Archive of Our Own

September 23, 2018 was the day it all began. The day that Peter would remember as the beginning of the end of his life. The day that Peter didn’t think he’d ever forget. And the funny thing was that this day had started as mundanely as the rest of them. Peter woke up, showered, went to school, and otherwise did the same things he did every day. But that day, while it started the same, could not have been more different.

Peter got home around four that day having stayed late at school to study and found May crying in the living room with the tv on. The news channel was running a story on the final day of the Joseph Miller trial. Joseph Miller had instigated a mass shooting in California nearly two months ago, and not long after it had been leaked to the press that he was enhanced.

(In reality, that day was probably the start of the end of Peter’s life, but he didn’t remember it that day. In fact, he hadn’t even heard about the incident until a month after. Either way, Peter figured, his life was ending. It didn’t matter which day was really the beginning.)

“What happened?” Peter asked, not bothering to drop his backpack by the door or take off his shoes before joining May on the couch. She didn’t answer, so Peter looked to the tv for clues. Right there in a scrolling ribbon across the bottom was his answer.

Joseph Miller Trial Concludes: Life sentence for Miller and moving forward all Enhanced and Mutant individuals must register with the Department of Homeland Security.

Peter watched the words scroll past, repeating them over and over in his head because his brain couldn’t, or didn’t want to, understand. Must register with the Department of Homeland Security. Must register. Must register.

The words repeated themselves in Peter’s head. They were practically branded into his skull. Must register.

What did that mean for him? Nobody knew he was Enhanced except the Avengers, and even then, half of them didn’t know his true identity. Maybe he didn’t have to register, Peter thought, and then the second half of the ribbon scrolled by:

Failure to comply will result in imprisonment and a large fine.

And suddenly, Peter understood exactly why May was crying. They both knew, even then, that this was only the beginning of something much, much more sinister. History had taught as much.

Without much else to do in that situation, Peter began to cry, too. Tears, hot and silent, streamed down his face. How many others had just received the news and were doing the same? How many were alone? How many felt the same pure, unadulterated fear that Peter was now feeling?

More importantly, perhaps, how many lives had ended with that simple sentence?

Two weeks later Peter found himself in a conference room at the compound, more anxious than he’d ever been before. Tony was sitting next to him with a solemn look on his face, and before them sat a copy of the Accords. Across from them a Homeland Security representative was staring at Peter impatiently.

When they’d met almost two years ago, Tony had promised to Peter that he wouldn’t have to sign the Accords, at the very least until they were amended. Somehow, he’d worked it out so that Peter wouldn’t have to sign them at all, but with the new rule, Peter could no longer avoid it.

He’d read them over in school for his poly sci class, and he’d read them over outside of school because he wanted to understand what they meant. When Peter was told he’d have to sign them, he asked Tony to read them with him this time. Tony had revised most of it, after all.

“You need to sign them, Mr. Parker,” The representative said, clearly bored with this task. Peter nodded, the pen shaking in his hand.

“Sign them when you’re ready, Peter,” Tony said pointedly. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Peter felt guilty for keeping the representative, but he wasn’t ready to feel like he was signing his life away. The Accords are different now, Peter reminded himself. He tried to sign his name, but he couldn’t make the pen meet the paper. But this wasn’t really about the Accords, anyway. Not at the heart of it. This was about fear and control, and Peter knew it. Tony knew it. When would the world catch up?

Peter stood up suddenly, sending his chair flying backwards. He ran out of the conference room and down the hallways until he got to the only familiar place in the compound: Tony’s apartment. Already anticipating the sensory overload that was bound to happen, Peter quickly found the sound-proof headphones Tony kept for him in the kitchen drawer and shoved them in his ears. Next came the special sunglasses, and then Peter lay down on the couch.

Tony came in a few minutes later, but Peter didn’t know until the couch cushions shifted next to him. Peter shot up, already on edge, and pulled the glasses off. When he saw that it was just Tony, Peter sighed and pulled out one of the earbuds.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Tony said softly, voice filled with so much guilt that Peter wondered how he carried the weight of it. “I tried to make so you didn’t have to do this, but after the court’s ruling, Ross has basically taken over this whole operation and – well, you know how he is.”

Peter nodded, and then voiced the question that had been at the forefront of his mind for the last two weeks.

“What’s going to happen to me?” He asked. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he wasn’t surprised. He had done an awful lot of crying the last two weeks.

“I don’t know,” Tony answered honestly, pulling Peter into a tight hug. “I’ll be here for you the whole time, though. Both May and I will.”

“What if they don’t let you? What if they take me away? What if—”

“Shhh,” Tony said soothingly. “I won’t let that happen. I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Peter asked, looking up to meet Tony’s eyes. His mentor nodded.

“Yes, pinky promise.”

Peter stepped into his apartment building thankful for the relief it provided from the weather. Despite being just October, the temperature was already below fifty. Before heading upstairs, Peter quickly checked the mailbox and found a package addressed to himself. The return address was from a street he’d never heard of before, and Peter briefly wondered if he should open it or not. Tensions had been running high since the Miller ruling, and it was possible that someone had looked him up on the registry to send him something dangerous. At the very least, Peter was glad that he got to whatever it was before May did.

