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“Peter Benjamin Parker. Date of birth; August 10th, 2001. Parents; Mary and Richard Parker, both deceased.”
The Avengers are all in one of the Compound’s conference rooms, where they’re debriefing their last mission. For once, Tony is actually paying attention, listening as Nat reads through one of the files they found in the Hydra base.
Peter’s file, to be exact.
The kid had been part of something labeled in the file as “Project Spider.” Hydra had taken him when he was four, staging his death along with his parents as a plane crash. The world thought Peter Parker was dead, while Hydra was free to do whatever they wanted with him.
It makes Tony sick.
He thinks back to the state he found him in. Peter, curled up in the corner of the cell’s ceiling, bone thin and riddled with scars. The kid had been so skittish, so untrusting, it had taken a lot of gentle coaxing just to get him to come down. He remembers when they had brought him to the quinjet, the moment he stepped inside Peter had immediately crawled off his back and stuck himself in the corner near the door, watching anyone who came within eyesight. The rest of the team kept their distance (thank god for Rhodey) but Tony had seen the same worry and sadness in their eyes whenever they looked at him.
“What should we tell Fury?” Steve had asked, his brow creased in worry and thought.
Tony had raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
Steve gave him a Look. “About the kid, Tony.”
“We’re not telling him anything.”
Steve hadn’t liked that. “Tony.”
“Look, I don’t want Eyepatch sticking his nose in things it doesn’t belong. He doesn’t need to know.”
If SHIELD found out about Peter, who’s an enhanced, they’d want to keep him somewhere else to “monitor” him. But Tony didn’t want to hand him off to a bunch of strangers. That would just make things worse for the kid.
So what if Tony was feeling a bit protective of this kid he met only hours ago. Sue him.
Steve had begrudgingly agreed, but had insisted they tell Fury by the next week. Tony had said sure, because that was the best he was gonna get. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
At the moment Peter is in one of the guest rooms (the one closest to Tony’s suite, and if anybody noticed they didn’t say anything.) He hopes the kid is sleeping. Peter had made a valiant effort to stay awake on the ride back, but it was obvious the kid was exhausted, if his droopy eyes and the dark bags under his eyes were any indication. Tony wants to get him checked out in the medbay when he wakes up, to check his vitals and make sure there aren’t any hidden injuries they don’t know about. Bruce is sitting across from him. Although he didn’t come with them for this mission he was informed of the situation, and so decided to sit in on the debriefing. He’ll want Peter’s medical files, if Hydra even kept track of that stuff.
“Hydra was trying to recreate the super soldier serum,” Natasha says, snapping Tony out of his thoughts. So much for paying attention. “They were using Peter as their guinea pig. Once the new serum was perfected, they planned to start another army.” The atmosphere of the room drops a few degrees as the weight of her words sinks in.
“And the kid?” Sam asks before Tony can, the man’s face pinched with an uneasy and concerned look. “What would happen to him?”
Natasha’s face is grim. “He would’ve been the next Winter Soldier.”
Tony sucks in a breath. Jesus.
He spares a glance towards where Bucky is standing in the corner, arms crossed. His face is carefully blank, but something troubled leaks through the cracks of his mask. This would be a sore subject for him.
“What about his spider powers?” Rhodey asks, a confused frown on his face. “If they were trying to make the soldier serum, I mean, where did the spider stuff come from?”
A good question.
“An accident,” Natasha answers. “But one that worked in their favour.” She slides a folder towards Bruce, who immediately begins to skim through it. A peek at the files inside show a bunch of blood work and carefully written notes. There’s that medical file. Full of test results, no doubt, his brain supplies.
“A radioactive spider got loose and bit the boy when he was nine,” Nat continues, expression deceptively impassive. “It gave him abilities, so they continued testing with spiders since.”
Bruce speaks up, eyes focused on a section in the file. “Enhanced senses and endurance, incredible strength- possibly stronger than you, Cap. Superhuman reflexes, and adhesive skin.”
