throat and ribcage as he processed.

Mister Stark.

His under eyes were purple, he looked so exhausted, Peter wasn’t sure if he had ever seen him so tired. The boy’s heart stuttered in his chest and he supposed he shouldn’t have been thinking about that. His arms were shoved down, but Peter didn’t fight anyway, because it was Mister Stark, and he didn’t want to hurt Mister Stark. His mind screamed that loud and clear, and even in his pained confusion, the hurt that was shooting up and down his body, he knew it. It was a hazy thought like it had been before…the screams and the voice and the want to have his hands around Mister Stark’s throat. That urge had dissipated, Peter’s mind drifted, he didn’t fight back, but it felt like there were three sharp pains and he was collapsing into snow. Peter’s back arched just a bit, and the hurt in his back only intensified.

“Stop, stop,” Mister Stark’s voice ordered, “Peter, stop it. Stop moving.”

It just hurt, and when things hurt, he squirmed. But he saw someone else come into view. A needle and then a warmth and he wasn’t sure what they had done, but whatever it was, it felt better than his body feeling like it was about to shatter. Or the deeply imbedded aches from the explosions that had gone off behind him, from the lights of the trucks, and he supposed he deserved it, because he had been trying to hurt Mister Stark. Mister Stark, who was standing above him, mouth frowning, eyes concerned…And the woman with the needle, the needles that were once so terrifying, but this one had brought the warmth…She leaned forward, and she pressed an oxygen mask to his face. She was saying something – apparently extubating was dangerous. She pulled a flashlight from her pocket and shone it in both eyes.

“Peter, if you can hear me, follow my finger.”

And so Peter did, with just his eyes, back and forth and back and forth until she eventually turned the light off and placed it back in her pocket. Peter was aware of the tears drying on his face, but he was more distracted by the unnerving silence within every pore of himself. The place where he had been dying, it was gone, so whatever pain meds they had made for him – they f*cking worked. They worked amazingly, and Peter also couldn’t hear the familiar sound of his ears buzzing, like he was about to be devoured by insects. Life seemed a little less intimidating, as Mister Stark was there…as he leaned over the edge of the bed, as he looked at Peter.

Peter didn’t want to kill him.

Slowly, he teen reached upward with a shaky hand, and grabbed Mister Stark’s wrist. He squeezed it tightly, and Mister Stark looked almost startled by the action, but he said nothing. The doctor and Peter suddenly remembered her name, Doctor Cho, took him gently by the face and she looked very serious. She asked him in a gentle tone, “Can you hear me?”

Peter nodded his head behind the oxygen mask. She then continued, “It might hurt, but can you say anything?”

“Y…ye…” Peter started, and yeah, yeah it f*cking hurt. He must have actually extubated himself. That wasn’t a dream, or pretend, or something they were all making up about him. His mind raced with that thought, and he twisted uncomfortably before grinding his teeth together and he tried to make everything come together in what was unsolicited torture.

Finally, it came, “Y…yes.”

She nodded in a sort of satisfaction before moving away. Peter gulped thickly, looking back towards Mister Stark, the oxygen mask impeding him a bit. He realized the man was still holding his arms, as if Peter was still fighting, and Peter tried to backtrack. Snow. Boom, boom, boom. More Snow, it was cold, the air. Everything, and Peter had felt like he was being torn in half. But there, in that room, he felt less like he was being shredded and more alive. Even if things were relatively numb. Mister Stark cleared his throat, and he sounded hoarse too when he said, “You pulled the tube out.”

Peter blinked.

“O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Mister Stark seemed – well he seemed too careful. Too off. Like he was walking on eggshells and Peter swallowed, throat dry. His body was heavy, and the man continued on, “We got you new pain meds though…it should help. Bruce has been working really hard on those bad-boys.”

Peter continued to grip Mister Stark’s wrist. He noticed the man continuously glancing at the grip, as if bewildered. Peter didn’t know what to say…the pain was dulled, but it was still there. Peter was still lying flat on his back. He was struggling to breathe, but he could and that was all that mattered. Even though he had just pulled a tube from his throat, as he had entered the waking world, as he had been pulled from the grocery store with his uncle and the rabbit, it was the best he could breathe in a long time. Peter’s head turned from side to side, and he tried to look around the room, but he couldn’t find who it was –

Maybe Mister Stark could read minds…

“May went to get coffee, she’ll be back…we didn’t expect you to wake up so soon.”

A pause.

“We thought…well we thought it’d be a while.”

There was an underlying tone there. One that startled Peter. He didn’t know what it was, or why it was threatening, but he didn’t like it. Not in the slightest. His stomach churned at what he tried to imagine was the meaning of it. Where it was coming from. He couldn’t quite get a handle on it and so he tried his best to ignore it, but it was difficult. Because maybe some empty part of him did understand. Peter inhaled, and he croaked, maybe because he wanted to ask while May wasn’t in the room.

“They shot me?”

Mister Stark was silent. His eyes told the whole story. Peter could remember enough to know he had started to bleed out. He could recall the dark crimson covering his fingers, the smell of blood. Peter’s eyes burned a bit at the memory, but it wasn’t contrasted with the deeply engrained darkness that had tried to tell him what to do and had succeeded. Peter bit down on his lower lip, hard, and he all but whispered, “I don’t hear the buzzing anymore.”

If anything, his hold on Mister Stark’s wrist tightened.

“It’s so quiet.”

Mister Stark let out a deep breath and the hand that wasn’t being held in place by Peter’s grip raised and settled on the hollow between Peter’s neck and shoulder. A comforting gesture as the man nodded his head up and down and he spoke, “That’s a good thing…Cho, she managed to remove the implant while you were…sleeping.”

Sleeping. Sleeping, what a mundane word for almost bleeding out on a Virginia mountain.

A knot formed in Peter’s throat. A heavy one, that made his eyes burn with emotion. It was kind of a surprise to himself, to feel something so deeply, like being pelted with bullets all over again. Except now it was some kind of screw driver under the bones of his ribs. His hands were shaking, and he took comfort in the fact someone was there, that Mister Stark might have hated him at some point. Might have found him irritating, but in that moment he existed and he was holding on and he was a human being that was there when Peter had opened his eyes to a world that was now different…confusing and shallow. Yet deep enough to drown within.

“I thought…” Peter felt frustrated with his own emotions, “I thought I was…Jesus, it hurt and – is…Ote – I mean…Is Strucker, is he dead?”

Peter knew the answer before Mister Stark nodded his head up and down, but it still came as a slight shock to the system. His spine stiffened and despite the implant being gone, despite Otets being dead. Despite Peter having seen his body hanging halfway outside of the car and feeling the malfunction in the implant ripping through him like a broken thing, Peter did not understand it in the slightest. His mind struggled to wrap around all of that. Maybe Mister Stark’s was too. Because he looked so upset, and Peter’s throat only got thicker, the tears only welled even more and he tried to breathe into himself, but his chest hardly expanded and then –

“Kid…hey,” Mister Stark sounded taken aback by the tears welling in Peter’s eyes, “C’mon…listen to me, you’re safe, okay? The implant is out, you’re going to heal, you’re already getting better. Everything is going to be fine.”

Peter almost hiccupped, “It’s not – it’s not that.”

It was stupid. So stupid, and Peter didn’t want to say it out loud, but it was on the tip of his tongue. Mister Stark didn’t look like he understood and Peter chewed his mouth, trying to find the right way to say it, but it left before he could consider it too long, so he supposed he failed miserably at softening the blow of his words.

“He was the only one who fed me.”

Peter understood, the moment he saw Mister Stark’s face, why there was horror inside of it.

Because that was wrong. But Peter supposed accepting that it was wrong meant it was going to be okay.

…

They were getting to the point that Tony couldn’t remember what life was like before this.

Not necessarily Peter’s trauma, but this worry that had burrowed deep within him from the moment Peter had fallen out of the sky and had landed in the water, nearly being drowned by the parachute that Tony had built to protect him. Something he hadn’t built for Rhodey, and obviously, they had seen how that worked out in the end. It was that negative connotation, Tony felt, and this boy was always somewhere in the back of his mind. He wished he knew what it had felt like before. May said it was like becoming a parent, that she had been feeling this from the moment the social worker had put Peter in her arms after his parents had died. But he didn’t know how he was supposed to cope with all of it.

It was too difficult.

He supposed he had gotten used to it, until Peter had said what he had said. About Strucker. Crying because…Because Strucker had been the only one to feed Peter. Maybe it wasn’t as straight forward as that, but Tony knew that feeling of PTSD all too vividly. Of associating something with someone, but even in all of his time in Afghanistan he supposed his attackers had never tried to gain his trust in that way. In that way that starving someone had to offer. It wasn’t Stockholm Syndrome, but it was certainly something and Tony wished Strucker was still alive, just so he could wrap his hands around his neck and break it.

Strucker had gotten an easy way out, as far as Tony was concerned. People had their heads smashed through windshields every day, but being strangled to death by Tony Stark was a slim opportunity. And not a gratifying one. Not a merciful death. Long enough that Tony could look in his eyes and see the evil that it took to starve a boy, to beat him, to put an implant in his head and hurt him over and over again. It had to have been that attachment again, rearing an ugly head, and when Tony entered his office, he was quick to slam his hands over his desk. Everything toppled to the floor with one sweep. He kicked the desk chair across the room.

In all respects, he was throwing a tantrum.

May had returned to Peter’s room. Tony had excused himself, despite the look of hurt that had flashed across Peter’s face. The kid could still hardly sit up in the bed, Tony struggled to look at him and his brokenness. A part of him felt ashamed, but he didn’t know what else to do. So he kicked the desk chair over and over again, until the legs were bent, a wheel had popped off, it was basically destroyed and stomped out.

When he stopped kicking the chair he turned, leaning against the desk, sitting on the edge. He took a few calming breaths before pressing his hand to his mouth and shutting his eyes tightly. There was an underlying tone, something that was his father and the anger, and all of that bubbling into him. It was DNA and just the fight for control of his own psyche. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be doing any of it. But there was no where else to be. Peter was alive, the implant was removed, they could only move forward from there, but that one little statement had dug out every poisonous habit in his body. Those thoughts almost tempted him to the edge of a precipice until a voice whispered from the doorway…

“Tony?”

Tony looked over his shoulder and standing there was Steve. The soldier’s eyes were scanning the disheveled room, the overturned and destroyed desk chair. It was almost funny, because he had never seen Steve throw a full-blown hissy fit in his life. Sure, after Germany, after all of that, he had seen anger. Had seen sternness in the face of Ross upon the Rogues returning, refusing to give up Barnes’ location where he was supposedly receiving treatment. But not once had he seen Steve kick a desk chair into oblivion and Tony wondered if that made him better or untrustworthy.

He couldn’t trust a guy without a dark side.

“What?” Tony couldn’t fight down the sharpness in his tone, but there was some kind of odd humor behind it. As if the situation was so ridiculous, it was funny, “Heard me beating the sh*t out of my desk chair? Don’t worry, I won.”

Steve stepped in a bit further, “That’s not – well, I heard something and I wanted to make sure you were…okay.”

This was Steve reaching out. Which when Tony thought about it, Steve had been trying to reach out ever since the Rogues had come back. It was just…Tony had too much to think about to delve into more emotional anger. Into Barnes, into his mother and father and their ultimate demises. And even knowing deep down, in that whirlwind that the world was better off with them being on the same side, there was always the human part of him that didn’t want to try.

Honestly, it felt like a break up.

“Okay,” Tony snorted, bitterly, but he wasn’t necessarily bitter towards Steve anymore, “…I’m okay. Just, it’s a bunch of a bullsh*t.”

Tony could practically see a sort of hope in Steve’s eyes. An opening for an actual conversation. Maybe how things used to be. But Before felt so far from Then, and Tony watched Steve’s hope turn into worry in an instant as he glanced over his shoulder and asked, “I thought he was doing better…Cho said his vitals were steady, didn’t he just wake up?”

“Yeah he woke up and started crying because Strucker is dead,” Tony hissed, “Because Strucker was the ‘only one who fed him’ and that’s kind of f*cked up. I’m actually pissed that Strucker is dead because I wish I could have killed him myself, but instead I just get to beat up a desk chair.”

Steve looked startled by the statement. To his credit though, he hid it well. Tony didn’t miss that he wanted to approach, maybe put a hand on his shoulder, but they still weren’t there yet. Because sometimes Tony still felt like he was below him, about to have a shield shoved down into his chest and it made his chest stutter. Steve knew that, after the quinjet, so he kept the much-desired space. Sometimes he felt it was the only way to escape those demons. And maybe things couldn’t be completely okay ever again.

And Steve’s optimism arrived, in all of its glory…

“Things can only get better from here. Peter can only get better. The implant was removed, and we can’t expect him to be better the moment he wakes up. I mean…the kid was tortured and shot three times.”

“I know that,” Tony replied, “I just – I want this fixed.”