Peter ran up the stairs (the elevator was broken) and made sure to lock the door behind him before he opened the package. Inside was a letter stamped “official government business” and Peter knew whatever it was couldn’t be good. Peter read the brief letter.

Peter Parker,

You have registered with the Department of Homeland Security per the new rule. As you know, in the interest of government transparency, this information has been released to the public. In order to calm the public unrest, all enhanced or mutant individuals must wear an identification bracelet provided by the state. Yours is enclosed, along with its instructions.
*
Director Errinwright, New York Office

Next Peter pulled out the thin metal wristband. It was marked at the top with a simple engraving: E // D. Peter was puzzled. The E stood for enhanced, but what was the D for? Curious, Peter slid out the final paper in the package.

Your bracelet cannot be exchanged or traded: it is unique to you. There are two main classifications (mutant [M] and enhanced [E] ) and four subclassifications (unthreatening [U], mildly dangerous [MD], dangerous [D], and extremely dangerous [ED]. If you are unsure of your classification, refer to the chart below.

Peter skipped over the chart. Enhanced and dangerous. He was dangerous. Or the government thought he was. I’m not dangerous. Peter thought. I help people, not hurt them. I don’t want to be dangerous.

He looked at the bracelet and then to his empty wrist. He didn’t want to put it on. He didn’t want to do much of what he was being told to do these days, truth be told. What Peter did want to do was scream, maybe. He wanted to yell, “This is so, so wrong!” loud enough that someone might actually listen to him.

For now, he decided he wasn’t going to do anything with the bracelet until he’d talked to Tony and he’d had a chance to look at it. Until then, he stuffed the letter and the bracelet back into the manilla envelope it had arrived in. Out of sight didn’t mean out of mind, though.

Enhanced and dangerous. Is that all I am now? One man commits a crime, and the rest of us pay the price. What kind of fucked up justice is that?

“It’s not justice,” Peter said, answering himself aloud.

Peter had been wearing the silver bracelet for almost six months now. Even with taking it off at night, it was too tight and rubbed his left wrist raw during the day. He saw quite a few—or at least more than he would have expected—people wearing them, too. Most were older than he was, though. A few were as young as ten.

People avoided him on the sidewalks now. The first thing anyone did these days before interacting was flick their gaze down to someone’s wrist, checking for the ugly silver bracelet. Peter had even had people stop him sometimes to check his classification. He’d gotten tired of answering the question. When they saw E // D they didn’t believe him.

"You’re skinny as a beanpole, how could you hurt anybody?” They’d ask. Then, once they realized he was classified as dangerous for a (no good) reason, they’d scurry away from him until they were two blocks down.

One of the worst parts about the bracelets were that you weren’t allowed to cover them. Peter hated that the most. He didn’t even have time to make a good impression before people wrote him off. Not that he spent much time making new friends these days, though. Of course he wasn’t. The only people who wanted to be near him anymore were May, Tony, Ned, and Michelle. Even then, Peter avoided them at school so he wouldn’t give them a bad reputation. After so long he didn’t mind spending lunch alone anymore. It was better than being tormented by classmates who knew he couldn’t fight back for fear of going to jail.

A month later, a new Supreme Court case took the headlines by storm. Every news station was reporting on the latest enhanced vs normal controversy. This time a restaurant had refused to serve an enhanced woman. Unluckily, perhaps, she had the time and money to spend on taking the case all the way to the top.

Avasarala vs Mao: Is it legal to refuse service to an enhanced individual? Was the debate. Peter followed the case reluctantly, tired of seeing things that would only hurt him but too nervous to not follow along. May had allowed him to stay home on the final day of hearings. Part of Peter wondered if she was just too afraid of what might happen if he was out when the verdict was delivered.

Peter sat in front of the tv, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram while he waited for the judges to come back from deliberation. Whether his hands shook from nerves or because he’d forgotten to eat all day—or even both—nobody was sure.

“And the verdict has been delivered,” The news reporter stated, only the barest hint of emotion on her face. A silver bracelet glinted on her wrist, and Peter wondered how hard she’d had to fight to report on this story. “6-3 in favor of Mao. The court has deemed it legal to refuse service to enhanced or mutant individuals on account of fear for personal or public safety.”

Then the reporter began to cry, silent tears streaming down her face while she did the rest of the story. At one point the cameraman panned to the courthouse behind her, probably intending to give her some privacy in one of the most difficult moments of her life.

Peter watched the tv, but none of the other words reached his ears. He had been so sick of crying lately, and though he felt like doing it now, he held back. He didn’t want to shed anymore tears for a world that clearly didn’t care. And the next day after school, he didn’t bother stopping at Delmar’s. He could see the “No Enhanced Allowed” sign from down the street.

Peter didn’t feel like leaving the apartment much after that. He still went to the compound to spend time with Tony, and at least there he wasn’t treated differently. Anyone who worked with Shield or the Avengers had been around enhanced people long enough to know they weren’t the way everyone had been making them out to be.