Clint’s face scrunches in confusion. “‘Adhesive?’”
“Stickiness,” Tony supplies. He thinks over the list Bruce just read out. Enhanced senses. He remembers the way Peter had jumped away in fright half a minute before Rhodey had shown up. Almost like he had heard him coming.
“He can also organically synthesise his own webs,” Bruce continues, a look of mild interest on his face. “Which he can release through silk glands on his wrists.” He frowns then, flicking through a few pages. “It must be a fairly new development, because there isn’t as much information on it, dating only several months ago.”
“Don’t forget the fangs,” Tony says, and Rhodey nods in agreement. From what he remembers from the couple of glances he got, the kid’s fangs sat where his canines would be, longer and pointier than the rest of his teeth. He wonders if he’s venomous.
Sam and Clint make surprised faces as Bruce scans through the files. “Ah, yes,” he murmurs, pointing to a spot on the page as he quickly reads through it. “Developed around the same time as the organic webs. He has venom, but it doesn’t say how potent it is.”
“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” Sam mutters with a perturbed expression.
Tony shoots him a glare at that, though he isn’t quite sure why. “Well, don’t aggravate the kid and we’ll be good.”
They move on from there. Nat and Steve start discussing other possible Hydra base locations, but Tony zones out, his mind drifting towards the kid a few floors below them. Before he knows it the meeting is over, and the Avengers begin to file out. Before Bruce can leave, however, Tony stops him.
“Hey Brucey, I was gonna bring the kid down to the medbay, if you could give him a quick checkup, see how his health is going. All that stuff.”
Bruce looks like he’d been expecting this. He nods. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Just bring him down whenever he’s ready, I’ll wait for you.”
Tony pats him on the shoulder with a small “thanks,” before he heads for the elevator.
“Hey Fri,” he greets as soon as the doors close. “Bring me to the floor the kid’s on, would you.”
“Sure thing, boss,” FRIDAY replies in her chipper tone.
When Peter wakes up, he doesn’t know where he is.
He’s laying on something soft, really soft, and when he opens his eyes he sees grey sheets. The thing he’s laying on kinda resembles the old cot he used to have in his cell, but this one is newer, bigger, cleaner, more sturdy.
He sits up, idly rubbing the edges of the blanket in between his sensitive fingers (he never knew something could be this soft) as he takes in his surroundings. He’s definitely not in his cell, though that has already been made clear. The room he’s in is a lot bigger, the ceiling taller with orbs that emit a dim light, and there are two doors, noticeably not metal but no doubt locked (he knows better than that.) On one of the walls is a giant window, allowing warm, natural light to filter into the space. His old cell didn’t have a window. Peter finds himself mesmerised by what he sees outside; the green grass, the trees that sway gently in the breeze (if he stretches his hearing enough he can actually hear the rustling of the leaves) and big fluffy clouds that slowly drift across the bright blue sky. And there’s a huge lake beyond, the sunlight reflecting off of the clear, still water. He’s never seen anything like it.
He forces himself to look away from the view to do a final scan of his surroundings. He’s still in his usual clothes, a black tank top and shorts, and as far as he can tell he’s completely alone. He can’t detect anyone in this room or right outside, no footsteps, no heartbeats. Though there’s a faint hum of electricity coming from the walls and ceiling orbs, but it doesn’t bother him so he ignores it.
Yeah, he’s alone. For now, at least.
Peter begins to feel antsy as he surveys the room. An itch at the back of his mind, not his spider-sense but something more primal, demands that he find a safe place to hide. But there is no safe place. Peter eyes the ceiling corner. He could make a web, like the one back at the base. But he doesn’t know the rules in this new place. He could get in trouble. Instead, he leans over the side of the cot (no, bed?) and into the space underneath it. It’s dark. Perfect for hiding.
A small part of his mind reminds him that he could get in trouble for this too. But the itch is insistent, and so Peter crawls underneath. It’s a bit of a squeeze but he instantly feels safer, the itch subsiding. He sticks to the underside of the bed, his back brushing against the carpeted floor as he breathes and he finds his eyes slowly drooping.
