Chapter Text
~~Believer – Imagine Dragons~~
Clad entirely in black, a mysterious figure perched atop the rooftop of Stark Tower. He wore a dark, tactical version of the Spider-Man suit. Sheathed at his waist were several combat knives alongside two 9mm Glock 19 pistols, while a 223 Remington Beryl rifle rested securely across his back. His mission was not to eliminate Stark, not yet; he was sent to kill the Winter Soldier for turning his back on Hydra and refusing to serve as their asset. Now, Hydra’s newest pride was tasked with executing him in the most painful, grueling way imaginable, forcing the man to endure hours of agony before death finally granted relief.
Yet Peter had no intention of killing anyone. He refused to lower himself to the level of a common soldier. Hydra believed they had broken the boy, reducing him to a mindless, obedient tool, but they were dead wrong. Parker answered only to himself. If he wanted to submit, he would have, but he chose to fight back from within. Operating in secret, he extracted intelligence from Hydra’s operatives to help the Avengers dismantle the organization once and for all.
Moving as silently as a ghost, he slipped into the tower through the ventilation shafts, navigating toward the main lounge where the Avengers routinely gathered at this hour. Positioned directly above the spacious room, he listened to the muffled chatter of the heroes below. He would make his entrance now, executing his plan step by step.
A sharp metallic thud echoed across the dark hardwood floor as Peter dropped down into the room. The heroes whipped their heads toward the noise, frozen in disbelief. Standing before them in the heart of their home was Peter, dressed in a Hydra tactical uniform with a rifle strapped to his back, weapons lining his belt, and a matte-black mask covering his face. He stood rigidly at attention. For a fleeting second, Stark doubted him. Had the boy come here on a mission? Was he sent to kill one of them? A thought like that would have been unthinkable before, but seeing the teenager armed to the teeth made it hard to remain entirely certain of his innocence.
Recognizing their shock and the subtle shifts as they reached for their weapons, Peter unbuckled his gear, let the firearms clatter to the floor, and pulled off his mask. He fixed them with a cold, unreadable glare. His eyes were like ice, stripped of every visible emotion. It was better this way. Let them believe he was a cold-blooded soldier for a little longer; let them fear him until the first phase of his plan was complete.
In a twisted way, Peter felt a sense of gratitude toward Hydra for his training. They had desensitized him to pain and suffering. After so long, he had ceased to fear agony, treating it instead like an old companion—a constant reminder that he was still alive and capable of retribution. His revenge would be absolute, coming soon for everyone who had ever betrayed him.
Parker had clung to the belief that Hydra couldn't change him, that he remained the same boy who had entered the orphanage. He had been mistaken. The organization had shattered him, leaving him convinced that his only true value lay in being a weapon. Yet Hydra was equally foolish to believe in his loyalty. He felt no allegiance to them. He listened only to Stark. He would remain devoted to Tony, because Tony had been his master from the very beginning.
"Before anyone says a word, you need to know I'm not here to hurt you," Peter said quietly, raising his hands to demonstrate his lack of threat.
Stark believed him. Step by step, he closed the distance between them and pulled the boy into a tight embrace, a real, genuine hug born from weeks of agonizing longing. Peter froze, caught off guard by the gesture from the great Tony Stark. Then, giving in, he wrapped his arms around the older man, burying his face in his chest and allowing himself a brief moment of vulnerability.
"Peter, are you okay? Tell me where they are, what they did to you," Stark rambled, his voice thick with concern. "You have no idea how hard we tried to find you. How did you get away? Don't be scared, kid; we're never letting them take you back." Peter felt an irrational urge to punch him. God, he was acting just like May, suffocating him with frantic, useless questions.
Of course he was fine. He wasn't weak. He wasn't a fragile child who flinched at an unwanted touch because it brought back memories of pain. In truth, Peter loathed being hugged or touched in any way, but revealing that weakness was dangerous; someone could easily use it against him. Gently disengaging from Stark's grip, he shifted his gaze toward the Winter Soldier, his eyes hardening back into stone.
"Announce to the media today that Bucky Barnes was brutally tortured and murdered by Hydra," he muttered with that unexpected cold tone of his voice. He refused to take a life. He had chosen to be a hero, and heroes didn't murder. What kind of hero took a life or tried to eradicate a criminal permanently? Everyone deserved to live. Death was a blessing, a merciful end to suffering that freed a person from the burdens of existence.
"W-what? Why would we do that?" the heroes asked, bewildered by the request. Why lie to the world about Bucky's death and torture?
"Hydra wants Mr. Barnes dead for defying them. As their top operative, I was deployed to finish the job," Peter explained with a quiet sigh. "I refuse to carry it out. I've taken enough lives already. Just release the statement and don't ask any more questions."