Impatience. Once more. It was always there, always threatening. It was something he had to learn. Peter was going to have to inch towards a recovery both physically and mentally. And Tony was going to give it to him. The best of the best. Best therapists, best physical therapists. Whatever he needed. Tony would hand it over on a f*cking silver platter if he had to, but he knew deep down a lot of it wouldn’t make a difference. Not for Peter…because some things couldn’t be melted away with the help of professionals. Some of it stuck.

Like water running up Tony’s nostrils in a cave.

Like Steve’s face when he was bringing the shield down into his chest.

Tony swallowed thickly and murmured, not looking Steve in the eyes, “Either way…that kid is never going to be the same.”

Steve breathed, and Tony flinched when the hand finally did grab his shoulder. But he didn’t pull away. Maybe this was a part of him never being the same. Siberia would be a reminder, in every sense of the word. But the man beside him replied quietly, “None of us ever are…and even though he’s young he is one of us.”

Tony could imagine the kid’s excitement at Captain America saying that.

The tenseness in Cap’s hand told another story though, and Tony tilted his head, finally meeting Steve’s eyes. Tony spoke knowingly, “The desk chair isn’t the only reason you came in here though…is it?”

There was hesitance, but Tony didn’t feel a need to push too hard because he knew Steve was going to say it one way or another. He figured his day couldn’t get much worse, but apparently it could because the moment the words left Steve’s mouth Tony wished he hadn’t already destroyed his desk chair.

“Ross wants to have a meeting tomorrow, to discuss the boy in the woods…A civil meeting. But if I know him, nothing is ever civil.”

…

Things were quiet.

Aunt May didn’t talk a whole lot, though Peter didn’t know if he minded much. It was actually kind of nice there, with the two of them. There was no longer buzzing in the back of his head. No longer a voice that screamed into his skull and Peter had almost forgotten what it felt like to not have a foreign voice there. May could probably see that he was relishing in that silence, because she played along. Simply sat beside him, held his hand, as he laid against the back of the headrest where they had lifted the hospital bed up so he could look around. He couldn’t quite hold his weight, even with the pain meds. The wounds in his back and abdomen still weren’t healed, probably wouldn’t be for a few days or weeks.

The comfort only changed when he was brought lunch. When Aunt May pulled a tray in front of him and started helping him get a hold of his fork, Peter’s heart started to race. This was the first time he could eat, could do something with free will, without the fear of Otets – Strucker, his name is Strucker – interfering. Telling him to come home when his home was wherever Aunt May was. She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort too much. Or his anxiety over the whole situation. But then again, maybe she did, because her hand lingered in his hair and she kissed his forehead after he had started to pick the chicken apart on his plate.

Eventually, she broke the silence with, “I want you to eat those peas. I know you hate them, but they’re trying to have you on a balanced diet while your metabolism works. After you’re better, you can start eating whatever you want again.”

Peter swallowed, the food down. He made a sideways smile and commented, “I thought you promised me a burrito.”

“Cho’s orders. I can try to sneak one in, but I can’t promise anything,” She was smiling, genuinely, and Peter had almost forgotten what it was like to see her that way. Happy to be in his presence, because now he didn’t have the urge to snap at her, to yell at her, her face was no longer marred from where he had hit her. Peter loved her. He supposed he had forgotten, through everything, through just feeling an immense amount of guilt from all the ways he had harmed her recently. The world was vaguely smothered in that, but he was free, wasn’t he? He was free of Strucker. And he was eating. Things were going to be alright.

So he didn’t know what happened.

One second, he was laughing with her and the next she was pulling the fork from his hand and had him enveloped in a hug. Peter wasn’t really crying, or panicking, or anything…but he was silent, mouth thick with a threatening emotion he could not recognize. Maybe just relief, to be there, to hear silence, to be alone inside of his head. Her sweater was soft, almost like the rabbit and Peter could hardly lean forward, it hurt to do so. But he breathed with his head on her shoulder, and whispered, “I’m sorry I – y’know I’m not used to being…”

“I know, Peter.”

His fingers tightened in her sweater, staring at the wall, “You and Mister Stark, you guys have tried so hard to take care of me, even when I was trying to hurt you two and I wish…I just wish I hadn’t been so awful.”

“No,” She pulled away gently, and he had to put most of his weight against the pillow behind his back, stomach muscles tugging, “Listen to me. Those things that happened were out of your control. Tony and I would do anything to protect you…No matter what you do, we will always protect you.”

That was such a foreign thing. Aunt May was family, but he couldn’t comprehend why Mister Stark would try so hard to save him. Ultimately succeeding, but for what? Ross’ men had shot him, they probably weren’t at the end of that issue. Peter was free from Hydra, but there was still their own government that probably wanted to hurt him. And he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else risking their lives to protect him. Peter stared at Aunt May’s face as she cupped his cheeks, using her thumb to remove some of the tears he had quickly swallowed. He wanted to tell her, about Uncle Ben. About the rabbit. About his dream and the trauma and just lay it out. She was always telling him to lay it out for her, but he didn’t know how.

“I dreamed about Uncle Ben.”

A pause.

“Is it wrong? That I care about Mister Stark the way I cared about Uncle Ben? Is that fair?”

Her hand gripped his chin gently, and she pressed her forehead to his, shutting her eyes before she laughed quietly. Breathless.

“Honey…Ben was not a jealous man and losing him didn’t doom you to a life without a role model.”

When her eyes opened she kissed his temple, “There’s something about being a Parker that makes us feel like we’re destined to be lonely, but that’s not true. I’ve been looking around at all of these people who care about you, and they’ve been so kind to me and…It’s not just the two of us anymore. It doesn’t have to be.”

Peter pondered on her words. Sometimes it felt like Mister Stark would pull away. After Homecoming, after the suit being taken, after all of the bad stuff, and then Aunt May finding out and grounding him. That life seemed far away now, he felt different, torture he supposed did that to a person but there was only one way to go and it was up, and up, and further until he could eventually dissipate into who he used to be before the bad things hit him too hard. Maybe it took being reset through three gunshot wounds to the back or being thrown through a windshield.

He was different, nonetheless.

But he was no longer plummeting, he had been thrown a rope and he was climbing out.

“You did really good, Aunt May. For it to just be the two of us for so long, you did amazing.”

Chapter 10: Thunderbolt

Chapter Text

Tony wasn’t sure what he thought a civil meeting would entail, because nothing had been civil in so long unless one was referring to their ‘war’ so to speak. What an odd term for such a debacle, which had left so many friends untrusting of one another. It had made things so difficult and it took Tony a while to realize Ross and his guys were the center of it all. Everything. And a part of him still believed in the Accords. He believed in accountability. But there were other parts that were just ready to throw Ross so far down a hole no one would even know where to look.

It started with him sitting in the empty room. It was meant to be a meeting after all, the table was set up, Tony was breathing heavily. It was just him, alone, at Ross’ request apparently and it told Tony that there was something underneath. Something involving the kid and the very thought made Tony’s stomach twist and flip and he was so tired, but it didn’t matter how much coffee he downed, it didn’t matter if he rested (even if he could) none of it would.

But if he knew Ross, and he did, he felt he had picked him a part rather well in the past several months of being involved with him…It was going to be a sh*t-show. So Tony started out by sitting in the empty room, but soon graduated to pacing, to waiting, and just seething with frustration. They had shot the kid. They were the reason why Peter was upstairs, healing yes, making amazing progress with the help of his abilities, but sh*t, he had been shot three times through and through and there had been no repercussions, nothing. Not that Tony hadn’t tried, because he had. He had wanted their heads on a platter.

It wasn’t happening, as of yet, but Tony didn’t know how to stop seeing it. When seeing Peter get better, he didn’t know how to erase the sound of the gun going off three times. Of Peter falling forward limply. Against him, bleeding out, looking at him in the eyes with a grievance of pain and agony while he died. Peter had been dying right in front of him, and even though he was getting better, even though he was healing, how was Tony meant to forget it?

How was he supposed to not antagonize Ross?

The violence was a fact that would disturb Peter. The kid that had quickly and painfully become an important piece inside of his circle, and that meant protecting and fretting and that was why Tony hated adding new pieces. Things that got close to him died or got hurt. He was wondering, maybe it was just a part of being cursed as a Stark. Of having murdered innocents with weapons and violence in the past and then exploding into a core of agonizing frets.

Tony was leaning against the wall, head lowered, when Ross entered. As if in a moment of prayer for hands that would not murder the secretary of the United States.

At its core, it was answered. Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders straightening. He felt himself sway from side to side, tongue swiping his lower lip and chin tilting upwards as his shoulders pushed back in a silent intimidation that he had learned from years of the being in the weapons industry. He eyed Ross, like he was eyeing an enemy and that was where Ross had decided to play his cards, so Tony would too. His enemies so rarely got what they wanted though, so he felt badly for the other.

“Stark,” Ross greeted, sounding almost polite.

Tony ground his teeth together, a daring look sparking behind his eyes, “Glad you could finally make it.”

“Well, you know. Traffic. And you’ve made it difficult for myself and my men to get into the building.”

Only security measures. He didn’t need anyone going behind him, slipping up to find Peter while he was busy. A relatively simple measure, but Ross didn’t need to know that Tony had dreamt of driving a missile through him and his guys. Just ending the problem, but he knew it would only end it a moment before graduating to more difficulty in the future and he could not protect Peter from behind bars or locked up on the Raft. So he withheld.

Tony stuck his tongue between his teeth and hummed, “Considering your guys shot a child we’re trying to treat here…It’s a safety precaution.”

He didn’t expect Ross to sit down as nonchalantly as he did, leaning back in one of the desk chairs and crossing his arms over his chest. His mouth was set in a hard line and Tony grounded his teeth, trying to gain control, control he hadn’t been aware he was losing. Slowly, but surely. There were subtle twists in his mind. Quiet and not too overbearing, but he ignored them and kept the pressure in his bones. Maybe he wanted Ross to be afraid of him, but Ross was too stupid for that.

Stupidity was dangerous.

“So…We’re admitting there’s a child now, huh? Only took us watching him jump from a window and then seeing him on the mountain.”

Tony snarled, “Now that attempted murder is on the table – “

“You’re lucky my men shot him,” Ross interrupted, and Tony had to fight the urge to have a brief mental interlude of pure rage. Ross went on, “He was attacking you. They were actually saving your life if you didn’t notice.”

He shook his head, “How dense do you have to be? He’s fifteen-years-old he wasn’t a threat to me. And even so, that kid wasn’t in control of his own actions, don’t pretend like that had anything to do with me, I know you asshats have been trailing him since day one. Even before he ran away from the Compound. Ever since you found that damned file.”

“I assume he survived.”

“What the hell is it to you?”

Ross looked like he was speaking to a child and it only infuriated Tony more as he crossed his hands and spoke slowly, tempting Tony to knock his teeth out of his head, “If he is alive, he probably knows more. More about Hydra. More about everything. If there are other cells, where they are, how we can get to them. I have my doubts that this is the only faction we’re dealing with.”

Tony remained silent a few moments. His mind was struggling to process what Ross was saying to him. The almost…well cruelty behind it. Like a dark fire, burning up and up and up and Tony hated him for it. He hated him, absolutely and wholeheartedly. A part of him just desperately wanted and needed Ross to throw himself down a flight of stairs. The other part was kicking himself. For not trying harder, for not protecting Peter. For not being able to keep him safe from the things in the world that were constantly on the tip of an iceberg of absolute violence and pain.

Tony placed a hand flat on the table, “You won’t be asking him a damn thing. Do you know what he just went through?”

“Doesn’t matter what he went through,” And the cruelty only grew, “The boy is evidence against a terrorist organization and he murdered several people in the process of escaping.”

“He murdered people who were holding him captive.”

Ross blinked. It was like there was a thickness that Tony couldn’t seem to break through. He couldn’t reach whatever humanity Ross had, if it existed it all. It had to, somewhere, deep down under the façade, but Tony wasn’t sure. Maybe there was no compassion. Or maybe the guy was just an absolute idiot. Which really pissed Tony off. As much as his fingers itched to wrap around the man’s neck, to squeeze, to watch the life leave his eyes, it wasn’t an option. But Ross was reaching in for a kid that Tony had to protect, a kid that he cared about and it was daring. It was stupid, and it was nauseating.

“Despite popular belief, Stark,” Ross started, “I’m not evil. But you’re not viewing this as a logical situation, I’m merely asking to question the boy for more information. And you’re losing you mind about the thought of us even getting close.”

Tony grinned, almost wickedly, sarcastic laughter leaving his lips, “Because your men shot him, three f*cking times.”

“But he’s alive.”

He practically threw himself away from Ross, away from the table, away and away and just reached his hands up to push his hair back off his forehead. He laughed bitterly, shaking his head back and forth as if he could not believe it. It soldiered in. Found a home. Asked to make a living there inside of him and Tony had adapted to it, but it hardly sheltered him from the viable hatred in his bones. When he turned back to face Ross, finally letting the white blindness pass, he simply shook his head back and forth and ordered one thing.

“I dare you, Ross. I dare you even look at that kid the wrong way.”