He must’ve fallen asleep after that, because the next thing he knows there’s a sudden sharp tingle at the base of his neck, eyes shooting open as the sound of footsteps and an accompanying heartbeat reach his ears. He slows his breathing and stays perfectly still as the person gets closer and a second later, the door opens with a soft click.
A pair of shoes walk into his line of vision, stopping right in front of the bed. There’s a startled pause, then
“Kid?”
Oh, he knows that voice. The metal man. What was his name again?
The shoes spin and shuffle in place as the man looks around for him. He seems frantic, almost worried, which Peter thinks is a little strange. The man’s worried that he escaped. Yeah, that must be it. Peter should crawl out of his hiding place, let the man know he’s still here, but his mind hisses at the thought and his limbs stay frozen in place.
“Fri, where’s the kid?” the man says in a single breath, and oh, Tony! That’s his name. Tony Stark.
Wait, who is he talking to?
A new voice speaks up, almost making Peter jump with fright.
“Peter is underneath the bed, boss.”
Who is that? He didn’t hear anyone else come in. Actually, it sounded like it came from somewhere in the ceiling. His stomach drops at the thought. Has someone been watching him??
There’s a surprised noise from the man, before there’s shuffling as he kneels down in front of the opening with a soft groan and a muttered “I’m too old for this.” Tony Stark’s face appears, brown eyes scanning the dark space and Peter’s head snaps to him, eyes widening as he stiffens.
But then the man startles. Violently. He jumps back with a barely concealed curse, banging his head against the bedframe in the process. Peter can’t help but flinch at the sudden and unexpected movement, leaning away with a small hiss as he watches Stark warily. What scared him so bad? Was it something he did?
Tony recovers a few seconds later, rubbing the top of his head with a wince. He’s now sitting on the floor about a foot away, and he leans down to properly see Peter. He doesn’t come closer. Not yet.
“Christ, kid, you gave me a heart attack. I have a heart condition, y'know.” He sighs somewhat dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as if to calm himself. Peter can hear his erratic heartbeat slowing down to a normal rate. Stark gives Peter a curious look then, one eyebrow quirking up. “Your eyes glow, y’know that?” he says. Peter tilts his head. “In the dark,” Stark elaborates. “Kinda like a cat. And, I guess, spiders as well.” He hums. “Huh. Very interesting.”
That’s… good to know? Peter wasn’t aware of that fact about him, but judging by Mr. Stark’s reaction it’s not a trait human’s share. (Just something else to make him different.)
He still scared Mr. Stark. He didn’t mean to, but his insides still squirm with guilt and fear. “Sorry,” he whispers, ducking his head as best as he can in his position.
Mr. Stark frowns at that. “Hey, no. Not your fault, kid,” he says, sounding a little out of his depth but no less sincere. There’s a pause for a moment, the man seemingly thinking about what to say next. “Is there a reason you’re hiding under there?” he asks, tilting his head inquisitively at him.
“Dark,” Peter answers. He picks at a scab on his fingernail, keeping his gaze down (or up, in his case) but making sure the man never leaves his line of sight. “Safer,” he adds in a quiet voice, giving a small shrug.
He doesn’t know why he added that last part. Mr Stark doesn’t care. Safety is irrelevant.
But for some reason Stark’s eyes soften, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, bunny rabbit,” he says, his tone teasing. “Whatever works for you.” He stands up then, moving out of Peter’s line of sight, which makes him wary. “Anyways, you wanna hop out of there? So I can see you a bit better?”
Peter does as told, crawling out from under the bed (the back of his mind wailing in protest) and sitting crisscross on the mattress. He keeps his gaze down, avoiding eye contact, as he awaits his orders.
He can feel Mr. Stark’s gaze on him, but he misses the soft, almost sad, look that settles over his features, and the determined one followed shortly after.
