Chapter Text
The waves lapped lazily against the faded hull, weathered and beaten by age and the elements.
Peter stared longingly down at the rolling sea as he leaned further forward, letting the sea salt fill his lungs and invigorate his soul beneath the darkening sky. His feet dangled like drifting ribbons over the edge of the deck. Idly, he rubbed a thumb over the smarting bruise on his cheek. Captain Rumlow was a harsh taskmaster, easily resorting to his fists when his orders weren’t carried out quickly enough for his liking. Peter, the youngest on the boat and easily the weakest looking, frequently bore the brunt of the man’s anger. The waves below looked invitingly cool and calming, nothing like the stale lukewarm water the crew had been carefully rationing ever since they left Queenstown.
But despite everything, the measly food, dank quarters and hellishly early mornings were worth every moment of freedom.
Well.
Relative freedom.
It had less appeal when you were experiencing it alone.
Peter swallowed around the thick lump in his throat. May, Ned, MJ- he’d had to leave them all behind after smuggling them out of town before jumping on the nearest ship, uncaring of where it was headed.
All because of him.
He’d even had to change his name, wanting to throw the man off his scent as much as possible. He now went by-
‘Ben! Get that lazy butt of yours up into that lookout post pronto, unless you want another brush with my hand!’ Rumlow yelled over the deck.
‘Yessir!’
Scrambling to his feet, Peter darted to the mast and began to climb, all the while staying as far away as he could from the Captain and the other members of the sniggering crew.
Peter had always been short for his age, small and lithe, but he was also extremely flexible- not to mention remarkably agile and able to scale tall heights as if he could stick to them. He was perfect as a lookout in the crow’s nest, and Peter secretly preferred being up there. He could pretend he was floating in the clouds safely, no one to yell at him or threaten him, nothing to torment him; just endless expanse of the ocean melting into the horizon.
Dusk was falling, and the sky was littered with blotches of purple and gold, with no trace of the crimson that had bled into the horizon at dawn.
Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.
Ignoring the jolt in his stomach at the old fishermens’ rhyme, his enhanced eye sight scanned the waves for any impending sign of trouble. In many ways, his job was the most important on the whole ship. The seas had become ten times more dangerous since T-
Since him.
He listened to the idiot sailors laughing and drinking far below him, blissfully aware that they were harbouring a fugitive on their ship. A runaway who was being hunted by the most formidable man on the seas.
His fists clenched as he remembered how easily he’d been taken in by the charismatic, intelligent man, only a few short months ago that might as well have been decades.
‘Hello? Anybody home?’
The man drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter of the swordsmiths, the dim light hiding his face beneath the wide brimmed shadow of his hat.
A groan and several worrying clangs sounded before Peter stumbled out from the workshop, his curls askew and face flushed. His eyes widened as he took in the man’s impeccably coiffed hair and expensive, elegant crimson clothing embroidered with gold thread.
‘S-so sorry, Sir, I just got back from my other job as we’re short staffed here today,’ he rambled, pulling his hand through his hair in an attempt to tidy himself up ‘My aunt made me promise to be here on time seeing as she had to go out of town, but a fight broke out at the bar and made a huge mess and I had to clean it all up before I could get her. I’m Peter, by the way, um, Peter Parker-’
‘Your aunt? Would that be the surprisingly attractive woman who sold me my new sword a few days ago?’
The man hid his smirk as the boy flushed deeply to the roots of his curls.
‘U-um, yeah, that’s her. She’s not here today, though, so, uh, I’m filling in for her. Sorry about that.’
Sheepishly shifting from one foot to another, Peter was sorry. His aunt had a way of putting everyone at ease with her friendly and outgoing personality, while he was a chaotic mess, which didn’t go down well with the clientele of their shop. Being one of several swordsmiths in town came with a hefty competiton and a clean reputation which they both strove to uphold. Peter excelled behind the scenes where he could lose himself in his work whilst May smiled and secured prices for their goods which would keep a roof over their heads and dinner on the table. With Peter’s second job as a bartender at the local tavern, they barely made ends meet, which was the best they could do after the untimely death of Ben Parker.
Peter turned away for a brief second, shoving the thoughts to one side. Reliving that moment wouldn’t do him any good, especially while he was dealing with a customer.
The man nodded, unaware of the boy’s inner turmoil as he stepped into the light and showed his face for the first time.
‘No problem, kid. She did tell you I was coming though, right?’
Peter blinked in shock, recognising the man instantly. He’d paraded through the town only a few days earlier in an ornate carriage with imposing horses on the way to his mansion overlooking the sea. May’s parting words from earlier that morning washed over him like a rogue icy wave.
‘Peter, you mustn’t be late getting back from Delmar’s tonight. A very important client is coming to pick up their order, so you must be even more polite and respectful than you already are, honey.’
What a great first impression.
‘O-oh, yeah, sure, of course,’ Peter said, trying for nonchalance and falling miserably short. ‘I’ll just grab that for you.’
Retreating back into the sanctuary of the workshop, Peter took a deep breath as he ran his hands through his hair yet again. How had he forgotten, on today of all days, that the Governor was coming to pick up his fulfilled order? And not just any Governor.
Tony. Freaking. Stark.
Peter had admired the man since before he could remember. Governor Stark was a force for good, a master swordsman, a hero and a genius, who protected the country’s coastline from invasion and was behind all the innovative advancements in fortifications and protective weapons. He was a legend, and lived the kind of privileged lifestyle Peter could only dream of.