The patience had grown into something else, and Tony was storming from the conference room without another word. He didn’t think he could muster one. Not without his head twisting around on his shoulders and absolutely losing it. He held onto what little sanity he had left, pausing in the hallway to consider himself. To consider everything, and to wish it were different. Mostly because of everything that had been happening. Everything the kid had been through and in the back of his mind he knew they were never going to escape Ross’ claws. They would always be there, until Ross got to question the kid, but Tony couldn’t just allow that…Not so simply.

It took convincing to walk away. To not try and stop the threat. Because it was what Ross was, he was a threat to Peter, and it felt as if that had been their lives for the past three or so months. Threat after threat. Hydra, the implant, Strucker. Then Ross, always looming, hiding behind the fact that he wanted to interrogate Peter, but Tony had a feeling he was digging for more. That he would try to keep digging until he found out what he wanted. Maybe it was Spider-Man, without him really knowing. He could feel something was off with Peter, there had to be, because why else would Hydra target him? Write those things about him in the files? About his abilities…

Ross knew a lot, but he didn’t know the mask. The vigilante. And Tony had to keep it that way. There was nothing illegal about Peter being enhanced or mutated, but there was something to be said about a fifteen-year-old dressing up as Spider-Man. That had to stay away, and Peter had been through enough. Being questioned by Ross felt more like a punishment than a reward for survival on that mountain after three bullets had torn through him.

It took some convincing on his part, to retreat. To leave and focus his efforts elsewhere in the Compound. He assumed someone would see Ross out, that Steve would come milling around with the intent of finding out how the meeting went. It was futile really, and Tony made his way to the medical wing. The kid was probably awake by that point, and Tony hadn’t seen him, not since he had woken up. Not since the kid had said the thing about Strucker being the only one to feed him. It was an avoidance thing. As always.

Avoidance, avoidance, avoidance.

As much as he cared for Peter, as much as he worried, and wanted to protect him and was just being an all around ‘dad’ which was kind of annoying and made him feel…well, old…He simply couldn’t step past that part of himself that was engrained in his personality. Rhodey’s and Happy’s recoveries had been similar in their respective injuries in the past. Resources and help shoved their way, but a step back emotionally on his part. Happy was fine with such as that, Rhodey had forced the affection. It wasn’t stoicism, more so as it was a survival instinct.

He coddled people, sometimes, and Peter didn’t like that. Which stressed Tony out.

The fuming inside of himself had left remnants, even as he stood outside of Peter’s room in the medical wing, looking in through the window on the door. He saw someone’s back, who he processed to be Cho, standing there on the side of Peter’s bed, holding both of his arms as the kid was sitting with his legs hanging over the edge. Tony felt his chest constrict, at the thought of Cho already having the kid up and moving around. It was almost frightening, and he wasn’t quite sure the kid was ready for that. Not physically, but he healed quickly and he couldn’t tell if it was scientific or emotional.

On the other side of the room was May, and surprisingly…standing beside her…was Pepper.

They were observing as Cho helped Peter to move onto the edge of the bed even more, but much to Tony’s relief she didn’t try to make him stand. Both May and Pepper were smiling, and it felt like forever since he had seen his fiancée. Such a long time, and Peter looked over at the group of women, and to Tony’s shock, a smile graced his lips. A proud smile, obviously linked to him having moved from where he had been lying ever since being shot in the back and through the abdomen and chest. Tony had thought at one point he’d probably never see that lopsided grin again, not with the implant, with the trauma, but its removal had worked magic.

It was as if the fragility had melted with it.

Tony pushed the door open, grabbing the attention of the room. He didn’t question Pepper as to what she was doing there, but instead looked at Cho who was still holding onto Peter as if to steady him. Tony asked, “Not pushing the kid too hard, huh Doc?”

“Of course not,” Cho sounded ever-serious, always lecturing, but Tony was willing to sit and listen like a student, “We’re just doing a bit of movement. He’s progressing so quickly in his recovery, but muscles are getting stiff and I’m worried about how that’ll effect everything. Just something to get him off his back.”

Tony hummed, before gesturing to his fiancée, “And you? Came to cheer on our friend?”

“Actually, I came to investigate what has been holding your attention for this long,” Pepper hummed, “I mean, of course I knew the basics, but I hadn’t realized how serious it had gotten…Initially I was rather upset with you but…May was very adamant you were doing your best.”

Tony hadn’t even realized the radio silence he had subjected Pepper to while everything was happening. It was as if a door had been locked information wise when everything had happened. When they had found Peter in those woods. Like the world had begun to revolve around that and the implant. Strucker, and finding a way to save Peter from himself. Tony looked at May with a grateful expression, and it almost felt…odd for them to all be in the same room together. They had felt like separate entities until just then. Different lives. As if domestic was a far away dream, unattainable for someone like Tony.

Someone broken.

Peter piped up, pulling Tony from the thoughts, “Mister Stark, look what Miss Potts brought!”

It seemed the kid wasn’t really thinking because he reached for a gift bag on the bedside table. The moment he did, he stiffened, his face turning a shade of pained red as he flinched and grabbed a hold of his abdomen. Tony saw Cho’s hand tighten immediately, as if to still him and Peter shut his eyes, before opening them back up, wide. Tony had nearly forgotten that under the pajamas, there were injuries, and it seemed Peter had forgotten that too. May made a concerned face, but didn’t move to crowd him, and Tony nearly stepped forward as well. But Peter shot them a look, with almost a sheepish smile when the pain passed.

“Sorry,” Peter apologized, “I…forgot. For a second – but look…Doctor Cho, can you – “

She was already handing the gift bag over. No one chastised him. Maybe because they understood, he was a hyperactive teenager to begin with…it was going to be difficult for him to refrain from the movement that had been denied to him for so long. He reached into the gift bag, pulling out a few objects. One was Rubik’s Cube, a few boxes of candies that Doctor Cho frowned towards Pepper for, and a few more fidgety objects. Things that would distract a boy who was confined to a bed. Peter was almost glowing, as he talked endlessly about the Rubik’s cube and Tony felt a familiar guilt settled in as he remembered his conversation with Ross and considered bringing it up to the room of adults and Peter.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t say it.

“I dunno, there’s an algorithm I’m sure,” Peter continued on about the cube, “It’s kind of annoying, I’ll solve one then forget how I did it, and – Mister Stark?”

Tony blinked, tilting his head. Everyone was staring and Peter continued, “You okay?”

He swallowed the thick guilt of Ross’ existence.

“Yeah kid, lemme show you the best way to remember that algorithm.”

…

The algorithm was bullsh*t, but Peter still fought to figure it out.

Course he didn’t want to say that in front of Mister Stark, so once he had been left alone by the adults, he had spent an hour or so trying to comprehend what Mister Stark had said, and it was fine. He could do it a few times, things could get mixed up but he was practically obsessed with it at that point and he couldn’t find the time to be particularly grateful for the distraction, though he would be later…He was sure.

It was odd, he had noticed…Being alone in his head, slowly healing from his wounds. He couldn’t stay sitting up long, but maybe slowly wasn’t the right word because compared to other people he had made exceptional progress in the past twenty-four hours. It was as if his body had just needed that rest to jump start the healing and when it had come to life, so had he in a weird way. A different sort of way. Peter held onto that simple gift that was offered to him.

He turned the pieces, fingers sliding over the blue and when his wrist turned upside down just a moment, Peter saw the letters in dark ink across his skin, very prevalent, soon to be removed in time. They hadn’t started the laser treatment yet, but eventually they would and Peter wondered if it would hurt. But then he didn’t care, because the marking on his skin was just a reminder of what he was to Strucker – not Otets – and the others.

Prōtotupos-4

“Aunt May…Otets…what is that?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

Google translate had given him the only answer he needed. Aunt May knew, she had lied, but he wasn’t angry that she had. But he only hoped she would lie about nothing else. There was a deep sinking, inside of himself. He sometimes forgot it was there, but it was kind of a nice reminder of how human he was. Forgetting to be human was a curse. He wanted to be that, for so long in that cement room and he had…come back to it in the form of gunshots and an implant being removed, and as violent as that was, at least it had been.

Peter let go of the cube and ran his thumb over the letters.

He focused on the softness of the blanket over his lap, and the pillow behind his sore muscles. His spine bent a bit as he loomed over his own arm, shutting his eyes and willing himself to accept that he might would never feel the same on the inside, but he had to try, and he was free. Even if he forgot, forgot what it was like to stuff himself so full of food he could burst, or when he forgot that he could leave the hospital room (in a wheelchair but whatever he was confined to a bed, not a room). It was progress. He had little doubt they wouldn’t put him in therapy, he was pretty sure Mister Stark had that on speed dial for him, ready the moment he had entered the waking world, alive.

Peter’s head snapped up, fingers pressing down into the ink on his skin when the door to his room opened suddenly. He expected to see one of the nurses, Cho, or his aunt. Maybe even Mister Stark, come back to ask him about the cube and solving it. But instead, he was met with a very different face. A face he only really recognized from the news, but Peter knew enough about him…enough about what was happening around him, but then again, he was lost to the point of being confused about his presence.

Secretary Ross.

All things considered, he looked docile. Not like the leader of people who had shot Peter three times in the back. Peter stiffened, blinking wide eyes that had purple discoloration under them from weeks of his body being abused. His hair was too long, askew, maybe he looked threatening, and that was why Ross didn’t. In fact, he looked rather soft, but it didn’t feel very genuine. Soldiers weren’t soft, not even Steve Rogers was. The man’s shoulders gave that away as he approached Peter’s bed. Peter considered pressing the emergency button a moment, but he felt more lost and confused than anything. Secretary Ross had his hands in his pockets, almost nonchalant, and he stopped directly to Peter’s right. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was smothering, and Peter swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as his mouth parted just slightly.

“Hello Peter.”

Peter flinched when a hand was held out towards him. Maybe, he wouldn’t have had the past few weeks of his life not happened. Had he not been tortured and shot and chased. But he cringed slightly in response and Ross continued, “I’m Secretary Ross.”

“I know who you are,” Peter whispered, not taking the offered hand.

It slowly lowered. Ross didn’t look offended, as he nodded his head and he turned, moving to face the small window on the wall that showed out into the hallway. Peter held his breath as Ross grabbed the blinds and drew them closed. When he faced Peter once more, Peter tried to hide the fact that his heart was racing and that he was eyeing a metal tray a few feet away, hopefully to be able to grab in defense if the issue arose. Ross went on, “Then you know why I’m here…What I need from you.”

Peter shook his head, “I don’t.”

Ross sighed, looking more disappointed than annoyed with how the situation was going. It was a professionalism, maybe a bit of manipulation but Peter wasn’t so good with the signs, he hadn’t been taught that by anyone. It was really just stuff he had seen in movies. He set his mouth in a line, because he wanted to be like Ross, he wanted to handle it that way, to not show that he was anxious about the situation they were in. That he wasn’t itching to press the emergency button and call someone in there. He could handle it. He could do it.

When Ross sat on the edge of the bed, Peter had the urge to shove him off. It was the nonchalance that made his blood boil with anger. He pushed it down, waiting for Ross to say more…Because Peter really didn’t know what to say. But the question came for him, they always did, as Ross folded his hands in his lap.

“It’s no secret that you probably aren’t my biggest fan right now,” Ross began, “But you have to understand…Stark hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with your existence. We attempted to offer our assistance in locating the boy from the files found in that facility and Stark chose to keep your presence under wraps. And then on the mountain…well, my men…they were simply trying to protect Stark and all of his idiocy from being killed.”

Killed by you.

The undertone felt like cold water and Peter’s back went rigid slightly, and he blinked, letting it sink in. He hadn’t really put much though into that, into the reason he had been shot in the first place. Because he had been violent. Because he had been trying to hurt Mister Stark. Peter looked away, at the wall, mouth shutting tightly, and he swallowed. Thick, past the lump deep in his throat and he could hardly breathe. But it settled in, and threatened him with an understanding. That maybe he had deserved it.

Maybe he had deserved to be shot three times in the back.

His mind processed that, like it weighed a ton.

Ross leaned in a bit, “We’re only trying to help. That’s all we’ve ever tried to do, is protect people, and no one is safe from Hydra. Especially not people like you.”

Did Ross even care about people like him?

“Do you know anything else about Strucker? Maybe where he was planning on taking you, or if there were other cells out there waiting to be of use or operating? We want to find the people responsible for this…heinous act.”

The underlying meaning was a lie. Ross did not care about Peter, or anything like that. But Peter swallowed thickly, and casted a glance up at him. He felt guilt biting. Other people like Peter…That meant those cells…the ones Strucker had talked about bringing him to, they could hurt other kids that were different. Peter wrung his hands together, and opened his mouth slightly, as if to respond, despite himself as something dug its teeth deeply within the dark space that Otets had left that filled with terror…if someone else had to suffer through something so violent and cruel. But before the words could leave his mouth, the door across the room opened again.

Bruce Banner entered.

He was looking down at a tablet before he finally glanced up. He had a smile, until it fell as the sight of Ross sitting on the corner of the bed, leaning in as if trying to pry a secret from the teenager. Ross stood upon Banner’s entrance, though his face remained as stoic as ever. His shoulders pushed back and he raised an eyebrow in the doctor’s direction. Bruce paused there, and looked between the two of them, and maybe Peter’s wide eyes screamed fear or hurt because Doctor Banner stepped forward immediately, the tablet falling to his side.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Ross gestured to Peter, “I was just checking in on Mister Parker’s recovery. I felt terrible for what happened on the mountain, after all.”