“Alright,” he declares. “Game plan; we’re gonna head on down to the medbay for a checkup, and then we’ll see about getting you something to eat, sound good?”
Peter perks up at the prospect of food. He hadn’t been fed since the day before his cell was broken into, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been in this new place. At least a day or two…
As if on cue, his stomach lets out a loud growl.
His cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
Tony chuckles. “I guess that answers that,” he says. He steps towards the door, gesturing to Peter in a ‘come here’ motion. “C’mon,” he urges, though not impatiently. “We shouldn’t take long, I promise.”
He doesn’t want to see what happens if he disobeys, plus he would really like some food, so Peter unfolds his legs and stands, making his way to Tony. He keeps his head down, avoiding eye contact, just like he’s trained. When he’s close enough, he holds out his wrists obediently, waiting to be cuffed.
But several seconds pass and… nothing happens? Peter warily looks up at Tony, and is met with the man’s pinched expression and sad eyes.
“Uhh… no need for that, kid,” he says with a sniff, clearly put off but trying to hide it. Tony steps away. “Just- Follow me, kid.”
Peter’s eyes widen, dropping his hands.
Oh.
Ok?
Hesitantly, Peter takes a slow step towards Tony. Satisfied, the man turns back around and walks down what looks like a hallway, and Peter scrambles to follow on shaky legs.
His spider sense, which had been at a low hum ever since Tony walked in, cranks up a notch, and Peter begins to feel uneasy. He’s not used to this. Not used to just… walking freely. He’s almost tempted to crawl on the wall or ceiling, just for something familiar, but he doesn’t think Tony would like that.
His steps are silent as he follows the man down the long hallway, a floor to ceiling window on his left, with a view similar to the one in his new cell, and rows of doors to his right with name plaques beside them. Peter doesn’t let himself get distracted by these, though, just keeps his eyes trained on Tony’s back as he follows him to a metal door at the end of the hallway. The door slides open, and Tony steps inside. Peter is a step behind him, eyeing the enclosed space warily.
When the doors close, Tony speaks up.
“Hey Friday, medbay please.”
“Of course, boss.”
It’s the same voice as before. The one who outed his hiding place to Tony. Spy lady. Peter’s muscles lock up, eyes darting around as he tries to find the source of her voice. He feels himself stick to the wall behind him and his lips curl in a wary snarl.
“You’re all good, kid,” Tony says with a light chuckle. “That’s just Friday, my AI. She can’t hurt you.”
Peter frowns, more curious now. So, no spy lady. Just… robot lady? No wonder he wasn’t able to sense her anywhere.
“She runs everything in this building,” Tony continues, “So if you need anything, just ask her.”
Peter frowns. That confuses him. He isn’t allowed to ask questions. But he also isn’t allowed to disagree, so he nods.
Friday speaks up again. “It is nice to meet you, Peter,” she says, and he didn’t know robots could sound so friendly.
He can’t help but respond. “H-hi, robot lady…” he says, his lips twitching up in a small, foreign smile. A shy smile, but a smile nonetheless.
He doesn’t notice the way a triumphant smile of his own appears on Tony’s face.
A moment later the doors slide open, and Peter follows Tony out into a clean, white room, the walls on either side of them interspersed with doors and windows leading into separate rooms. The smell of chemicals and cleaning supplies immediately hits his nose, and his back goes ramrod straight.
Strapped to a table. They cut into his skin, reaching bone, his organs. There’s so much blood. All he knows is pain pain pain make it stop-
“Peter?”
Peter’s eyes snap up to Tony, sucking in a quick breath and holding it. Tony is giving him a strange look, something analytical and… concerned? “You good there?” he asks.
He realises he’s stopped walking. Stupid. Peter hurries to catch up to the man, releasing his breath and eyes trained to the ground as he quickly nods. “Yes, sir,” Peter says, barely managing to keep the tremble out of his voice.
He glances up in time to see Tony wrinkle his nose. “Just Tony is fine, kid,” he says with a light roll of his eyes. “‘Sir’ makes me sound old.”