Tremblingly, he collected the sword and placed it in its sheath. Its gleaming golden blade bounced off the embers of the firelight, and Peter stared back at his youthful, pale face in the reflection. Rubies and garnets were encrusted in the hilt, and they glittered dazzlingly as Peter returned to the counter to face his idol.
‘H-here, Sir.’
The man whistled appreciatively, casting the sheath aside and holding the sword aloft.
‘What a beauty. A fine piece of craftsmanship. Am I right in thinking that the hilt is crafted in the cocked-hat pommel style?’
Peter, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to, eagerly agreed.
‘Yes Sir, exactly like the Vikings used to fight with. Of course, with today’s advancements, I made it heavy enough so that it counters the point of balance, allowing you a fluid and faster swing. The hilt is also designed specifically to be used as a weapon in itself, making the Mordhau fighting technique easier-’
‘-Hold up.’
The man’s dark eyes were watching the boy closely, shrewdly, scrutinising him.
‘You mean to tell me that you made this sword? In only a few days?’
Peter, deflating back into himself, bobbed his head.
‘Yes Sir. My Uncle taught me how to make swords and how to use them, since I was a small child. He was an expert and passed on everything he knew. When he…passed, I became the chief sword maker. But May- my aunt- does all the work, really,’ he finished lamely.
Governor Stark continued to stare at him.
‘That’s… extraordinary,’ he said eventually, and Peter flushed yet again ‘how old are you exactly, kid?’
‘I’ll be sixteen in two weeks, Sir.’
‘To have such knowledge and expertise at such a young age… that is exceedingly rare. Tell me, kid, how much does this shop make?’
‘…E-enough, Sir. I have another job at Delmar’s a few streets away as a bartender, so we make it work…’
Peter trailed off, embarrassed. The truth was that he should start looking for yet another job unless they wanted to be out on the streets in a few months- though he hadn’t dared voice his concerns to May. His aunt tried so hard, and he couldn’t bear to watch the light fade from her eyes as she believed she’d failed her only nephew.
Looking from Peter to the sword and then back again, Tony scoffed.
‘A waste of talent and brains. You’re smart, kid, and you have impressive skills. I could use someone like you to equip all my men with the very best weapons. If you’re up for the task, of course?’
Peter’s heart stopped before launching into a series of cartwheels.
‘Governor Stark, I- I don’t know what to say…’
The man had a huge fleet. To make swords for every man would keep him and May quite comfortable for a long time, and Peter’s eyes bugged out of his head at the thought.
‘I’d wager you could quit that lousy job at Delmar’s if you take me up on my offer, right, kid?’
The man’s eyes glinted, already knowing what the answer would be as he held out his hand to the starstruck boy.
‘I’m so grateful, Sir, truly. I promise I won’t let you down.’
And that had been the start of Tony Stark monopolising his life, pulling the wool so far over the boy’s eyes that he would have believed anything the man said. May was overjoyed with the news, hugging Peter so tightly he thought his bones would break.
‘This is huge, baby! Just think of what Governor Stark could do for you! You could get a job in his fleet when you’re old enough, you could rise to the very top! I’m so proud of you, Peter.’
When Peter wasn’t working on the huge bespoke order for Tony’s men, he was often hanging out with the man himself- which he still could barely believe was happening. The Governor invited him around for sword fighting practice followed by a hearty dinner at least twice a week, charming the pants off May and bringing Peter ever closer into his thrall. He regaled the boy with tales of adventures on the high seas, and Peter drank in every word greedily, his wide eyes shining.
‘You know, Peter,’ he’d said one evening when May was at work and Peter was sitting in front of the roaring fire in the man’s private study, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky, ‘you’re truly special. You’re meant for big things, kid. If you stay by my side, I can give you everything you ever dreamed of. But you have to trust me, no matter what. Do you promise, Pete?’
Peter nodded furiously, and Tony chuckled lightly, ruffling the boy’s hair. They’d become extremely close over the time they’d spent together. Peter had grow attached, craving a father figure and unable to resist Tony’s paternal manner, reserved just for him.
Tony, despite his failings, had become genuinely fond of the kid. At first he’d merely been impressed by the boy’s skills and had seen a golden opportunity to get what he wanted, a distraction while his men carried out his dirty work behind the scenes. But the more he got to know Peter, the more he warmed to him. The boy was kind, brave, extraordinarily bright but desperately needing fatherly guidance. He was everything that Tony saw in his younger self, and the Governor was determined to keep the boy close. He even resembled a younger version of Tony, with his dark messy hair and chocolate brown eyes. He would make a perfect son and heir to the kingdom that Tony would build from the ashes of his past life.
‘I promise. I could never not trust you, Sir,’ the boy said seriously with a solemnity far beyond his years, and the man smiled widely.
‘How many times do I have to tell you, kid? It’s Tony.’
Peter screwed his eyes shut at the memory, cursing his naïve stupidity. Having learnt excellent principles from his aunt and uncle, he’d never broken a promise. It was simply unthinkable.
But trusting Tony had been the worst mistake of Peter’s short life, and Peter prayed that his uncle, wherever he was, would forgive Peter for breaking his foolish promise.
So caught up in the past, Peter didn’t see the ominous red flags appear on the horizon, a tiny harbinger of doom as it sped, full sail, towards the unwitting ship.
I’m coming for you, kid.