He didn’t even like going to school anymore. He always had too much energy since he’d stopped going out as Spider-Man (people didn’t want or trust him to protect them anymore) and found it difficult to sit still for the entire day.

That day at school had been the final straw for Peter. He dropped a pencil in the hallway, which normally wouldn’t have been a big deal. People had started giving him space, after all. But this time when he leaned over to pick it up, someone shoved him from behind, sending the rest of his books and folders to the floor. Thankfully, he’d caught himself before his face could smack the tile.

In truth, that day wasn’t the final straw in and of itself. That day was no different than any other. Peter’s anger – and disappointment, and sadness – had reached its breaking point. Peter felt like he couldn’t take it any longer. No matter what he did, it was so hard to be good in a world that was convinced that you were a criminal just because of your DNA.

Peter shot up and stared at the people behind him in the hallway. They formed a dense wall, each holding their textbooks in front of them like some sort of armor. Peter couldn’t help the words that formed in his mouth or the tears that streamed down his face.

“Why can’t you understand that I’m just a person?” He screamed at them, voice so loud it echoed off the lockers and hurt his own ears. “Why can’t you fucking see that we’re just people?”

Nobody answered. Peter would most definitely regret what happened next, but he was too angry to care that he was contributing to the very narrative he so desperately wanted to destroy.

“I’m not dangerous! I’ve never hurt any of you! Flash used to beat me up every day, and I let him, because it meant that he wasn’t hurting any of you! I used to go out as Spider-Man every night because I wanted to make sure none of your parents get mugged on the way home from work! I saved you from D.C, and I saved New York from Liz’s dad, and all you can see is the ugly fucking bracelet on my wrist!”

The students began to whisper—how could this Peter Parker be Spider-Man?—and regret filled the hole the anger had left in Peter’s stomach. He’d just outed himself as Spider-Man. He’d definitely have to tell Tony and May about this.

Just before Peter made a move to leave, leaving his books on the floor, he asked the quiet students one more question.

“Do you know what the worst part is about being a superhero?” Peter asked them. They stared at him wide, scared eyes, and Peter almost hated that he’d put that fear there.

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” Peter said quietly. “The worst part about being a superhero is that I don’t even have the heart to regret what I did for all of you even though you just wish I didn’t exist.”

Peter didn’t look at their expressions before turning around and soundlessly exiting the building. If there had been any teachers present, none made a move to stop him. By the time Peter got home, Tony was waiting for him in the parking lot. The school probably called as soon as the yelling started.

Peter broke down, again, at the thought of having to explain what just happened. That wasn’t him. Peter didn’t yell. Peter didn’t storm off. He was better than that. He wanted to be better than that.

Tony stepped out of his car, and silently drew Peter into a hug. Peter buried his face in Tony’s chest and cried harder than he’d cried in weeks. He hated the person that he’d felt he’d become; the person the government had turned him into.

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Peter said, words muffled by Tony’s jacket. Even still, Tony understood him perfectly.

“I know you didn’t hurt anyone, Peter. I know you would never do that,” He responded. “I also heard that you outed your secret identity. I can’t imagine how far everyone must have pushed you for that to happen.”

“I don’t want to go back there. Please,” Peter cried, and Tony’s heart ached at how worn down he sounded. This wasn’t the Peter that he’d met two years ago. This wasn’t the Peter that he knew. This wasn’t his Peter.

“You won’t have to. May and I will get it all worked out, don’t worry about anything. I think it would be best if you come to the compound for a few days, too, to ride this out. I want you to be somewhere where you won’t feel like an exhibit. Does that sound okay?”

Peter nodded. He was the first to let go, reluctant though he was, and the two headed upstairs to grab a few things Peter would want for the next few days. Peter wasn’t quite sure why, but it felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind in that parking lot that day.

He’d been taking online classes for nearly a month, and while he didn’t enjoy it, Peter knew it was better this way. His teachers still knew that he was enhanced – people checked the registry before everything these days—but it was different when he didn’t have to see the looks in the hallway or the distaste in his classmates eyes when he got paired with them for projects.

It was the end of the week, and Peter had submitted all of his assignments already. That left his weekend wide open for all the nothing he had to do. Peter found that without Spider-Man, he had very little to occupy his time. He’d poured so much of his time into being a superhero that he didn’t know what to do when he wasn’t web-slinging through Queens.

Tony and May had tried to introduce him to a few things, but none seemed to fill the hole that helping the little guy had. Not even working on the Iron Man armor helped him forget everything he’d lost in the last year. Peter wanted something to do that would be helpful. He wanted to do something that would actually benefit the world.

But it was so hard to be good in a world that was trying to convince him he was bad. I’m not bad. I’m not a bad person. I don’t do bad things, Peter reminded himself each night before he fell asleep. I’m not bad. I’m not a bad person. I don’t do bad things.

Two days later, Peter found what he wanted to do. He’d been scrolling through social media site after social media site, mindlessly trying to pass the time, when he found an article about Enhanced discrimination. Without thinking, he rubbed his wrist where the bracelet usually sat. He hadn’t worn it since he hadn’t left the apartment in three days, but his wrist was still rubbed raw.