Barnes studied the boy in silence before stepping forward. Reaching out, he gently cupped Peter's hollow cheeks, lifting his head so their eyes could meet. Peter maintained his stoic composure, returning the veteran soldier's gaze without flinching.
"How the hell are you defying them?" Bucky asked, his voice laced with shock. "How are you resisting absolute obedience? They view you as an asset. They must have wiped your mind. How do you still remember?" His trembling voice caught Peter's attention.
"I already have a master, and a weapon serves only one master," Peter replied with a bitter smile, brushing Barnes' hand away. "I remember because I choose to remember. I don't obey them like you did because I refuse to give in. They're naive fools who actually believe my mind is wiped and my actions are under their control" he said emotionlessly, and to his mind came one thought about Barnes. That he also wasn't so helpless in Hydra. He fought for over 20 years with those pricks. That's why Peter will continue his plan of combat. "I have to go." He pulled his mask back on and began resecuring his weapons.
"Why won't you just tell us where they're keeping you?" Stark interrupted, his voice desperate. Peter paused and turned toward the billionaire, a faint smirk tugging at his lips under the fabric. He decided to leave a clue, testing whether the self-proclaimed smartest man in America could put the pieces together.
"Mr. Stark, I only ever wanted to be like you," Peter said softly. "I keep trying to scale the grey walls, but the rushing wind and the splash of water keep pulling me down from the summit."
With those final words, he vanished into the shadows, leaving Stark consumed by frustration and unanswered questions. Where the hell is the base? Why couldn't the kid just give us an address?
***
Peter retreated back toward his prison, returning to the fortress where he had been tortured, situated right where the roaring waters crashed against the shore and travelers set sail.
Meanwhile, a single question burned in Bucky's mind: How on earth did he keep his memories and avoid turning into Hydra's weapon? The organization had complete control over anyone they claimed. How was a teenage kid managing to outsmart them at their own game? The answer was simple. Before every mind wipe, Peter had carved three sentences into the concrete wall of his cell, recording the most important words ever spoken to him by the three most vital people in his life:
"Good job, kid."
"With great power comes great responsibility."
"It's just you and me."
The first had been spoken by Tony Stark during their very first meeting. Peter would never forget that day. He loved Stark and wanted to remember him just as he remembered his aunt and uncle, because Tony had shown him the path he had always wanted to walk and made his dream possible.
Every time Hydra cleared his mind and threw him back into his cell, his eyes would fall upon those crimson words scraped into the wall. Instantly, the memories would flood back. The phrases carried immense emotional weight, tethering him to the defining moments of his life: meeting his idol, losing his uncle, and losing his internship with Stark. All of it had forged the cold, scarred teenager standing before them today.
Back at the Hydra facility, Peter sat in a worn chair, an IV line taped to his arm feeding an unidentified chemical compound into his veins. Any ordinary person would have been paralyzed with fear in that seat. Peter felt no dread. The process was agonizing, but he refused to let Hydra see his pain. He had to stay resolute; crying and begging would accomplish nothing in a situation as grim as his.
His composure infuriated the researchers. They craved his agonizing screams, desperate to hear him weep, but Peter denied them the satisfaction. Instead, he observed them with quiet amusement, taking pleasure in their frustration whenever they failed to break him. He mocked their stupidity in silence, amazed that they hadn't caught on.
Hydra's desperation to terrify him was pathetic. They wanted him cowering like the other prisoners, who were trapped in their own fear and crushed under the illusion of Hydra's absolute dominance. But those prisoners were wrong. Hydra was weak, relying entirely on fear to control people and assert their authority. It was almost poetic: an organization convinced of its own godhood, outwitted by a teenager. Revenge, Peter realized, could be sweet.
He remained confident that someone would free him eventually. Escaping on his own was impossible; they would track him down instantly, and he was far from safe outside their walls. He had to destroy them from within, quietly gathering intel and waiting for the right moment to strike. His only lingering worry was whether Stark would listen to him and fake Bucky's death, or if he would prove to be an arrogant fool once again, brushing off the boy's advice. Peter still held onto a sliver of hope that Tony would prove him wrong and take his warning seriously.
***
Chaos reigned inside Stark Tower as the team debated the encounter. How had the kid bypassed security? Why hadn't he attacked them?
Bucky understood the truth better than anyone: the boy possessed terrifying strength. As a grown man, Bucky had been entirely crushed by the trauma of being Hydra's weapon, yet this teenager had knowingly sabotaged his own mission to save him. Peter knew the brutal consequences of failing an assignment, yet he had taken the risk anyway to offer a way out. Faking the assassination would protect the kid, providing Hydra with proof that their operative had completed his objective.
"We do what he said," Bucky announced over the noise, silencing the room. "It's the only way to protect him from Hydra's retaliation."