“No,” Doctor Banner growled, and Peter thought the Hulk would make an appearance right there, as he repeated, “No, get the hell out of here, right now. You and your guys can stay away from the child they attempted to murder in cold blood – “

Ross’ eyes narrowed, “I think it was more of a misunderstanding.”

“Get out,” Banner ordered one last time, “Before I have someone come collect you. And trust me, it won’t be security.”

To Peter’s surprise, Ross didn’t put up much of a fight. He simply nodded his head, glancing at Peter one last time, questions still behind his expression as he had failed to get the information he had initially come for. Ross stepped around Doctor Banner without another word, exiting through the door from which he came. Peter let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, shoulders sagging almost weakly as he curled into himself a bit. His abdomen and back pulled painfully from sitting so rigid, mind racing more coherently than it really had since waking with a tube down his throat.

Doctor Banner approached quickly, gently taking him by the arm as he questioned, “Hey…are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Peter gulped, “He just…he was just asking about Ote – Strucker. He wanted to know…if there were other factions and stuff and I guess – well, I dunno, I was just…”

He didn’t know what he was trying to say. Doctor Banner squeezed his arm comfortingly. Maybe there was understanding there, but Peter couldn’t feel much of anything through the way his hands were shaking.

Peter found his words once more, “I mean, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to tell him. Cause Mister Stark doesn’t trust him, and I don’t really either after he shot me in the back…you know and –“

“Wait, hang on,” Bruce waved his hand in a motion signifying that, “Back track…tell him what?”

Peter blinked. He hadn’t really realized it was a secret, it was Siberia, it felt so far away. Thinking back on it, maybe he should have said something sooner. But there had been bullets in his flesh, he had been dying in the wilderness. He hadn’t been sure of anything, at the time. It had felt like something on the backburner. Nothing to be too concerned about.

Then, there was a four tattooed into his arm. So he wondered what a four would mean out there.

How many others?

“Tell him that,” Peter paused, mouth dry, “In Siberia…there’s…well there’s apparently a cell. A Hydra cell.”

He paused.

“Waiting for us.”

…

Bruce wasn’t sure when his life had become such an odd sh*t-show. Probably around the time the Hulk was born.

Born. What an odd concept.

He had weighed in, whether or not to tell Tony about Ross, and then ultimately about the faction in Siberia. To maybe go around it to Steve, just to avoid an outburst. He figured though that the outburst provoked by not telling Tony would be much worse than he could imagine. So he opted to tell him first, and hoped he wouldn’t regret it later down the line.

Bruce found him, standing in front of the glass window overlooking the front of the Compound. The grounds were crawling with Ross’ men outside, but most had not been allowed inside the building. Tony just seemed to be observing them for the time being…Silent and mouth in a line, leaning against the balcony. Bruce walked up beside him, taking hold of the railing as he turned slightly to just face Tony, taking in a deep breath as he readied himself for a speech that he hoped could be calming to his friend. Just something to keep him from dropping a nuke on the men outside or hunting down Ross, wherever he was.

Tony regarded him, speaking, “Holding down the labs, Banner?”

“Cho has been doing most of the work,” Bruce was hesitant to speak, afraid his voice would deceive him, but maybe it would be easier that way, “She knows how to make herself at home…”

He paused, gathering his bearings. He hated bringing bad news. The messenger was almost always shot or had to do the holding back, and Bruce just wasn’t mentally prepared for that. He was tired. He had been up for days and nights trying to keep Peter Parker alive. Not just because he was a child, but because if he died, Bruce knew it would destroy Tony and ultimately that would destroy so many other things. So he just breathed, grabbed at it, and finally spoke it into existence.

“We need to talk.”

That got Tony’s attention, stealing the nonchalance of the moment as he turned to face Bruce, elbow leaning against the railing. He only raised an eyebrow, indicating he was listening, and Tony relied on these nonverbals that screamed so vividly sometimes it was a lot to take in. Bruce swallowed thickly, and continued on, “I just went to check on Peter…And Ross was in his room.”

Tony almost immediately stood up straighter, no longer leaning sideways. His eyebrows drew upward, but then quickly they collapsed into a furrow that held confusion and anger. Tony turned his head to the side and whispered under his breath, “That son of a bitch – “

Bruce grabbed his arm when he went to step away and there was no doubt in Bruce’s mind he was going to find Ross to end things there, but it couldn’t happen…Not like that. Not with what Peter had only just told him. Bruce insisted, “Wait, just…Wait a minute, okay? Peter is fine, he’s okay, but Ross was asking him about Hydra and apparently…Apparently Peter did know something that he didn’t tell Ross.”

The inventor relaxed under his hand. Bruce carefully released, feeling like Tony wasn’t going to run off and start a fight with the secretary. Crossing his arms over his chest, Tony practically growled, “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Bruce sighed, “Strucker told Peter about another faction. A faction in Siberia – “ He swore he saw Tony flinch at the name, “ – and if this is true, and there really was a faction waiting for them…that means news about this experiment spread out that far.”

A pause.

“And that means there could be more,” Tony finished for him, clearly grabbing a hold of the brain wave Bruce was riding.

Bruce nodded slowly in confirmation, “I mean…the kid does have the number four tattooed into his wrist. Who’s to say there aren’t other kids out there somewhere? Other enhanced individuals being experimented on?”

He watched a light work behind Tony’s eyes. A light he had seen many times before and he imagined it lighting up a dreary cave in Afghanistan as it worked to save his life and to help him escape a captivity fit for a king. Bruce waited patiently for Tony to respond, only because he knew it was right there at the tip of the other man’s mind. A solution – or more so a battle cry. They would be going into something…

Tony’s chest rose and fell, he glanced out the window one last time at Ross’ men before his head nodded and he didn’t bother looking back at Bruce as he kept studying them.

“Get the others.”

Chapter 11: Devil's Handiwork

Chapter Text

Rain.

Tony watched it slam into the glass of the Quinjet. His mind wracked for a plan of action, but they hadn’t thought things through when they had all piled into the ship. It had really been a last-minute decision to leave, but it needed to be before Ross noticed something was off, even if they had kicked him out of the Compound. There was no doubt he would be back, which was why Vision, Rhodey, and Banner were left behind to babysit the kid and to keep an eye on the things. But Tony, Steve, Wanda, Nat, and Sam all packed their things and headed out. Whether or not it was a bad decision was still up for debate. They had yet to figure it out.

A field trip to Siberia had been the last thing on his mind. He had thought it had died with Strucker, these concerns, that Ross was the new enemy. But he supposed it wouldn’t come to that, it couldn’t come to that, they would be fighting Ross for the rest of their natural lives but this was something they could take care of. Something they could stop.

Tony tried to invest in this.

The truth was, he was more worried about the kid back at the Compound. That might have been selfish, but it was the truth. He knew what they had to do though, he knew what the Avengers stood for. Ross would be most unhappy to know that they had left, that they had gone to Siberia to interfere without being approved. That it went against the Accords. But he would have to get over it. Considering he had tried to interrogate the kid under their noses, he was welcome to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

They marched onward, and Tony tried to ignore the fact that last time he had been in the jet, Peter had been bleeding out on the table just a few feet away from him. He had been dying, right in front of him, with three bullets having just ripped through his body. A body that had been abused for months now. It was almost too much to fathom, and if Peter suffered this much in such a short amount of time, what about those other kids? The ones Hydra had locked up or worse? Tony wasn’t sure if he was prepared for what they were walking into.

The selfishness threatened again with that. It tried to devour him. He could hardly stand it, as he leaned back in his chair and Nat sat beside him…Actually allowing Sam to fly the Quinjet, which was rare for her. She often wanted to be the one in the pilot’s seat. Steve and Wanda were a few feet away, talking amongst the two of themselves. Tony wished for a moment Bruce had come with them. Maybe to distract everyone else. He didn’t know how, but he felt that Bruce would be able to recognize he wanted to be alone for the moment. But then again, Nat could probably see it and was opting to ignore it.

“Something tells me you don’t want to be here.”

Tony glanced at her and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He instead twiddled his thumbs as he mentally prepared himself for the way that Nat knew how to dig into his brain without much hesitation. She just did it so easily…Like it was nothing. So he swallowed, smothered it down. Pretended it felt like nothing before he answered, “What? That obvious that I feel like we left the Compound completely unguarded from Ross and his men?”

“Vision, Bruce, and Rhodes are there,” She said, kicking her feet up, “That should be enough to hold down the fort. And to protect the kid. Because I know that’s what you’re really worried about, but from what I’ve seen he’s pretty capable of defending himself when need be.”

Tony looked at her like she was out of her mind, “He just got shot three times.”

“And is making a rapid recovery last time I checked.”

Something behind his eyes burned. Like an unrest. He didn’t know why these people couldn’t see…why they couldn’t see what Peter was. All anyone knew now – or associated him with was that damned costume, the fact that he was enhanced. They didn’t see the bigger picture, not what Tony saw. When one stepped back and could see the entirety of it.

“He’s a kid,” Tony’s voice came out…almost like a crack, “You know? You see that? He’s fifteen-years-old. He might be capable, but he shouldn’t have to. He should get to be young, and he shouldn’t be scared of soldiers coming in and taking him away. That’s no way for any child to be, he’s not a weapon.”

Nat’s throat swallowed.

“I know that,” She answered calmly, always so calm, “You know…I was fifteen once. And I was a weapon. Pretty, innocent faces can get more done. Same applies for doe-eyed fifteen-year-old boys with enhanced abilities. Whether you like it or not, the people who know that Peter has these abilities are going to be watching him…for a long time. They may not know about Spider-Man, but they’ll know he’s something, and he can hide behind a face of innocence. That’s what people like Hydra and Ross want.”

A pause…then she continued, “Makes it easier to be a weapon when people aren’t afraid of you. I saw it a lot, where I came from. Peter fits the bill perfectly. The problem is…he went into it too old, Hydra found him too late, couldn’t mold him in a humane way. And looking at that kid, he would’ve died there. He’s too kind and too moral to do those things.”

“What is this a pep talk?” Tony asked, “A way to tell me Peter would make the perfect assassin? If I’m being honest, you almost sound like you’re disappointed they didn’t succeed.”

Nat shook her head, “I’m trying to make you understand why this happened. I’m trying to make you see something…You recruited this boy. And I’m not saying all of this is your fault, he would have done it anyway, and I’m not comparing you to Hydra, I’m not saying you’re as bad as them. I’ve seen younger go to war for less. But you have to understand…Peter isn’t someone you have to keep protecting. You think that, because you see what Hydra and Ross want – the youthfulness, the need to be protected – but Peter is strong.”

“He’s still a child,” Tony said.

She nodded, “But he escaped that facility, didn’t he?”

Tony’s mouth clicked shut. This was her way of ridding him of his anxiety, but it didn’t disappear. He was still afraid. Tony leaned his head to the side, pressing his knuckled to his cheek. Then she said something that completely took him off guard, almost made him jump from his skin…

“I hope it helps you see Barnes in a different light.”

Tony’s head whipped in her direction. He glanced over her shoulder at Steve who wasn’t paying them much mind, but was speaking to Wanda. His eyes then narrowed on Nat, a flare of anger shooting up his spine. What…what? No…the two couldn’t compare, Bucky Barnes had – Tony’s mother and it was all different. Couldn’t she see he had been trying to forgive that betrayal? They had made amends with the rogues, they were trying to work together, they were trying to fix things. It was a long list of issues though that they were putting together, trying to move through, sift around in and he didn’t know if they had made progress, but that wound had just torn open like it had never closed with her simple words.

“Peter isn’t like Barnes.”

“Isn’t he?” Nat pushed, eyes knowing, “Isn’t he?”

Tony could say nothing. He simply swallowed thickly, and thought. Peter was…Peter was different. Peter was too important to him to be put into that sort of light and Tony just wasn’t willing to do it. Peter fell into a completely different category. Tony shut his eyes, pressed his hand to the side of his face, flattening from fist to palm. He couldn’t muster an actual answer to that. The problem was simple.

He knew Nat was right.

Hydra had hurt Barnes too.

“You know Romanoff…” Tony sighed, “You just – you really know where to poke your fingers in, you know?”

She didn’t get the chance to reply. From the front where Wilson was flying the Quinjet, he glanced over his shoulder and called to them, “We got something.”

Everyone seemed to jump to their feet in unison, moving towards where Sam was staring at the glowing monitors. Tony pressed a hand to the back of the chair, feeling as everyone crowded around to look. Sam used his fingers to zoom in on the glowing blue prints that seemingly appeared out of thin air in the barren expanse of nothingness below them. Tony tilted his head and questioned, “That our place?”

“From what I can tell…yes,” Sam answered simply, “But, there’re no heat signatures. Seems there’s some sort of underground bunker below the facility though…That might be our best bet at finding whatever secret faction Strucker told Peter about. If they’re down there, our scanners probably wouldn’t be able to pick them up.”