The article said that mutants and enhanced people were being evicted from their apartments because the community “as a whole” didn’t feel safe living in the same buildings as them. Peter sighed and ignored the familiar feeling of anger that rushed through him. It was easier to ignore it because he certainly couldn’t solve it.

After some deeper investigation (in some forums that were enhanced only), Peter found that this was a more widespread issue than the media was reporting. Maybe this was something he could help with. He couldn’t harbor them all here of course . . . but Tony could help with that. There were loads of rooms that nobody used in the compound. With a few background checks . . . Peter shook his head. No matter how much Tony wanted to help, they couldn’t have a bunch of people in a high security compound. It just wasn’t feasible.

Peter tried to drop the subject, but his brain wouldn’t let him. A little voice in the back of his head kept telling him, this is your chance! You want to help, this is how you can. And so, next time Tony came over for family dinner, Peter brought it up.

“I read an article this week that people like me are getting kicked out of their apartments,” Peter said idly, not taking his attention off his dinner. It was spaghetti night because that was one of the only things May couldn’t burn.

“And?” Tony asked. Peter glanced up at him.

“And what?”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Tony wasn’t being condescending, but Peter couldn’t figure out what he was being.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you going to do about it? What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have a plan, Tony. I don’t have money, or space, or anything else to deal with this. It’s just shitty, and I didn’t have anything else to say tonight,” Peter explained. Tony gave him The Look.

“But I do, and if you asked for it, I would be happy to help you with this project of yours. I’ve already told you that if you ever needed something, I would get it for you—”

“Within reason—” May cut in. Tony nodded.

“Yes, within reason. But I think this is completely in reason. And as of right now, Stark Industries actually has an unused warehouse about three miles south of here. It would take at least a few weeks to convert, but we can start spreading the word tomorrow.”

Peter blinked slowly at Tony from across the table. Was he being serious? Peter thought any moment he might pinch himself and wake up from this terrible nightmare. After a minute, Peter asked, “Seriously?” and Tony responded, “Absolutely.”

Just like that, Peter felt a small ray of hope. Not for the future of people like him, necessarily, it might be years before any sort of change happens, but for himself. I’m not bad. I’m not a bad person. I don’t do bad things.

It had taken a little over a month to get the shelter set up, but Peter relished having something to devote all his time to. After spending all day solving problems and making plans, he was actually tired enough to sleep at night. Well, except for his current problem: there were rumors going around that mutants and enhanced were disappearing. Peter had stayed awake thinking about that one for days.

The media didn’t report on it, of course, but Peter wasn’t sure that was due to lack of care. It was extremely possible that they didn’t know. The rumors only circled in private mutant forums and groups, after all. All the mutant journalists had been fired or quit by now, so there was no reason for them to know anything about the disappearances.

Peter had asked FRIDAY to start keeping tabs on everyone who came and went from the shelter, compiling each day’s guests into lists to look for trends. When a well-known regular failed to appear for the third day in a row, the rumor gained traction in Peter’s head.

Was someone kidnapping them? Where would they be taken? Even though it was deemed legal to discriminate against them, kidnapping them and taking them to secret facilities seemed a stretch. Well, until one remembered history. Then the whole thing became glaringly obvious.

That night, as Peter lay awake, he had that very revelation. It couldn’t be coincidence that multiple people had stopped coming. If they’d found an apartment or a place to stay, they would have let someone know. Nobody Peter knew would disappear like that.

But how do they find them? Of course everyone had the bracelet, but the government wouldn’t kidnap people in plain sight. Peter thought. Unless . . . the bracelets had trackers in them. Then they would know where they were at any time, and if they were somewhere secluded.

Peter sprang up, quickly tossing his blankets aside while he looked for his phone. He had to tell Tony. Could he risk saying something over the phone? Ultimately, he decided no, and left both his phone and bracelet on his desk. May was at an overnight shift, so he left her a note on the kitchen counter.

The drive to the compound was shorter than Peter ever remembered it being, but that most likely had something to do with the fact that he was pushing eighty on the back roads. (May hated that he sped, but Peter defended himself by bringing up that he had super-human reaction times). Not even thirty minutes had passed before he pulled into the parking lot and was running through the lobby. FRIDAY, not a stranger to Peter’s tendencies, didn’t interrupt him. In fact, she opened the elevator for him so he could reach his destination sooner.

“Thanks FRIDAY,” Peter said, breathing heavy from panic rather than exertion. He bounced from foot to foot while he waited for the elevator to reach the third floor. He almost wished he’d just taken the stairs. Once the doors opened, he sprinted down the hall, stopping for barely a minute to unlock the door to Tony’s apartment.

“I figured it out!” Peter yelled into the apartment. Tony didn’t answer, and Peter assumed he must have been asleep. Too bad because this is more important.

Peter knocked on Tony’s door loud enough to wake him up. Tony answered a moment later, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with a confused look on his face.

“What are you doing here? It’s like three a.m.—did May drive you?”

“No, that’s what a driver’s license and a car is for. That’s not the point though. I figured it out, Tony!” Peter said. Tony just stared at him. He was so not awake enough for this.