The team nodded in solemn agreement, immediately setting the plan into motion.
Down in his workshop, Stark stared blankly at the wall, haunted by the look in Peter's eyes. They had been hollow, drained of everything except cold fatigue. He had never seen a gaze so terrifying; the kid had been methodically scanning the room, calculating every threat. Even under the threat of death, Peter had refused to kill. He was playing Hydra, letting them believe they had won while quietly gathering the intelligence needed to tear them down from the inside.
The teenager was extraordinary. He had long surpassed Stark, proving himself to be the better hero and the better man. Peter truly valued human life; he refused to let anyone die for his mistakes. Yet alongside his admiration, Tony felt a knot of dread. Peter had admitted to killing countless people. It seemed impossible; Peter wasn't a murderer, and he cherished life too much to take it. But perhaps he had been forced to kill while under Hydra's direct control, back when he was still an innocent kid viewing the world through rose-colored glasses, before the organization rebuilt him into a weapon that refused to be mastered.
***
Two days after the public announcement of the Winter Soldier's death, New York remained in mourning. One of its greatest heroes was gone, leaving the city grieving. Inside the tower, things were relatively quiet, though the public frenzy demanded more interviews from Stark, while Barnes was forced to remain entirely out of sight.
Hydra celebrated the triumph of their operative. He had eliminated their greatest enemy, executing the hit with the same cold precision Bucky once possessed. The organization believed they had finally created the ultimate asset: completely obedient, bound by rules, devoid of rebellion, and stripped of his past memories. They genuinely thought he believed he had been born in their facility, treating the base as his home. They were hopelessly mistaken.
Peter was almost amused by the sheer naivety of the veteran agents. They claimed to spot a lie from a mile away, yet missed his deception entirely. They hadn't bothered to double-check his loyalty, assuming that wiping a teenager's memory was enough to make him submissive. They viewed him as weak and easily manipulated, ready to be used for their own twisted ends.
Though he was outsmarting them, Peter couldn't erase his past. Day after day, he fought the internal demons that haunted his every step, lying in wait for moments of quiet to shatter his peace. He accepted that fate seemed to hate him, though he hated himself even more. He wanted to escape the unrelenting pain, but he couldn't afford to fail. He refused to let anyone call him weak again; he would prove his strength and endurance to everyone who had ever doubted him. He would show Stark that he wasn't just a frightened kid in over his head.
Peter had become a mythic terror within Hydra's walls. The new recruits feared him, intimidated by his cold composure, his immunity to pain, and the unsettling emptiness in his eyes. He never smiled, laughed, or showed emotion. Dressed in his black tactical suit, his deathly pale skin made him look like a phantom. Without a trace of body fat, his sharp frame weighed barely ninety pounds. He moved like an omen of death, keeping everyone at a distance through sheer intimidation. They feared him as much as they admired him: a fifteen-year-old boy who had survived a living nightmare.
Despite his success, no praise came his way. His hard work went unacknowledged, treated with the same indifference as always. Peter wasn't surprised; he was used to being criticized and overlooked. He lived in a brutal world, so why expect kindness, joy, or grace? The world was cruel, giving with one hand and taking away with the other, punishing the smallest misstep.
Peter felt like a pawn at the mercy of others, stripped of control over his own destiny. Yet while he felt lesser than everyone else, he was undeniably stronger. Anyone else would have broken, but Peter wasn't like everyone else. He had always wanted to be extraordinary, and he was, even if he couldn't see it yet.
Sitting alone in his cell, his thoughts drifted to Aunt May—how deeply she had cared for him, treating him with unconditional love. He missed her and Ben terribly, consumed by the agonizing wish that he had been the one to die that day instead of his uncle. He blamed himself for their deaths, labeling himself a murderer to keep others at a distance. In reality, Peter had never murdered anyone. He loathed the sight of death and couldn't bear to watch life leave a person's eyes; he had experienced loss too many times to inflict that agony on anyone else.
***
Back at the tower, Stark lay in bed, taking comfort in Pepper's presence as they shared the crushing weight of Peter's disappearance. Tony was haunted by the image of the emaciated, hollowed-out boy. He couldn't forgive himself for how he had treated him, but he made a silent vow: he would save him. He would tear down Hydra's walls and bring Peter back home where he belonged.
Slipping out of bed, Tony headed down to his workshop, determined to decipher Peter's parting words. He cursed his past ignorance, regretting the moments he had brushed the kid off. Peter's cryptic clue held the key to his location, and Tony was going to figure it out, find him, and give him the freedom and happiness he deserved.
"Fri, give me everything what we know about previous Hydra's placements in country" his voice cut the silence as he started to looking for something useful in all those files.
“Parental love is the only truly selfless, unconditional, and forgiving love.”
— Dr. T.P. Chia