Tony’s head went up and down slowly. He glanced amongst the people behind himself, eyes lingering on Steve a few moments as if waiting for an answer. Maybe a sign of approval, like things had been before Germany. They were reconciling, the step to that was moving towards normalcy and this was as close as they could possibly get, he supposed. A mission. A common goal. Stop Hydra and stop what they stood for and what they were doing.

End it. After what they had done to Peter, they had to end it.

He took in a breath, straightening his shoulders just a bit before he let the order leave his lips, wishing he had stayed with Peter still…Despite Nat’s lecture.

“Go down.”

…

Peter knew things in the Compound were…unsteady.

It had come in the form of Mister Stark, leaving with Cap, Wanda, Sam Wilson, and Black Widow. Ordering Colonel Rhodes, Vision, and Bruce to somehow keep watch. Both Peter’s aunt and Miss Potts had stayed in his room with him, had been sitting with him for hours on end waiting and waiting for the world to come crashing down. Which he didn’t know if that was what was going to happen. That didn’t feel particularly right for the situation, but in the grand scheme of things, Peter didn’t know what was anymore. This was all clinical, or it felt like it should be. They had gone to Siberia…to follow the lead Peter had given them. To hopefully save people who might be in the same spot Peter had been in.

But there was Ross.

There was the fact that the thing the Avengers were doing went against their contract.

The Accords, whatever it was. They hadn’t asked permission before they had left and Ross and his men were still surrounding the building, and if he had to guess…there was probably an inkling going around out there that Tony and the others had flown the coop. Which left Peter and the women in silence, and his aunt kept reassuring him that it was going to be okay but he wasn’t so sure. Ross had just walked in last time, so easily without much of a problem. He wondered if it would be the same this time.

Peter could still hardly stand, but if he had to…He could fight. He could muster the strength…He had managed it in the Hydra facility after all. In his concrete prison where he had named each corner a certain color, even though they all matched. Now it was different, in the hospital room with Aunt May and Miss Potts. He wasn’t there anymore, and he didn’t plan to trade one prison for another one in the form of Ross and his men coming in to take him away.

They would probably find out though.

Ross seemed to have an ability to do that.

Peter wasn’t exactly sure how the laws work. How betraying the Accords worked…He hadn’t paid much attention to Civics. He hadn’t enjoyed the class. He wished he had listened more though looking back on it. He wished he had paid attention that day MJ was arguing with Flash about the Accords. When the class had started yelling over each other and the teacher had to get involved so everyone would calm down. Things had been pretty fresh, then. Peter had only just gotten back from Germany a few days prior. Then things had died down a lot. People forgot.

Peter forgot, unfortunately. That was how things repeated.

His fingers fiddled in his lap. Everyone seemed to be in a sort of stand still, waiting and waiting for what they knew was to come. Peter was just anticipating the shoe to drop. For the alarms to blare, for the soldiers to come in. To have to fight back. He knew the others were patrolling, but what if they missed? What if Ross got by again? What if and what if and what if?

Peter tried to decide not to be scared, but he couldn’t shake the fear of another room.

“Nothing is going to happen to you here, Peter,” Miss Potts’ voice filtered through suddenly. Peter’s head snapped up in response and she was staring at him, a strong look in her eyes, a similar look that May often wore, “You don’t have to worry. Even if Ross comes in, even if he has a warrant, we won’t let things get that far.”

But how could they know? If he had a warrant, there was always the risk of…everything bad happening. Peter was going to have to run, he couldn’t survive another cell. Not when he had just been freed of one and the thing that had been right under the flesh of the back of his neck. Aunt May’s fingers brushed through his hair and he shut his eyes. They were both so calm, so not afraid, and he wanted to be like them. Honestly, he thought…if Mister Stark was there, even he wouldn’t be this calm. Colonel Rhodes had been pacing until he had eventually left to help Vision keep an eye on everything. Doctor Banner had checked his stats one last time before scurrying out. But Miss Potts and Aunt May were just…chill?

“How?” Peter asked, “How can you be that sure?”

Pepper blinked, “I’m always sure. This is our Compound, Peter.”

It was unfortunate, what followed.

It started out as shouting. Screaming really, from down the hallway. There was no shooting, not the sound of fists on bone. Peter listened closely for that from his place on the bed as he aunt stiffened beside him. He didn’t know, but he figured the avoidance of force was because the government and the Avengers didn’t need to have a full out war between each other on their hands. The government was better off being their allies, and they knew that very well. But the shouting continued, Peter could make out a few familiar voices, one of which sent shivers down his back and up his neck into the very existence that held him in time and space. Peter breathed out slowly, trying to grasp onto whatever he could within himself to calm his racing heart.

“Miss Potts,” Peter whispered shakily.

She held up a hand, moving towards the door slowly. She reassured, “It’s going to be fine.”

How could she say that? How could she say that when they were coming?

Then the familiar voice filtered in…

“I know for a fact they’re not here, Colonel Rhodes,” Ross’ tone was like venom, “Which violates our Accords. I have a warrant because obviously a judge agreed that what your guys are doing is illegal. So step aside, and let me speak to the boy because I know damn well he sent them somewhere.”

“No can do.”

“Step aside, Rhodes or I’ll have you detained for insubordination.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He knew very well this was to protect him. To protect him from Ross, and it was probably because Mister Stark had asked them to. But…God, he couldn’t let Colonel Rhodes risk his position or his freedom just because Mister Stark was afraid of Peter being taken away. Peter grabbed at the hem of his night shirt, tugging almost fitfully as he leaned forward, wanting to see if he could see the two men around the corner or something. When he saw nothing, he looked at Aunt May who was giving him a warning stare from right beside him.

Then he called out…Aunt May’s hand cupping his mouth almost immediately –

“Ross – ! “

In retrospect, it was stupid. But Colonel Rhodes was only doing this because Mister Stark had asked, wasn’t he? That was the only reason Peter could pinpoint and he couldn’t let it happen like that. His stomach was twisting in knots, Ross was the loose end. He was what had arrived after Strucker and it was frightening and Peter was so tired of fighting, but he pulled Aunt May’s hands away from his face. He straightened his shoulders, as Ross rounded the corner to enter, followed by two more soldiers. Miss Potts stepped towards both of them, effectively putting herself between Peter and May as Colonel Rhodes ran in behind them.

“Move, Miss Potts,” Ross ordered, “This is none of your concern. We’re here to collect the information from the boy, and clearly he’s willing to speak to us.”

Pepper answered sharply, “Only because you’re instilling terror. Peter Parker is fifteen, if you’ve got questions for him, you can schedule a formal interview with the permission of his adult guardian, along with the proper paperwork.”

Ross held up a piece of paper, “This is all the paperwork I need. A nice little warrant, and the boy has to speak with me. Funny how the law works huh? How you’re not always above it?”

Peter couldn’t see her face, but he imagined her eyes narrowing. It was a stand still though. Deadly force couldn’t be used, that was a way to bring tanks to their front door, so Colonel Rhodes stood almost awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. He couldn’t get his suit, couldn’t blast the soldier sky high. So it got in the way of several scenarios. Aunt May was sitting behind him on the edge of the bed, an arm wrapped protectively over his shoulder. Peter glanced at the metal tray on the table beside the bed, a defense if need be. If they had to go. Maybe if Aunt May wasn’t in the room he wouldn’t be shaking so much. Wouldn’t be so afraid. There was movement Peter could hear, hearts beating outside of the door, soldiers no doubt waiting for a signal to rush in.

Pepper breathed, “He’s not coming with you.”

He didn’t understand why they all wanted to protect him. It was something he didn’t deserve. His brain malfunctioned, and he croaked, feeling that May was resisting the urge to put a hand over his mouth again as he questioned, “What do you want to ask me?”

Ross leaned around Pepper and she turned, “You don’t have to talk to him – “

“Yes I do,” Peter interrupted, “He’ll…he’ll take you guys away.”

Her eyes softened on him, and May’s hands tightly on his shoulders. He couldn’t see her face, but she was probably glaring daggers into Ross. Ross moved forward, just a bit towards the bed, giving Pepper what seemed to be a triumphant look. It was a delicate situation. Uninvited, once more…just like last time, Ross sat on the edge of the bed. The foot, and Peter felt squished between him and his aunt. Her thumb rubbed soothing circles on his shoulder and he heard her whisper, “Peter.”

It was a warning, and he didn’t reply, but he tried to send her every good thought he could. That it would be okay. They would be fine. His heart stuttered in his chest, he tried to grab a hold of it. But it was almost like it was running away. Ross was scary, but Peter had seen scarier. Ross was bound by the law, Strucker hadn’t been. The hands before Peter could not wrap around his throat, could not rip out fingernails, could not dunk his head below water…At least not then. And so Peter straightened his shoulders. Being brave…he had once prided himself on that. He hadn’t been brave with the implant in his neck, but he could be brave then, while Mister Stark was gone…fighting for him. Peter could fight back to the best of his ability.

Peter repeated, “What do you want to ask?”

Ross’ mouth set, almost a snarl.

“Where did you send them?”

Well, he should have known that’d be it, and yet Peter still stuttered over his thoughts. Peter’s chin raised just a bit in false confidence. Not even he believed in the show he was trying to put on. But he pushed as hard as he could for it. He wondered why he did that, just to fall again. There were so many holes in his confidence, but he tried to make it exist as genuinely as he could. So he replied in a voice stronger than he felt, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A hand shot out, and grabbed the front of his scrubs, yanking him forward. Peter shut his eyes as he was brought close to Ross’ face in one sharp pull, and his bullet wounds tugged under his skin and he fought the urge to flinch and instead kept his eyes closed, grabbing a hold of Ross’ wrist. Colonel Rhodes shot forward as well as Aunt May reaching over his shoulder to push at Ross. Peter opened his eyes and gave them all a look, a look that told them to back off, and Aunt May did so ever so slowly, her face angered and frightened in the same breath. Peter could see Miss Potts’ and Colonel Rhodes’ faces, hands raised as if to step in if need be. There was still movement in the hall, the soldiers hiding. He wondered if Vision and Banner even knew.

Ross growled, “Listen. You may not understand how this works, being a child. But when the secretary of state asks you something, you answer honestly. I don’t know what Stark has you brainwashed to believe – but he is currently on the edge of becoming a traitor against the United States government.”

Peter laughed bitterly, inches from Ross’ scowl, “You don’t know anything about being brainwashed.”

Mulling, then, “If anyone is a traitor, it’s you. It’s always you, getting in the way. Mister Stark is trying his best, the other Avengers are trying their best to rebuild what you helped instigate – destroying one of the strongest teams in the universe, you pushed for it, for their arrest, for Mister Stark to try to bring them back so they could go to prison. You wanted me locked up, and then your men shot me. But you still think Mister Stark somehow is at fault for all of this? Are you stupid?”

The edges of Ross’ face turned pink. Pink and then red and it contorted into a blind rage. The back of a hand slammed into Peter’s face so forcefully, he hadn’t been expecting it, but his body whipped sideways and he caught himself on the mattress. Aunt May gasped behind him and Peter saw Colonel Rhodes lunge, but Peter was already grabbing the metal tray next to the bed, swinging it outward into the side of Ross’ head. Ross stumbled to the floor and Peter’s brain was whirling as he tried to process the fact that the soldiers in the hallway were rushing in and his heart rose into his throat because no, no, no, they couldn’t get arrested not now – he couldn’t even f*cking run and –

Colonel Rhodes had stood, hands raised, no weapons drawn as the soldiers aimed their own weapons on him. One grabbed Miss Pott’s by the arm and Aunt May was holding onto Peter again, the boy’s face stinging from the strike. The shouting stopped abruptly when a figure practically appeared out of nowhere, phasing through the wall into the room, placing himself between the soldiers and Peter’s bed. Peter held the side of his face, mind processing that it was Vision, floating a few inches off the ground. His face was calm, as it always was when Peter saw him. When he and Wanda had come to look into his mind, when the implant had still been at work. Peter swallowed thickly, silence enveloping them. Ross stood to his feet, not stumbling, but a welp was forming on his forehead from where Peter had hit him with the tray.

Vision’s voice was unfaltering.

“I will say this once,” Vision said, “Leave. These issues can be addressed when the others have returned. We have no further information for you. Either wait in your vehicles outside of the Compound until they come back, or I will remove each and every one of you myself. It is your decision, but I can promise the second option will be far more difficult.”

When no one said anything, he finished, “And not difficult for me.”

The brief, and tense encounter made Peter’s chest stutter because for a moment he thought Ross wasn’t going to back off. That his men would start shooting again. He had been on the other side of those bullets, he had felt them tear through his body, he had looked at the horror on Mister Stark’s face, and he had felt afraid. He had fed off of it. Peter grabbed his aunt’s hand, anticipating, but it never came before Ross stared at Vision – maybe sure of what he was capable of…maybe knowing. Peter had never seen Vision hurt anyone, but the news had told stories of the Avenger, what he could do. An entire segment had been dedicated to him when he had joined.