“The disappearances! I figured it out like thirty minutes ago. It’s the wristbands. They must have trackers in them—”

“The disappearances?” Tony questioned. Peter knew he’d brought it up last week, but Tony was busy, and he didn’t fault him for not remembering.

“Mutants keep disappearing. I had FRIDAY track everyone who came and went from the shelter looking for patterns. A few of the regulars stopped coming, and there’s been rumors for a couple weeks now. I think it must be the wristbands.”

“The wristbands are kidnapping people?”

“No, for the love of god—I should have made you coffee before trying to have this conversation—”

“Yes, you should have.”

“—but I think the wristbands have trackers in them. That’s why nobody has ever seen one of us disappear. Because they know exactly where to strike, and when there won’t be any witnesses around.”

Tony stared at Peter for a long moment, then asked, “Do you think the government is taking them?”

Peter nodded. “I don’t know why, or to where, but I definitely think it’s the government. Who else would have resources? I guess maybe Hydra, but they’ve been to weak to pull something like this off for years now.”

Tony’s eyes went wide in realization, like he had finally woken up.

“Are you wearing your wristband right now?” Tony asked, concerned. Peter shook his head and informed him that he left his phone behind, too.

“Okay, good. Until we figure this out, you’re not leaving the compound, okay? I know you won’t be happy with that, but after what you just told me, I think this is the only place we can guarantee that you’re safe. I’ll send someone to get your school stuff tomorrow morning. You should probably try to rest.”

“I can’t,” Peter said matter-of-factly. There was too much adrenaline in his system right now, and it was sending his brain into over-drive. This had so many implications, the least of which being that if they worked on this, it would be technically outside the law. They would have to be extremely careful moving forward. Careful had never really been Peter (or Tony’s) forte, though. Danger always found them one way or the other.

Peter sat at his desk, too restless to sleep. He’d been staying at the compound for nearly a month now, and despite having everything he could need at his disposal, it was starting to drive him crazy. He didn’t go outside much, at least not with some form of security, and he definitely didn’t leave the grounds.

It was incredibly frustrating, to say the least, especially because it seemed like every day he read about people like him disappearing. Still in underground forums and not mainstream media because the public hadn’t caught on. Or at least those who had didn’t care enough to spread the word.

“What am I supposed to do?” Peter asked himself, staring at his computer screen. He’d started mapping out the disappearances, trying to see if there was some sort of pattern or central location. There wasn’t one. Or one that I can see. Maybe FRIDAY will come up with something.

“Hey FRIDAY? Can you look for a pattern with the mutant disappearances? I think I might be missing something.”

“Of course,” FRIDAY answered. A moment later she said, “I do not see any patterns. The kidnap points seem random.”

“That’s what they’d want to avoid getting caught. . . so probably not a bunch of first-time criminals. I just wish Tony would let me go back to the city so I could investigate this for real,” Peter thought aloud.

“Your parents only want to protect you, Peter,” FRIDAY said. Peter elected to skip over “your parents” until a later date. He had enough to think about besides FRIDAY’s wording.

“But I can help these people!” Peter knew it was useless to argue with FRIDAY, but it helped with his frustration a little bit. FRIDAY didn’t try to argue with him any longer.

Peter spent the next twenty minutes trying to push the idea of sneaking out of the compound to investigate the kidnappings. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was dangerous. He knew Tony and May wouldn’t want him to . . . and then a new article popped up on his computer screen. Someone was posting in the forum about another disappearance. It was a little girl, no more than eight from the picture that accompanied the post. Her last known location was tagged, too.

He had to go. This resolve made it easier to sneak out of the compound, surprisingly without FRIDAY’s intervention. Later, he might think back on this moment and realize it was all a little too easy. Too easy to sneak out of the apartment, too easy to steal a car from the garage, too easy to make it past the perimeter security.

(But he never made it to the city.)

Peter came to in what appeared to be an interrogation room. He was handcuffed to a metal chair that was bolted to the floor. Across from him was another chair and a table, but they weren’t anchored to the floor. A glass of water sat on the table. Peter couldn’t have reached it if he wanted to because his wrists were cuffed to the chair.

A few minutes after he woke up, a man walked in the room. Peter had never seen him in person before, but he knew who it was. It was Secretary Ross.

“I didn’t think it would take you quite so long to wake up. It turns out our inside source got the metabolism statistics wrong,” He said, casually taking the seat across from Peter. Peter watched him carefully. What was Ross doing here? Where was here?

“Not much of a talker today, are we?” Ross asked when Peter remained silent. Peter simply narrowed his eyes at him. “It’s a shame, really. This is an opportunity for us to be friends.”

“I’m not interested,” Peter replied. He’d never heard anything good about Ross. Not one single thing. Ross shook his head.

“Now, Peter, you might want to think that decision through. I’m here to help you. I’m here to help all of you.”

It clicked in Peter’s mind. Ross was the one kidnapping mutants—did that mean Peter was in the same place they were? If Ross was the one kidnapping people, Peter reasoned, the most logical place to bring them was the Raft. Where better to lock up mutants and people the government couldn’t control then an underwater prison that was impossible to escape?

“You kidnapped that little kid?” Peter asked, horrified. Ross laughed, and Peter’s anger soared.