Keeping his gaze downwards, Peter stiffly nods. He doesn’t trust his voice right now.
Tony is silent for a second longer, seeming to study him. “Alright,” the man mutters to himself, before he turns back to the way they were heading. “Anyways. Just down here, kiddo.”
Peter timidly follows Tony a few more paces until they walk through one of the doorways. The smell of chemicals becomes stronger, and with it so does the anxiety churning in his gut. In the room is a man with dark hair and glasses, who looks up from the tablet as the two enter.
He’s also wearing a coat. A white coat.
Peter freezes, eyes zeroing in on the white fabric. Tony and the new man exchange a few words but he can’t make out what they’re saying. Everything is muffled, as if everything is underwater. There is a high pitched ringing in his ears.
The impassive stares of the faceless people around him, touching and prodding with cold rubber gloves. He begs them to stop, please it hurts, but they don’t listen, they don’t hear him, it’s like he’s not even speaking it’s like he is not human-
“-eter? Peter? What’s wrong?”
His spider sense screams as someone reaches towards him and he flinches away with a cut off whine. His eyes are unseeing as he frantically shakes his head, taking an aborted step back. “No tests,” he pleads breathlessly. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Please, no more tests.”
“Tests? What is he-”
“Shit, it’s your coat, Bruce. Take it off.”
There’s a hasty ruffle of fabric. His sense spikes again and he jumps backwards into a corner, his eyes snapping open as he does. He needs to climb, up, up. Tony stops the slow step he was taking, his hands held out placatingly and his brows furrowed in concern.
“You’re ok, Pete,” he soothes. “But I need you to breathe for me, can you do that? Just follow me, like this.” Tony exaggerates his breathing, and the boy follows along as best as he can. He chokes on his breath a few times, but after a few attempts he is able to keep it under control.
Tony continues. “We’re not gonna… do any tests on you, alright?” The man’s eyes fill with disgust and sadness, as if the very thought disturbs him. “Bruce won’t do anything you don’t want him to do, ok? Neither of us will hurt you. I promise, kid.”
This is a new tactic that he’s never experienced before. Lying. The people of Hydra didn’t bother hiding the truth from him (although they rarely even spoke to him either), there was no need to. It’s not like he had a say in what they did to him. Maybe these new people think lying to him will make him more compliant?
(There’s no way they’re telling the truth. Because why else would he be brought here, in this room that is just like the lab back at the base, if he wasn’t going to be tested on? What other purpose would he have for existing if he wasn’t meant to be used by others?)
He shouldn’t fight them. That will just make whatever punishments they have in store for him worse. He already knows their game, but he’ll play along. That seems to be the safest way.
So Peter forces himself to relax, unsticking himself from the wall and ignoring his spider sense blaring alarms in his head as he takes a step towards Tony. He keeps his gaze trained down. Submissive. Obedient. He’ll give them what they want. It’s better this way.
Tony still seems worried, not seeming assuaged by Peter’s compliance, but he takes it in stride. “You’re ok,” he says. “It’s just a checkup, bud. No tests. We won’t hurt you.”
The other man, who had been watching the interaction from the other end of the room, hesitantly approaches. “Hi, Peter. I’m Bruce,” he says. He isn’t wearing the white coat anymore, Peter notes, leaving the man in a greyish-blue button up long sleeve. Not having the coat makes him feel just the teensiest bit better. “I’ll be giving you a checkup today,” the man says. “Just to see where your overall health is at so we can work on a recovery plan. Is that ok with you?”
Recovery plan? But Peter isn’t sick? Still, it isn’t his place to ask questions. If they say he’s sick, then he’s sick. Besides, the sooner this is over with the better. “Yes, sir.”
There’s a flash of uncertainty on Bruce’s face. “Just Bruce is fine,” he says, before leading Peter to a hospital bed. At Bruce’s coaxing, Peter sits down. Tony moves to the other end of the room, out of the way but still observing. Peter isn’t sure what to feel at the man’s presence.