Ross looked at Peter, the welp continuing to grow on his head.

He expected to be called names. To be called a monster. Stupid. A child. But Ross said nothing, instead he turned and strode out of the room, and maybe Vision really did hold all the power in the universe, or too much to battle out. He had defeated the guy called Ultron, after all. Ross and his men would have probably meant very little. Sokovia had resulted from all of that. But the room emptied out, they left, like the incident had barely took place, despite the fact that Peter was still shaking and he could feel that Aunt May probably wanted Ross dead.

Her hand touched his face where he had been hit and she questioned quickly, “Are you alright?”

“It’s fine,” Peter replied, “It didn’t even hurt.”

His head snapped in Vision’s direction. Peter breathed deeply.

“Thank you.”

…

The facility was a wreck.

It reminded Tony of the cell they had found in Sokovia. But this one appeared empty, almost abandoned, and it was clear people hadn’t been messing around in it for some time. Dust clung to the computer screens, papers were strung out everywhere. Whoever had been there had left in a hurry, leaving behind freezing concrete and a world that had made Peter so miserable for so long. Tony as well. The world that had tortured them, had put them through hell and back. And Tony would be lying if he wasn’t just a little angry about the fact that it seemed to be empty.

Steve slid his glove over a cobweb.

“Whoever they were,” Steve sighed, “They haven’t been here for a long time.”

Sam’s voice questioned, “So what? Strucker was wrong?”

“There’s no telling how old his intel was,” Nat shrugged, “Could’ve been months ago that he last had contact. If someone found this place, or if they decided they were close to getting caught…there’s a good chance they jumped ship before we got here.”

Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little disappointed about not being able to crack some Hydra skulls open for what had happened with Peter. Strucker had been dead upon his arrival, thrown from a car, when he had deserved so much worse. His stomach twisted into knots. It felt off, things still felt…wrong. His eyes scanned the floor from the computers, wires, thick and dark crawling across the floor and through the wall. Tony’s brows tugged downward, and his head tilted. He spoke into his helmet, the glow shining over his eyes.

“Friday…where’re these leading to?”

“Seems to be an electric current, still live, providing electricity to a space below us, boss.”

Tony’s head whipped in Sam’s direction, “You said there could be a bunker right? That our scanners wouldn’t have been able to reach it?”

“If the concrete is thick enough to throw off the sensors, yeah,” Sam answered.

Tony casted a glance towards Steve, and even under his helmet he knew Steve could read him. Wanda’s voice rang out, as she gestured to the corridor a few feet away, shrouded in darkness, something from a horror movie, “I think…there’s something.”

He didn’t miss how Nat’s hand went to her gun on her waist almost immediately, pulling it out and pointing it towards the concrete floor. Tony and Steve moved in unison towards the corridor, the others following behind with echoing feet and off the walls. Tony swore he could hear the whispers of ghosts from the pure silence, but the humming of electricity eliminated what he had thought he knew. Of an empty Hydra facility, because it seemed to be a lie and Tony just kept moving forward and forward and forward, breathing deeply with each and every footstep. He tried to calm the racing in his chest. Tried to take control of it. But it was difficult and he pushed it down, but it wouldn’t stay.

His helmet lit up the darkness, and at the end of the small corridor was a steel door. He didn’t know what he was expecting, when he pushed against it and had to take a step back, glancing at the others. They did the same, and he simply raised his blaster hand, knowing very well they were about to make a less than quiet entrance.

Oh well. He was never subtle.

It blasted it right off its hinges, after three separate blows. It flew down the steps, crashing and falling and Tony looked at Steve who rolled his eyes and it was almost funny. It almost felt how it used to feel before Germany. Before worry had taken over…a bit more than it had then. He knew the sky would open and try to kill them, he had known since New York, but he had hoped it would be different. They began to walk down the steps, and almost immediately their noses were filled with a stench that was just…Tony could have recognized it anywhere.

Death.

Sam made a disgusted sound, “Holy sh*t.”

The open room they entered at the bottom was slightly illuminated by random lights. It wasn’t giant, but there were more computers, these open and holding a brightness over the area. Tony’s eyes scanned the ground, and almost immediately his mind connected the sight before them. It took a few moments to process, as was most mass casualties, he could hardly count the bodies he saw. But when it did finalize, his stomach dropped…and he wanted to vomit. None of them did, but Wanda made a distressed noise from behind him as she too seemingly connected the dots.

In the center of the room, tied to a pillar, were three corpses.

Even more laid on the ground around them.

The difference was, the bodies not attached to the pillar were wearing soldier uniforms, the tag on their arms held the familiar insignia of Hydra agents. Their eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling, mouths foaming. Tony approached quickly, and ordered, “Friday…scan.”

“They’re deceased boss,” Friday answered almost immediately, “Appears to be cyanide poisoning. Pellets placed between their teeth. The other three however…gunshot wounds to the head.”

Tony turned to the three the AI was referring to. The ones attached to the pillar, not wearing uniforms. Steve had already approached, grabbing one by the wrist. When he straightened it out, into the light of the computers, Tony could see a simple tattoo, familiar, one he had seen many times now…

Prōtotupos-2

“Well…” Nat sighed from behind him, “That explains what happened to the first three.”

Wanda said, “This doesn’t make sense, why would they kill themselves?”

“If they knew we were coming…somehow got word Strucker was compromised,” Sam theorized, “There’s a good chance they decided dying would be the better option. And apparently they felt the need to take the kids with them.”

Kids. God, they were kids. Probably enhanced individuals. Faceless to Tony, but they had been like Peter, he was sure. His stomach churned, at a vague memory, somewhere close. The super soldiers, shot in the head. The day he had found out about what had really happened to his mother and father. Tony ground his teeth, and shook his head before he swallowed past the lump in his throat…

That could have been Peter.

Peter, lying in a heap of bodies. There was no one there to fight, because they would have rather died. He had hoped…well, because Strucker had gotten to escape, there would be some satisfaction in getting to make Hydra pay for what they had done to the kid. But there was no big fight. No justice. Just a silent cellar that smelled like death and rotting bodies. Tony had to turn away, looking towards the computers before he slowly approached, metal echoing on the concrete. His mind raced, stomach churning, he hadn’t wanted to vomit like that…from gore, in some time. Except when Peter had been bleeding everywhere.

Peter would have to recover and yet and yet and yet…these guys got to get by…Unpunished.

Tony stared at the computer screen.

“Friday,” Tony said, “Download everything. Even the stuff they tried to wipe, which I’m sure they did. Recover all of their data. Maybe we can bring Ross a peace offering.”

Hydra had made the past three months of his life Hell.

It was time to fill in the blanks.

Chapter 12: Negotiations

Chapter Text

The rub, was this:

Ross was Secretary of the United States and no amount of Tony hating him or despising him was going to change that.

Not until Tony could find another way to get rid of him, another way to fight back – but for now this was their existence. This was their life, and he held the flash drive between his fingers while sitting on the jet, knowing very well it could be the only thing they had to protect themselves after their blunder. Running off to the Hydra facility and knowing what it was going to get them in the end. A scolding – maybe even a brief arrest if they didn’t play their cards right. The Accords had their uses but in a situation like that they were just a liability that Tony had signed willingly so…more than likely the mess was waiting for them.

Peace offerings could only go so far, Tony would be tempted to wrap his hands around Ross’ neck, no matter the circ*mstances. A part of him wasn’t sure he could do it, could hand over the flash drive and be silent and let it go. Those kids in the facility had died, Peter had almost been one of them, Hydra had killed them – then themselves. There were probably much bigger circ*mstances at work that Tony could not imagine and chose not to imagine because that meant worrying himself to death and he was attempting to avoid such a thing.

It came anyway, the worry.

Small, then big, then small again as he tapped his foot, twirled the flash drive, stared out the window ahead of him. The jet was on autopilot, no one was saying anything. There was something disturbing, imagining what those kids went through and their ultimate deaths. There were questions of: could we have been faster? Could we have come sooner? Could we have saved them?

Because really, they hadn’t saved anyone. Not even Peter. Because Peter had saved himself.

Even with that damned implant in his neck.

The local authorities had been contacted of course before the Avengers had made their leave. They weren’t supposed to be there – so they didn’t wait for them to arrive. People were wary of their presence, they almost always brought war and death wherever they went. An insatiable violence that Tony did not desire, and yet it was always, always there. Because of who they were, what they represented, and as Vision had said – their invite to challenge.

Tony was sorry…He was sorry they hadn’t been there in time and he teetered between what to tell Peter when they got back, whether to tell him anything honest at all. But a part of him knew the repercussions of not being truthful, even if he thought it meant he was protecting the kid from something dark and frightening and worth mourning over. It was just hard – and baffling. And Tony wished…well, he wished there was more to the story than everything. Than the flash drive and ultimately confronting Ross.

It was hours later, that they were landing the jet…That a hoard of agents were waiting for them – That Ross was standing at the front of that hoard on the rooftop. Tony stood from where he had kicked his feet up in the façade of nonchalance. In the glory of his own shortcomings and inability to be tact about this. Because his hatred for Ross stemmed into not wanting to give the information over, but knowing the wise aspects of the decision.

The ramp lower slowly, and Tony could feel the team moving behind him. A hand placed itself on his shoulder and it squeezed. Tony didn’t have to look to recognize Steve as the man’s voice uttered softly, “Be calm.”

“Aren’t I always calm?”

“I can think of a few times where things got away from you,” Steve replied, “But they get away from me too…And if I were in your shoes – I’d probably be less than level headed when it comes to handling Ross. But we’re already on thin ice. We need to be…tact.”

Tony breathed, “I’m tact. More than you are sometimes in fact if you’ve forgotten Germany.”

Steve sighed, and Tony almost laughed at his own joke, even if it clearly made Steve uncomfortable to talk about. The others said nothing as light poured in and started walking down the ramp to the soldiers and agents greeting them, Ross’ arms crossed over his chest. None of the weapons were pointed at them, but they were held to the side and Tony recalled the cracking of gunfire before Peter’s body plummeted forward. Before he smelled blood. Before everything and everything, and Peter on the table – trying to save him – three bullets in his already abused body. Snatched going to get dinner for himself and his aunt – and life that should have been protected because of the identity but then it was all ruined…Because Hydra knew things. They always knew things.

He wondered briefly if Peter would ever truly be safe again.

The thought of letting him out into the real world suffocated him. But not just because of the threat Hydra shadowed over him, but as well as Ross – who didn’t move in the slightest as they formed in front of him, mere feet away. Everyone had taut shoulders, straight spines, mouth set in lines and Tony felt nauseous, but held the flash drive in his hand. Tony tilted his head as he took in the golf ball size welp on Ross’ head and he gestured towards it, questioning, “Rough day?”

“Babysitting…it can be so…tedious,” Ross ground his teeth together and Tony felt concern well up as he continued, “The boy is certainly recovering at record speed. Of course, I guess we established he’s no normal boy.”

Tony set his jaw, “What did you do?”

“Hardly anything,” Ross shrugged, “Now to you…I can’t be so sure. Anything to say before I arrest every single one of you idiots and have you shipped off to the Raft for violating the terms of the Sokovia Accords? Or should I just skip to the Miranda rights?”

Tony faltered, knowing full and well the distraction was going to worry Steve, probably piss him off a little, but there was a burning in his spine, “Hardly anything? Ross, I swear to God, if you touched that kid, I’ll – ”

“Tony,” Nat warned.

A breath. Flash drive. Right.

So, Tony requested bluntly, clearing his throat, channeling every aspect of business his father had ever shoved down his existence, “We need to speak privately.”

“Privately,” Ross chuckled darkly, “This isn’t a negotiation, Stark. It’s an arrest.”

Tony blinked, “Trust me, you’ll wanna see this…you know, before the entire country finds out about it.”

Silence. Distrust. Brief, and then Ross looked stoic again, the information buried deep inside as he straightened his chin up and looked at Tony like he was a clog in the artery of life. Tony breathed, mouth upturning slightly in a fake confidence that was almost overridden by sudden anger – because what had Ross done? Clearly the kid was still alive, there was no way Vision, May, Bruce, or anyone else would allow something bad to happen to him. Now was the time for negotiations, despite Ross claiming it wasn’t.

Now was the time to not be himself.

Ross stepped forward, face unreadable for just a moment before he simply held out a hand and gestured for Tony to move to the side. The soldiers and agents eyed him warily and Tony moved in the direction he was told, away from prying eyes and listening ears. As if they were surrounded by children. Tony put his hands in his pockets, flash drive still held tightly. He glanced briefly at the welp on Ross’ head before turning to overlook the expanse of trees and green around them, far from the Compound in the distance, the breeze almost silencing them.

Negotiations.

“You have twenty seconds to open your mouth and tell me why I shouldn’t carry your asses to the Raft.”

Tony hummed, “Good, because I only need ten.”

He turned, facing Ross pully before plucking his hand from his pocket. He held up the flash drive in front of Ross’ face, tilting his head slightly. He asked the secretary in a voice that could be compared to a car salesman to bury the anger, the visions of the dead teenagers, the thought of what could have been Peter tied up and shot dead – then surrounded by Hydra agents that had been too cowardly to face the repercussions of their actions.