“There never was a little kid. I had one of my agents plant that article. It was the only way to get you out of the compound. I must say, Peter, you performed wonderfully on your end. Swooping in to save the “little guy” as it were. It’s too bad that it wasn’t real.”

“The others are real, though. What have you done with them?” Peter resisted the urge to pull against the restraints. Ross would only gloat and give him information so long as he felt untouchable.

“I already told you: I’m helping them. I want you to be able to rejoin society once your time is up here. I want you to be able to have a normal life. I want you to be cured.”

Cured. Cured. Ross clearly thought that being enhanced was a disease. Had he always believed that, or was this some sort of cover?

Peter watched the man across from him, searching for any clues that he was lying. He found nothing except a scary glint of belief in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Peter. I’m sure you’ll be out of here in no time,” Ross said cheerfully. With that he left the room, and fear settled deeply in Peter’s stomach. A moment later, two guards in uniform stepped in. They asked Peter if they needed to knock him out again, or if he’d like to be escorted to his “room” consciously. Peter chose the latter. He didn’t want any of their drugs running through his veins.

The walk – or escort – was short and mostly spent in an elevator. Peter guessed that they’d descended almost to the bottom of the Raft. Peter couldn’t figure out of it was submerged or not because there weren’t any windows.

Soon enough the small hallways gave way to a large room lined with what could only be described as cells. Through the (presumably bulletproof) glass, Peter could see several people that he recognized from the shelter or from the underground forums. Those that noticed him watched him with sad and weary eyes.

The two guards led Peter to an empty cell on the end. From the strong smell of disinfectant, Peter guessed that it had been recently vacated. Where was its occupant? Had Ross actually achieved his crazy goal of “curing” them?

Peter doubted it.

They shoved him forward and he practically fell into the cell before the door was shut and locked behind him. He pulled himself up quickly and took stock of the room. There wasn’t much besides a small bed in the corner. There was nothing else do but sit on the bed and stare at the window at the other . . . patients? Prisoners?

Some of them had obviously been here much longer than others, and Peter’s heart ached for them. Their faced had taken on a hollow appearance, and they didn’t move around as much in their cells as a few of the other people that Peter assumed were new arrivals.

There wasn’t anyone in particular that caught his eye. Most felt vaguely familiar, but Peter guessed that that was only because he’d seen pictures of them go around when they disappeared. He wished there was a way to talk to them so that he could figure out what was going on here. As it were, he’d have to figure it out himself.

The monotony settled in quickly, especially for someone like Peter who had too much energy to sit still for long. He soon found himself doing small exercises like push-ups or sit-ups to expend the extra energy, which earned concerned looks from some of the soldiers stationed in the hallway outside his room. When they served him dinner that night, the water had a slightly off-color taste. Peter only took one sip before setting it back on his tray.

He wouldn’t be able to avoid what they put in the water forever, obviously, but he could avoid it for now. Hopefully long enough for him to figure a way out, or for someone on the outside to find out what Ross was doing. Or for Tony to rescue him. They had to know he was gone by now, and with everything they knew, they had to know where he was. Right?

When Tony woke up that morning, he was greeted by an eerily silent apartment. Normally by now – since it was eight and despite stereotypes, Peter was an early-riser – he’d hear some sign of activity. The tv in the living room, or Peter calling Ned and pacing through the hallways, or even the fire alarm after Peter tried to cook something.

So why was it so quiet?

“FRIDAY, where is Peter?” Tony asked after checking every room to find them all empty. He didn’t want to panic yet. Peter might be in the gym, or wandering about the compound, or—

Or he might be gone. Ross might have gotten him just like he’s gotten everyone else.

“Peter is currently in his room,” FRIDAY responded calmly.

“No he isn’t. I just checked.”

“I assure you, sir, Peter is in his room. He has been since yesterday evening.”

“FRIDAY, I’m telling you he’s not there. I even checked the closet because I thought I was being paranoid, but maybe I’m not. Can you tell me what Peter did last night?”

“Yes, sir. After leaving the living room, Peter worked on schoolwork. He even asked me for help with a few of the Calculus problems.”

That was weird. Peter wasn’t taking calculus, he was taking statistics. FRIDAY should have known that. With the worry taking root in his head, Tony headed to his lab to check on FRIDAY’s system. Maybe last week’s update had a bug or something in it that was making her act weird. But wouldn’t I have caught it before now?

“Run diagnostics,” He told her. FRIDAY obliged, and a few minutes later reported that all systems were running perfectly.

“Okay then. What class did Peter ask for help with last night?”

“Calculus.”

“Peter is taking stats. He took calculus over the summer last year, remember?”

“Of course. I must have slipped up. My apologies.”

Tony sighed and leaned closer to the computer that was showing him FRIDAY’s code. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so far there, but something was obviously wrong. Had FRIDAY been hacked?

“Show me footage from the gate security camera from eleven last night to eight this morning,” He asked. FRIDAY pulled up the footage, and quickly ran through it. There was no movement on it all. Then, on his second run through, he noticed a bird fly past near the top left of the screen. It was only a moment, but Tony had an idea.