True to their word, no tests are done. Instead, Bruce performs various medical exams, like checking Peter’s height, temperature, blood pressure, heart rate. Stuff like that. And the man always tells Peter what he is about to do before asking if he is okay with it. “I’m going to wrap this around your arm to get your blood pressure. Is that okay?” “This is an otoscope. I’ll be using it to check your ears. Can I do that?” Of course, Peter isn’t going to say no, but Bruce always seems to notice his discomfort, because he’ll say something like, “Tell me if this gets too much for you.” But with each exam done, and the longer he remains unharmed, Peter slowly begins to relax.
Bruce does ask him questions about his enhancements, but that’s all they are. Questions. He never tries to test them out, or try to take any of his skin or blood. “I’ve noticed your metabolism is faster than average. What’s that like for you?” “Your senses are more enhanced. Does that give you any trouble?” Peter will answer to the best of his ability, his words shaky and stuttered. He’s expecting the doctor to pull out a scalpel to test his fast healing or something like that, but in response to every answer, Bruce just nods and moves on. At some point he began to carefully look over Peter’s wrists, noticing his spinnerets. Without thinking, Peter yanks them out of the man’s hold with a hiss, before he freezes, expecting to be punished. But Bruce just apologises, sounding sincere, before moving on to the next thing.
It’s… confusing.
Before long Bruce finishes up. Thank god. The man spares a glance to Tony, who, aside from a few comments and quips here and there, has remained silent throughout the exam. “Alright, we’re all done here, Peter,” Bruce says. “I just need to have a few words with Tony, so just stay here in the meantime, okay?”
With a lack of anything to say, Peter just nods.
Bruce offers a smile. “Thank you,” he says. What for? Peter has no clue. Bruce steps away and walks out the door. Tony looks at Peter. “Won’t be long, kid,” he says, before following Bruce into the hall.
Peter can still see them through the glass door, and thanks to his hearing he can make out everything they are saying.
“So?” Stark says, seeming antsy. “What’s the verdict?”
Bruce purses his lips. “He’s… very malnourished,” he says grimly as he removes his glasses, fiddling with them as he speaks. “And severely underweight. I don’t know what they’ve been feeding him, but it’s best to keep him on a light diet for the next few weeks before introducing him to regular food. And I’ll give you a list of supplements he must take as well.”
Tony listens with rapt attention, a hand on his chin as he nods to Bruce’s words. “Consider it done. Whatever he needs.”
“And…” Bruce hesitates, a worried frown forming on his face before he continues. “I’m worried about his spinnerets.”
Tony frowns now. “What about them?”
“There are two holes in his wrists, and I wasn’t able to get a good look at them, but… They’re inflamed. I’m worried they might be causing him pain.”
Peter looks down at the spinnerets. Yeah, his wrists never recovered after that mutation. So what if they’re a little red? And his wrists hurt every time he shoots a web. So what?
He idly squeezes the base of the hole. White gooey webbing oozes out, and the small muscles burn. He flinches away with a hiss of pain, but the disgust went away ages ago.
“...Just keep an eye on him, please,” Bruce is saying. “Anything out of the ordinary happens, you come get me. Or Cho, once she arrives.”
“Don’t you worry, Jolly Green,” Tony says, giving the man a couple of pats on the shoulder. His voice is calm but the slight pinch in the corners of his eyes betray his unease. “This kid’ll be fine, you’ll see.” Stark leans back, placing his hands in his pockets as he glances around. “Anyway, I promised the kid I’d get him some food, so are we done? Or is there anything else I should know?”
Bruce shakes his head with a dismissive wave. “No. And stick to plain foods,” he reminds him. “Nothing that will upset his stomach.”
Tony nods with a shrug, stepping towards the door. “I’ve got it,” he says.
Stark reenters the room, standing in the doorway. Peter sits up straight, praying that they don’t realise that he was listening in. Thankfully, none of that happens.
Tony gestures outside with his head. “C’mon kid,” he says. “Let’s get some lunch.”