The repercussions of torturing and murdering children, none. Just a f*cking poisonous tablet between the teeth and it made Tony hope Hell was a place, it made him hope they would burn in it. Ross glanced at the flash drive, and he appeared unimpressed, but Tony wasn’t expecting much more than that. He just tilted his head and went on, explaining further, “This is all of the information we collected from the facility we found in Siberia. An entire database that those Hydra agents tried to wipe included underground plans of attack on American soil. We figured you and your guys would be rather interested in what kind of stuff is on here.”

Ross’ eyes narrowed, and he replied, “That’s great to know. So we’ll just take the drive and the rest of you can enjoy your comfy prison cells.

Tony tsked, wagging a finger briefly. Ross looked distrustful, and Tony couldn’t blame him. He had a habit of backstabbing public officials, it was just something he was good at on a regular basis. Maybe not backstabbing, but overstepping, reaching over their heads quickly and efficiently. He explained, “You’ll find that’s not the wisest decision. You see, I’ve already backed the information into my AI – you know Friday…And she has been given very clear instructions that in the case of our arrest, she’s to publish the information to every news outlet she can find. In doing so, the country will be made aware of their government’s shortcomings when concerning the Hydra threat, including several tips of some…odd facility located on a Virginia mountain…”

Tony paused, anger blooming a bit.

“Sound familiar? You assholes we tipped off about that facility months ago, and what happened? That kid got dragged there, and was tortured for weeks because you all ignored it. I’m sure the country would love to know how Peter and several other children were treated at the hands of these sad*sts and you people had the information and the means to put a stop to it.”

Ross’ face didn’t blanch per se, but if Tony had to guess, it wanted to. Because he almost seemed paler, greyer, more…side stepped. As if he had just fallen and tripped on his own feet. His throat bobbed up and down with a simple swallow, and he moved his head a bit to the side. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Tony. It was as if he could see the gears shifting in the secretary’s head, under his skull and behind his pupils.

The threat was Hydra…Ross was just some annoying pest that had to be silenced.

Hydra had killed themselves – for now – the flash drive could be used to shut down remaining cells and Ross could leave them alone if he was smart enough to take the proposition. Tony explained further, making sure to have it be as blunt as he possibly could:

“Leave the kid alone. Leave all of us alone, but especially him. And those files won’t see the light of day. You can shut down the cells that are on this file and you can look like the hero. But leave Peter alone.”

It was hard to imagine what would happen if Ross said no. If he didn’t take the deal, if they were taken to the Raft, if Peter was turned into some kind of experiment. Because he couldn’t have that, he didn’t think he could take the imagery of Peter being touched ever again. He didn’t know how he was going to help the kid fully recover, but it would have to come eventually. And in that time…The kid would need to heal. Ross couldn’t be around hovering, because Peter would never get better.

Tony held his breath.

Stutter and silence – and he wished he was brave enough to push Ross off the roof like a maniac.

It twisted inside, like looking at his own father waiting for his life to be ruined – for his dad to threaten him, to be sent away for months at a time, boarding school after boarding school. But then Ross’ head lifted up and down, his jaw set, there was no battle on the rooftop, just as there had been no battle in that Hydra cellar. It was all smart, survival of the most intelligent, who could be underhanded or overhanded. Who could be clever.

And Tony won.

“Fine Stark,” Ross growled, “Just stay out of my way.”

Tony could have snarled.

“No problem.”

…

Peter saw the jet land.

There was a flutter of joy when he saw them all return, when he saw that Ross and his men didn’t immediately rush to arrest them, that they got to walk out. Peter watched the exchange, between Tony and Ross, through the window further up, on a higher level than the roof with the landing pad. His fingers pressed to the cool window, snow threatening them once more. He listened to his heart race, before the people filed away and disappeared like they hadn’t been there in the first place.

And then the world wasn’t so scary.

Ross’ presence seemed to filter out of the building.

Aunt May squeezed him, her eyes filling with relieved tears in a way he could not process. He knew she had been scared, but maybe he hadn’t realized how frightened. He felt selfish briefly, having worried about himself, worried about Ross, worried about everything and everyone, and he wished he had worried about her more, when her lips pressed to his temple. When the tear slipped through and she looked away to avert the attention from her. She held his jaw, and blinked before turning and moving to the door – telling him to sit and wait on the bed.

So he did.

Maybe his initial instinct was to run to Mister Stark, to ask what had happened, to know and know. To find out if they were finally safe. Safe from Hydra, from Ross – the threats had tied themselves up. The loose pieces. They had gotten rid of the implant, the bullet wounds were healing, the people who were out to get them – God it was all a whole lot. Smothering.

But it felt like for the first time his senses had silenced.

He was left calm.

Jittery was different from anxiety. But it was the first time in a while since his limbs hadn’t felt like cinderblocks. His heart didn’t feel so melancholy and full of regret and sadness. There was more to it than that. There was no defeating Ross, the way there had been defeating the implant. Defeating Strucker, and the car crashing and in retrospect Peter didn’t know where their win had come, or if it had. He just had this feeling, a feeling that told him he could finally breathe. Like his senses had been dialed so long, waiting for the threat to pass and it had finally done so…Silently, without him having really noticed.

His face hurt, but the mark had disappeared. Vision had saved them from being arrested. All of them. The world had shifted into faulty lighting but things had cleared in the end. And Peter sat, waiting and waiting and waiting – hoping Mister Stark would come, that things would be okay – that he would be okay and in the end –

As perplexing as all of it was, Peter had accepted this attachment as truth. This was the source of his comfort, and Mister Stark had been there through all of that bullsh*t, in the same way his aunt had been and that was where it was rooted. Sometimes he thought of Uncle Ben, thought of if he’d be hurt – but like Aunt May had told him…Uncle Ben was not a jealous man. And Peter was not doomed.

So that festering feeling went out – like a flame it disappeared over a dark horizon. Peter didn’t miss it, not in the slightest. He missed Uncle Ben, but that was a flame all on its own, one that would burn eternally. He had accepted that fate. Being doomed to never have someone to look up to again – no, that wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t true.

He cared about Mister Stark, he loved him the same way he had loved Uncle Ben.

Peter’s hand shook at the thought, the acceptance of that. Knowing and wishing it hadn’t taken Hydra and Ross threatening them for him to realize it was okay, despite Aunt May’s reassurances. Now it was the truth. Peter had a tendency to worry over those things people had told him were okay over and over again, and he didn’t know why they clung on, but they did. When the door to his room finally opened, and he had partially expected to see May returning – he was surprised to see Mister Stark there…Looking exhausted…beaten down.

But alive and not arrested – which was a good sign.

There was no hesitance. Only the plunge.

Peter jumped from the bed, surging forward and wrapping his arms around Mister Stark. The action almost took Peter’s breath away, causing him pain and Mister Stark let out a grunt of surprise before arms wrapped around him but in a more protective way – one that worried and Mister Stark spoke hurriedly, “Woah, woah, woah, kid…C’mon, sit back down – your body is – “

“It’s okay,” Peter whispered, “Just…you know, you said we’re not there yet…”

There was silence. Mister Stark was stiff. He didn’t hug a whole lot, Peter knew this, and maybe it was wrong to surprise him like that, but he just needed a minute to absorb that feeling. He had forgotten, and things had been rough around the edges. There hadn’t really been an offered moment to process a lot of what had transpired the past few weeks of recovery – and even before that – before the facility and Toomes and those things.

Shouting on the rooftop.

The first time they had really hugged – Peter thought was right after he had come back and he had been panicking and they had drugged him. It felt so long ago now. Things were different and smothering but better. Better in a good way…a calmer way.

Peter whispered, “Is he gone?”

Mister Stark’s hand moved to the back of his neck and squeezed, “He’s gone.”

Because he knew. He knew that fear that had become second nature to Peter. Wanting Strucker gone, wanting Ross gone, wanting the soldiers to stop hovering so the back of his neck would silence. Not the implant, but his senses and all that came along with that sort of pain. Peter squirmed a bit, and Mister Stark stepped forward, almost like a dance as he gently pushed Peter to sit on the edge of the bed. Peter looked at him, chewing the inside of his mouth.

“Saw the welp you gave Ross. I’d say good job, but I’m guessing he did something to earn it in the first place, which makes me hesitant to let him just walk out of here without a swift kick in the ass.”

Peter chuckled, but it sounded more like a cough, “Smacked me. Quick…it didn’t hurt. Vision scared them off…Everyone was here – they were…you know they were protecting me…Risking so much, just for me.”

His face must have looked confused, because Mister Stark sounded like he was lecturing a child…

“You’re worth it, kid.”

His chest swelled, then tightened. Peter felt his eyes water, and Mister Stark blurred in the cascade of it. Right. He didn’t know why he felt nauseated by such a sentiment, it should have felt nice to know people loved and cared for him, but it reminded him too much of the rooftop. Of the guilt – knowing and knowing what his death could bring and that he meant something, and going home to Aunt May, worrying her. She worried so much, and had worried so much ever since Uncle Ben. Peter was tired of doing that to people he loved.

He was sorry, so sorry.

Peter blinked, the tear dropping and Mister Stark looked worried. Slowly, he sat down beside Peter – looked away at the opposite wall before taking a deep breath. Peter felt embarrassment climb into his cheeks, because Mister Stark was clearly uncomfortable, but was forcing himself to stay. Peter watched his face, gauging the reaction before Mister Stark finally turned to him with the whip of his head.

Peter ground the words out, trying to stiffen his lip, trying to be brave, “I’m okay.”

There was the softening, and Mister Stark sighed, scratching the side of his face, “You know what my dad would say when I got upset?”

Peter shook his head, and Mister Stark continued, “He’d tell me to suck it up…Life isn’t fair, just suck it up. But you know, you f*cking cry if you want to, kid. For hours if that’s what you need.”

He paused, then, “Because I can’t stand looking at you and seeing my face, trying to…stiffen my lip, trying to shut up. You’re not a soldier.”

“But…” Peter felt the argument rise, quietly, “Isn’t it better to just shut up…sometimes? In that place, if you screamed, if you cried, it got worse.”

A hand rose, hesitantly, as if looking into Peter’s eyes to gauge a reaction. It settled, on the space between his shoulder and neck. Squeezed, then released a few times, over and over again and Peter knew he was there…with him. Tony finally said, “I thought that at one time, after Afghanistan. You shut up, you take it, you move on. But that doesn’t apply outside of a cave in Afghanistan or a bunker on a Virginia mountain. It just doesn’t. It’s a survival tactic, you’re not trying to survive anymore. Strucker is dead, Ross is gone. I gave him the information from Siberia as an incentive to leave us the f*ck alone. Now is the best time to cry.”

Peter’s eyes went wide for a moment, and he asked, “Siberia…what did you find?”

He saw the man swallow, then…

“Documents. The agents…they were dead. Suicides…and the other people, the ones like you they…well, Hydra made sure no one was ever going to get answers out of anyone.”

His stomach dropped, plummeted really like being dropped off a skyscraper. That familiar knot formed in his throat, and his mouth turned downward, eyes squinting as they poured. He hiccupped and bit down on his lip. The hand on his neck tightened, and pulled him forward and Mister Stark gave one simple order:

“C’mere.”

Peter dug his fingers into the back of Mister Stark’s shirt. He pulled and placed his chin on the man’s shoulder, body shaking and trembling. The tears came quickly, ruthlessly, and yet it felt like a caress somehow. Like a relief, the opening of gates that had long been locked over ninety-two days ago.

A hand cupped the back of his head and Mister Stark said, “Nothing is expected from you. Just getting better.”

The dead people – had left a new weight. Peter inhaled it, and grabbed at it, tried to hold it between his fingers in a way he could hardly comprehend and he nodded his head slowly up and down, impeded by where his chin was placed. It was hard to get the words out, through his erratic breathing, but he pushed, and they came with that insistence.

“I want to get better.”

A shaky inhale.

“I…I want things to get better.”

Chapter 13: The Epilogue After the Snow Melts

Chapter Text

Peter didn’t remember getting the tattoo in the first place, so he couldn’t recall what it had felt like. So when the doctor told him removing the tattoo would burn – probably a lot like getting it – he didn’t know what to expect. He just shut his eyes and braced for impact, and then…the impact never came.

It didn’t hurt all that much, not compared to what he had been enduring for months.

Seven sessions, seven treatments, and then it had faded so much Peter could barely see it. It was on the eighth session, that day – a Wednesday – that it disappeared completely from sight. Like it had never been there, like he had never been tagged as something less than human in the flesh. Sometimes when he looked he expected it to still be lingering, but it never was. It never did. It scabbed a little, and then it was gone. Most of him was happy about it – some of him was a bit lost because so long had been spent in a never ending loop of being less than human – of being less than himself.

It started with the tattoo, and climbed into seeing his friends again, eventually peaking on a four hour school day, and ending with an eight hour school day. Not a lot of kids questioned his absence, Flash made jokes of course, but none that cut too deeply, even though a part of Peter wanted to tell Flash things he could never imagine. But he wasn’t stupid – or cruel. Doing that would almost certainly be some sort of death sentence. Either socially or mentally or something along those lines that Peter didn’t know how to categorize.