He ordered FRIDAY to run through it again but slow it down to almost normal speed. He watched the bird fly past at 00:21, 00:31, and 00:41. Every ten minutes, like clockwork, the bird’s wing flashed in the camera. It was too-well timed to be an accident, and then when he watched closer, he could see the loop restart.

It was almost unnoticeable when sped up, which is probably how whoever planted it thought it would be watched. Tony cursed, and pulled up the last system update he’d given FRIDAY on another monitor. He noticed an extra line of code slipped in at the bottom that granted administration access to another user.

“Do you know who tampered with this?” Tony asked FRIDAY, even though he knew it wasn’t going to yield an answer. Unsurprisingly, she answered:

“Nobody has tampered with my systems. The only one who has access to my code is you, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Well, FRIDAY, I’m sorry to say it, but I’m going to need to shut you down until I can figure out who did this. I have no clue what kind of backdoors they might have opened up.”

Whoever it had been was clearly after Peter, but with power like that, what was stopping them from messing with bank accounts and property deeds while they were at it?

Without much more conversation, Tony shut FRIDAY down and started sifting through the other lines of code for other discrepancies. Once that was finished, he called May Parker and asked her to meet him after work. This wasn’t really a conversation they could have over the phone, and he wasn’t sure yet whether anyone had slipped in a bug.

This is not going to be a good day.

“Today is going to be your first day of treatment!” Said an overly excited scientist, smiling at Peter from where she stood. Peter was strapped to examination table with only metal cuffs, but when he tried to pull on them, nothing happened. Like he’d said: he could only avoid what they’d put in the water for so long.

When Peter didn’t say anything back, the scientist kept talking.

“My name is Dr. Laura, but you can call me Laura if you want. I’m not too big on using proper titles. But anyway, since this is your first day, we’re going to start with a few tests.”

“What kinds of tests?” Peter asked.

“First, we’re going to do some blood work to see what we’re working with, and then after that there will be a few physical examinations. Nothing too uncomfortable, hopefully.”

Peter wondered how she expected her data to be accurate when was drugged up with whatever sedative they’d decided to use.

Dr. Laura turned around holding a syringe, and Peter instantly tensed. She noticed, and smiled in a way that she’d hoped would come across as comforting, but instead came across as manic. Peter didn’t want Dr. Laura anywhere near him.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, this will only hurt a little bit,” She said. Peter wanted to look away while she drew his blood, but he couldn’t. He didn’t trust her enough – not even a little bit – to focus his attention elsewhere.

Soon enough it was over, and Dr. Laura put a band-aid on his arm. Peter didn’t tell her that it wasn’t worth it because it was going to be healed in twenty minutes. The less she knew about him, the better.

They ran through a few more tests, and Peter waited anxiously for the moment he could escape her. Although, as long as he was here, he wasn’t ever going to really escape her.

“I’ll have your treatment plan in a few days, but until then you’ll be free to do whatever you want. Is there anything you’d like to pass the time?” She asked when she was finished running her tests. Peter had wanted to refuse her offer outright, but he paused. Then, he asked for a pencil and paper.

“Do you like to draw?”

“Kind of,” Peter replied. Most of his drawing skills came from sketching new suits or ideas instead of conventional art classes. Plus, when the time came, he might be able to use those things to his advantage. Spreading the word, perhaps?

Peter’s next appointment was three days later. Dr. Laura was as chipper as ever, and Peter found himself wanting to berate her for it. How could she be like that? How could she spend her days destroying people’s lives walking around with a smile and pretending that she was a good person for it?

“Good morning, Peter,” She greeted, directing him to sit in the same chair as before. Peter obliged, dread swirling in his stomach like a maelstrom. Today was the day he received his “treatment” plan, and he knew it was going to be bad.

“I know you’re probably feeling very nervous, but you shouldn’t be. We’ve tailored a treatment plan for you that should hopefully have you out of here in as little as three months. You’ll stay on the sedative, of course, and on top of that there are a few experimental techniques that we’re going to try.”

Peter didn’t ask what the experimental techniques were, but she listed them off anyway. All of them sounded painful. The mentally unstable part of him wanted to laugh when she said they would be trying radiation treatment. That shit’s what got me into this mess in the first place.

“All in all, there’s nothing for you to be worried about, Peter,” Dr. Laura said once she was finished explaining a few other treatments. “Other patients have gone through a few of these options, and they’re doing wonderfully.”

“They’re dying,” Peter couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. Dr. Laura looked up from the clipboard she was holding.

“What are you talking about? All my patients are doing great and are on the road to recovery. I know it can be scary, but that doesn’t mean you should start thinking negatively.”

She looked like she genuinely believed what she was saying. Peter didn’t push the issue. He didn’t want to find out what was going to happen if he did.

The treatments were terrible, bordering on torturous, and Peter started to look like most of the other “patients” under Dr. Laura’s care. Nothing changed with his powers, as he predicted. Dr. Laura and her team were convinced that they were doing something right because each day he could do less and less, but Peter attributed that to the fact that he was being drugged and slowly withered away.

They weren’t actually curing him, or any of them. They were killing them.

(Treated, dead. Peter was sure that to Ross, there was no difference. Either way, they no longer posed a danger to society.)

One and a half weeks into Dr. Laura’s treatment plan, and Peter barely had the energy to move around his cell. He swore that they doubled – or tripled – the dose of whatever sedative they’d been giving him. He didn’t even feel like sketching to pass the time. It was easier to lay in bed and think.

(Physically, at least. Mentally it was exhausting. He spent all that time thinking about May and Tony and Ned and MJ. Did Ned know he was gone? Was May doing okay? Did they miss him?)

One day, when Peter felt like he could barely sit up, Dr. Laura paid him a visit. She looked the same as always. Put together, overly chipper, and disgustingly pleasant. When she came in, she took a seat at the foot of the bed, and Peter imagined himself pushing her off.

“How do you feel?” She asked, concern in her eyes. Had she finally realized what she was doing?

(Of course not, but Peter could dream.)

“I feel terrible,” Peter answered honestly. Dr. Laura acted like that wasn’t the answer she expected, frowning.

“Well, I hope that clears up soon. We think that you’ll be able to go home in a few weeks. The treatment will be over in a few days, but we need to keep you here to monitor you while we adjust your medication.”

“What medication?”

“The sedative that you’ve been taking. We’ll need to adjust your dosage, most likely, but then you’ll be ready to go home. Isn’t that exciting?”

It would have been. The words should have ignited some feeling of relief in him, but Peter had seen the others. Some of them just disappeared after Dr. Laura said they were cured and could go home. He’d go to bed one night, and when he woke up in the morning, their cell was empty.

(So forgive him for feeling a little skeptical.)

Peter still had hope that Tony would be there to take him home before he disappeared, too. That was what Tony did. He rescued people.

He’s coming. He just hasn’t figured out where I’m at yet.

The days pass, blurring together. The treatments stopped, and for that Peter was grateful. He had started to feel marginally better once they were over, but his super healing couldn’t do it’s job properly between the drugs and the lack of proper nutrition. He certainly didn’t feel like he had any of his other powers right now, but he couldn’t test that out under the watchful eyes of the medical team.

Peter just hoped that they were still there. The thought of his powers being well and truly gone was too much handle, and it would send him into a panic attack.

Who would I be without them? Certainly not Spider-Man. I’d just be Peter Parker. Just Peter Parker.

Peter was woken up in the middle of the night (well he assumes it’s the middle of the night, but he hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. It’s not like he’d know.) when an alarm started blaring. It was high pitched and annoying, and Peter sat up to find everyone else doing the same.

Having gained enough strength back to stand up again, Peter got up and walked over to the bullet-proof glass separating him from everyone else. Where it had previously been dark, the bright overhead lights had been turned on. A voice came over the intercom.

“All personnel have been requested to contain the breach on the flight deck.”

Peter’s brain processed the information slowly. Breach on the flight deck . . . Tony? It had to be. Who else would it be? He couldn’t take on the entire Raft by himself though. Peter wanted to help, but he still had difficulty getting out of bed with the amount of drugs they had him on. He probably wouldn’t even be able to take on one security guard without losing, let alone an entire room full.

But I can’t just sit here and do nothing, Peter thought. A little voice in his head reminded him that that mentality was what got them into this mess in the first place.

The alarm continued to blare, and even though it hurt his ears, Peter could have sworn that was the best sound in the entire world. Everyone else looked confused, and some looked worried. Peter picked up the pencil and paper that Dr. Laura had given him to sketch with and quickly wrote out the word “help”. He held it up to the window and tried to get everyone’s attention.

They thought that he was asking for help. Peter shook his head and motioned to the alarm. He held up the paper again.

Help.

Twenty not-so-quiet minutes passed, and then it happened. Tony was there, and Peter wanted to cry in relief. Tony scanned the room and quickly found Peter. He picked the lock on the door quite easily (Peter would have attempted to do it from the inside, but he had nothing sharp enough).

“Oh my god, Peter—what did they do?” Tony asked once the door was open and Peter was standing in front of him. He checked Peter over for any injuries but didn’t see any besides the sickly pallor of his skin and the way his clothes hung off his frame.

Once he was content that there weren’t any cuts or bruises or breaks that needed tending to, he stepped out of the suit and ordered it to watch the door. Tony pulled Peter into a tight hug, finally feeling like he could breathe again for the first time in a month.

“Don’t ever sneak out like that again,” He told Peter. Peter already had his excuse ready, having had lots of time to come up with it.

“I had to. People were disappearing – people like me – I had to help.”

(Nobody said it was a good excuse.)

“I know,” Tony sighed. “Just let me go with you next time, okay? I need to make sure that you’re safe for May and I’s sake.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed. Part of him couldn’t believe that Tony was here, and that this could be over. He could go home.

(Well, not completely over. There would be court hearings and testimonies and lots of terrible new interviews once this got out, but it was a step in the right direction.)

“Thank you for rescuing me.” A few tears had started slipping out, and Tony gently wiped them away.

“Of course. I’m always going to be here to rescue you, Peter. You couldn’t stop me even if I was six feet under.”