Peter spent several more weeks at the Compound, before the apartment became home again. Before he returned to his old room, and started recovering in a way that was comprehendible, learning ways to fight down panic, while also letting himself feel the repercussions of his captivity. A few things fell into line with that – he inhaled it. For a minute.

“You want me to shut your door, Peter?”

Aunt May’s gentle voice resounded off the walls of his bedroom, that first night home, the first night in a tiny room. Not like the one in the Compound that gave him more space to breathe and to process and to think clearly. Peter bit down on the inside of his mouth and he pretended not to choke on his own shortcomings and his inability to properly place what was prison and what was not.

What walls were cement and which were not.

“No just…leave it open, please.”

Ned looked out for him, in ways indescribable, and Peter wished he could be a good friend like that – but he wasn’t sure how to do it properly. The third day back at school they had spent two hours in the bathroom while Peter vomited because something had smelled familiar – in a bad way. Like a nose memory he could not place and then he remembered the walls of the cell – and being dunked underwater and he guessed it was that. Something familiar had triggered it and Peter had thrown up for a while. Ned had listened, despite his own gagging because retching sounds made Ned sick as well.

“So, Happy is coming to get you today?”

Peter nodded, stepping out of the way so someone wouldn’t brush past him in the havoc outside the school at the end of the day. Students being picked up by their parents or loading into the school buses. Peter adjusted his backpack and he tilted his head sideways, “Yeah um…there’s something I’ve been asking Mister Stark to help me with…And today is the day.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Ned asked.

Peter considered it – wondered if this was the beginning of a brief breakdown, but it didn’t feel too much like one. His head shook back and forth in response and he tried to swallow the anxious butterflies in his stomach, to pretend being frightened of the day’s events wasn’t going to happen and that all would be well with just a little patience, a little growth, some figuring things out. That was what he had to do, after months of not being able to trust many people – not even their own government because of Ross – this had to be trust in himself and Mister Stark that it was going to be okay. Peter was the one who had requested this to happen in the first place.

It was his own idea of healing.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

A horn honked behind him and Peter whirled, looking at the bottom of the steps. Having pulled to the curb was a familiar dark sleek vehicle and Peter turned, waving Ned goodbye whilst his friend shouted after him, something about milkshakes after school the next day to go over everything that was about to happen. Peter hoped extra hard that it went well then – if he was going to have to tell Ned about it at the end. His mind felt vaguely clouded behind that worry, but he didn’t let it step too close to himself. He instead pushed at it and grabbed the handle, sliding into the backseat before pushing his bag to his feet.

There was a teetering moment of silence, while they pulled from the curb and Happy mumbled something about ‘slow ass soccer moms’. Happy hated the end of the day traffic at Midtown High, but he didn’t complain so much anymore. Maybe he had missed it – like parts of Peter had missed actually sitting in a desk and learning something throughout the day instead of staring mindlessly at walls and being hooked to machines and monitors. Peter found he didn’t talk as much anymore, but slowly he was getting the hang of his old self. It was just taking time – time – and more time. His thumb brushed where the tattoo used to be, removed from him, gone.

“School go okay, kid?”

“As okay as school can be,” Peter shrugged, his mouth upturning a bit, “My science teacher caught a piece of paper on fire and almost set off the sprinkler system. Luckily, he threw it all in the trashcan, and pushed it out the window.”

Happy let out a sigh, but he sounded relatively amused when he commented, “You science kids are weird, I’m just saying, the most extreme thing my teacher ever did was smoke during his lunch break – and that was the eighties, everyone did that.”

“Sure it wasn’t the fifties?”

Happy glared at him through the rearview mirror and Peter let out a snort. A few more moments of silence – comfortable surprisingly – filled the car. Peter looked out the window at the traffic, until eventually it began to dissipate into the emptier roads leading upstate. The radio hummed, like a voice underneath them, calming in a way because Peter’s heart was still fluttering a bit with anxiety every few seconds. Nothing extreme, but enough to notice. Peter licked his lips and rested his head on the window before hearing Happy question, after clearing his voice.

“So Tony wanted me to ask one last time…” Happy started, “You sure this is something you want? Because – if you want to wait longer, you can, or if you change your mind, you can. No one is going to be upset with you or anything like that.”

Peter breathed, his mouth turning upward a bit in the corner. He felt optimism, for the first time in a while. Ever since waking up that morning, it hadn’t been dread, it had been a rather light feeling. Something to cling onto and float away with. Peter shook his head, not removing it from where he was leaning on the window, “I’m gonna be okay.”

Happy said nothing in return, but his head bobbed up and down in response. Peter found that it helped to be patient with the adults in his life because they often were just…concerned. They wanted to make sure he was alright, and he understood all of that. The remainder of the trip was like that – with Peter thinking of each of them. Aunt May pushing his hair back, sitting in his room until he would go to sleep some nights when he felt particularly frustrated with himself, Happy picking him up – trips to the Compound, the Avengers…actually befriending them, even the rogues who were surviving in this odd governmental rift…

And Mister Stark. Mister Stark smiling at him, growing with him. And life transforming, and their friendship blooming into something else. Peter supposed he dozed off at one point, thinking of those things and the life that was slowly transforming into something opposite of what he had ever thought. Especially after his ninety-two days in captivity. After the implant, and not being able to think on his own and a deep fear that had gripped him so firmly at one time he had believed he would never escape – and he was. He was escaping.

They pulled to the front of the building, swallowed – and Peter felt the fluttering grow more intense, but he climbed out nonetheless, followed by Happy in stride, as always. Taking his assignments very seriously, and Peter was quite the assignment to follow around. Happy gestured around the building and explained, “To the east. The back garden, that’s where he said he’d be.”

Peter had explored the Compound enough in the past few months to know where that was. His thumb continued to caress where the tattoo had been – a bit of a tick that had yet to pass. Peter inhaled deeply, calmly, not letting it get erratic. Ross was gone from their lives, so was Hydra, so this was healing. It was being free of what had transpired – it was trying to move on and sometimes he couldn’t. Like closing his bedroom door or letting the bath water get too deep. Swimming pools, f*ck no. Dunking his head was a no.

The smell of pennies bothered him too.

They rounded the corner, into one of the gates, framed in flowers that Peter didn’t know the names of. The hinges creaked, and Peter made his way down the cobblestone, a small little area with seating, benches, birds chirping. More aesthetically pleasing than anything – for visitors at the Compound. But it had become a second home for him in a way, and this was one of his favorite places. He saw Mister Stark’s back, listening to Happy’s following footsteps. The man was turned away, and beside him was a little wooden hutch, decorated nicely and roomy. Peter’s heart went to his throat, and finally Mister Stark turned around, eyebrow raised in his usual greeting. Peter’s eyes lowered to what was in his hands, and sure enough…Squirming…was a small rabbit.

White.

Peter inhaled, and he stopped walking. He knew what was waiting for him, and he had told Happy it was okay. But this was scary in a way he wasn’t sure how to describe. Peter bit his lower lip, and Happy was behind him, close enough Peter could sense his presence. Mister Stark said nothing at first, just held the small creature – not quite fully grown. An adolescent, maybe, a lot like Peter. Mister Stark continued to hold it, and finally he was the first to break the quiet between them while Peter’s mind worked through what was happening.

“You okay, kid?”

Peter’s head nodded, up and down, up and down. Yes he was okay, he had to be. This was getting better, and he couldn’t have a little animal hold such an awful connotation for so long. Peter stepped forward, one foot at a time until he was close enough to get a better look at the tiny pet. Peter’s eyes watered, and he swallowed, not able to find words. So instead, Mister Stark took a deep breath and explained, “Well, she arrived this morning. Practically flew in on a carriage, the spoiled little thing. She came with a name, course I’m sure you could change it if you wanted – but she’s all yours. May says you can come after school, do all the little chore type things, and when you’re not here we’ll have someone take care of it…We didn’t figure she’d like to be locked in an apartment too much.”

A shaky exhale, and Peter questioned…

“What’s her name?”

“Funnily enough? Billy. Supposedly she belonged to a three-year-old who named her after his older brother and – you know whatever, if you don’t like it, we’ll change it.”

Peter let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he reached out carefully. Mister Stark got the hint and started to hand the rabbit over gently to the boy. She squirmed a little in his hold, but ultimately relaxed and he was glad she was a rabbit that was used to being handled. His index finger slid over the back of her head and Peter looked at Mister Stark before he finally replied softly, “It’s okay. I like Billy.”

Mister Stark looked like he didn’t like the name, but didn’t argue and let Peter have it. Peter glanced behind himself to find Happy was gone and Mister Stark gestured to a nearby bench and both of them sat, Peter placing the creature in his lap. She was soft, and he tried to replace those bad memories with this one. Being on the bench, the flowers, and Billy, with Mister Stark and not a concrete room. Peter pushed it down, staring at the rabbit and Mister Stark sat closer than normal. Peter jumped a little when a hand squeezed the back of his neck to grab his attention and Mister Stark questioned.

“You good?”

“You asked that,” Peter glanced over, scratching Billy under her chin, “I’m okay. I wanted the rabbit, you know? And I like her…I’ll get used to having her, and I’ll – you know, I’ll love her.”

Tony made a face of understanding. Knowing, but still worrying. He looked a lot like Aunt May when he did that. Peter’s mouth upturned just in the slightest, a bit of amusem*nt there as he commented, “You’re being a mom.”

“I know, it’s nauseating,” Tony huffed, releasing the nape of his neck, “While I’m at it, you need a haircut. I know a guy, he’s really good, can get those wild curls tame in no time.”

Peter frowned, “What if I’m working on a mullet or something?”

Tony shook his head, “Don’t joke. Look, this is your rabbit child, you’re a father now. I expect you to look the part, and the only fathers with mullets are the ones who sit on their porches with beers and shot guns and I’m just not willing to allow it.”

Peter laughed. Genuinely, a belly laugh, holding Billy close to his chest in a deep hug. The rabbit didn’t squirm. Mister Stark must have made sure to get the calmest one – of course if her former owner was a three-year-old, it would make sense that she wouldn’t mind a bit of squished handling. Tony crossed his legs, bumping his shoulder to Peter’s arm as he questioned further, “So I gotta know…did the therapist suggest this, or what?”

“No, I…” Peter paused, thinking, “I…wanted her. Just to love and stuff.”

“To love and stuff,” Tony echoed…and Peter could feel his eyes on him, where Peter was leaning a bit further up on the bench. He sighed, looking away, “You’re somethin’ else…But, if this is what you want, you’ve got it – anything, you know that kid.”

Peter grinned, glancing back, “Yeah, Aunt May says you gotta stop offering anything, cause it makes her feel like I’m going to become one of those teenagers that demands a 100,000 dollar car and a super crazy sixteenth birthday party.”

“You want that? Why stop at 100,000 – “

Peter cut him off with a sharp look, eyes cutting jokingly. His thumb found the place on his skin, where the mark had once been, and he noticed Mister Stark’s focus briefly shift towards it. He leaned forward, and Peter was afraid he’d try to touch it, but he didn’t. Instead he just put his elbows on his knees and he asked in a quiet voice, “The scab heal up yet?”

“Yeah, only a day after.”

Mister Stark nodded, “Good…you know, that’s just another step. One of many but – hey, we’ve got a rabbit named Billy and fifteen-year-old who no longer has tattoos. All good signs.”

Peter smiled a little, looking at Billy, then where the mark had been. Peter supposed he wondered a lot of things about the two of them – him and Mister Stark. Some things he would never ask, because the past several months of his life had been a certain kind of Hell that could not be formulated into a comprehendible string of thoughts. They were just – there and they had hurt and Peter was getting better, slowly but surely. Good signs, like the man had said. Peter looked at Mister Stark with a trusting expression, because Peter wanted him to know how much he did in fact trust him.

“Thank you.”

Mister Stark always looked so awkward when he was thanked, but he shrugged, “It’s just a rabbit, well and the crate thing. You know, they have literal mansions – “

“Not for the rabbit,” Peter interrupted, “For…for doing what you’ve been doing. For saving me and – investing time and energy into me…I know you don’t have to, you’re busy and I’m not really this primary thing in your life so just…thank you.”

Mister Stark looked slightly startled, as if taken aback. To Peter’s surprise, he flicked him behind the ear, none too softly. Peter let out a sound of shock, and then irritation, frowning and rubbing the spot that had been assaulted. Mister Stark ordered, “Don’t say that. Not a primary thing…Just…don’t say that.”

Peter supposed his obliviousness should have had him confused but – but he really wasn’t. He heard the voice that Mister Stark couldn’t let reach the surface there in the open with Billy watching and listening – so Peter’s mind filled it in like a gentle arrival of the boats on the shore.

“Don’t ignore this…”

To his surprise, Mister Stark said it out loud:

“I care.”

Peter smiled, toothily. It screamed so much more, and Peter forced it into existence, because sometimes he realized maybe they didn’t have long to say everything.

“I love you too, sir.”