Work Text:
What Lies Beneath
Peter let the air leave his lungs in a long, slow expiration, breathing in and out with deliberate control in a futile attempt to soothe his frayed nerves. His restless gaze drifted up from his notes to the massive auditorium, packed with professors, students, invited guests, political heavyweights, and all the freaking people from all over the world.
Those hundreds of unfamiliar eyes, burying themselves into him and his teammates, did nothing to help.
The Midtown High Decathlon team had secured an unprecedented victory, elevating them to the level of the international championship; a gathering of the global scientific community brought together to witness a debate among the most prestigious schools on the planet, facing the most insane and grueling challenge of their lives.
That year, the host country chosen was Latveria.
He and his teammates had been over the moon when their qualification for the international finals was confirmed, and they had practically droved over everything in sight ever since setting foot in the strange European nation; a place that curiously blended ultramodern technology with towering, imposing Gothic architecture straight out of the Middle Ages. Even Flash had stopped being a total jerk, far too busy gawking at everything around him and trying to make a good impression on every VIP he tripped over.
Seriously, talk about a show-off...
And when could he have ever imagined that, in his humble life, he would end up staying in a hotel that looked like a small freaking castle?
It was so awesome!
Yet, since life isn't always a walk in the park and this trip certainly wasn't a vacation, here he was in his present situation: a bundle of trembling nerves barely containing himself, competing for a spot in that year's championship hall of fame.
The buzz and mingling of voices suddenly ceased, and a heavy silence coated the entire auditorium as the nation's ruler was announced, instantly drawing the gaze of every single being inside.
Peter stared in a mixed blur of awe and bewilderment; he truly couldn't fathom how a man could exude such sheer imposition, majesty, and authority without speaking a single word, purely through his presence alone.
In a modern world, Victor von Doom genuinely felt like something ripped straight out of another era entirely.
The Sovereign of Latveria advanced accompanied by his personal guard, men, women, and perfectly uniformed Doombots clad in garments that glinted with polished armor plating, insignia, and ceremonial swords sheathed at their waists. The Monarch himself looked as though he had stepped right out of a medieval portal and into the auditorium: impeccably dressed in layered leather and fiber clothing, titanium plating shielding his chest, gauntleted arms, and heavy metallic boots that echoed with a commanding thud with every stride he took through the ocean of people who had parted to make way for him. The Latverian citizens immediately revered him, bowing low in absolute respect.
The long, forest-green velvet cloak swayed behind him with every movement, regal and elegant, its deep hood casting shadows over his head, his face concealed behind the iconic iron mask, pierced by glowing green eyes that held subtle, supernatural traces.
Peter swore those eyes locked onto him—and only him—for an eternal fraction of a second that stretched impossibly long in time; intense, profound, enigmatic, and when they finally drifted away, they left him completely unsteady.
Victor von Doom took his seat of honor alongside the highest authorities present, arms crossed, coldly observing the student teams.
Peter let out the trembling breath he hadn't even realized he’d been holding.
What the hell was that?
The competition began; questions were fired off rapidly, growing harder with each round. Peter and his teammates fought to overcome every obstacle, and one by one, their opponents fell as they advanced through the brackets.
With every answer he gave, with every team they defeated, the teenager felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and the weight of those emerald eyes burning into him.
As hours passed and Midtown High pushed forward, Peter felt sweat trickling down his temple; all more nervous; all more rattled.
He was entirely certain that the Sovereign of Latveria was watching him, fixedly, uninterruptedly, and throughout the entire freaking competition, the man had never looked away from him.
What...?
The final round arrived; the last question was launched. Time sprinted past without mercy, and Peter slammed his hand on the buzzer to deliver his answer.
Correct.
They had won.
An explosion of pure joy swept across their booth as his teammates swarmed him in a hug so exuberant it felt like it could power an entire city!
They had won!
Peter could barely believe it; he felt as though he were walking on air, until he was suddenly yanked crashing back down to earth the moment his wild, daydreaming gaze drifted once more to the Latverian Monarch, who was now standing right before them, formally congratulating the winning team.
Peter looked up at the iron mask, feeling the weight of that intense, enigmatic gaze find his own. There was something in those eyes... something the teenager couldn't quite name.
The Sovereign's gauntleted hand grasped his own; the handshake strangely lingered far longer than it had with any of his teammates.
He stood staring in a daze at the man's retreating back for a long, long time as Victor von Doom finally turned and left the hall.
In the blink of an eye, Peter was back at the hotel, holding an invitation sent and signed by the Sovereign of Latveria himself, addressed to the winning team and bidding them to a gala dinner at Castle Doom. Another blink, and Peter was seated at a massive oak dining table laden with the most eccentric banquet he had ever laid eyes on in his entire life. His teammates were eating, laughing, and chattering all around him, mingling with the nobles and guests of honor sharing the table. At the head of it all, Victor von Doom presided without eating, the iron mask ever-present on his face as he conversed with the dignitaries and professors nearby.
Peter caught himself staring far too much at the Sovereign, completely submerged by his own intrigue and curiosity.
When his team had been summoned to participate in the international competition and informed it would take place in Latveria, he had looked into the country, which inevitably led to researching its enigmatic Sovereign.
He never appeared in public without the mask; ever since taking the throne years ago, no one knew what his face looked like underneath.
Several times throughout the banquet, Peter accidentally caught the Monarch's gaze, instantly looking away, dying of mortification for being caught staring like an awestruck idiot.
A short while later, Peter excused himself to find the restroom, following the servants' directions until the conversations faded into the distance. He found it, but upon stepping back out, he completely lost his way in the labyrinthine corridors of the immense castle. He wandered aimlessly until he spotted a strange, flickering green mystical light dancing against the dark stone walls of the ancestral building. It swirled, spun in the air, and floated ahead as though guiding him forward.
Curious, Peter followed it until his steps led him into a vast library housing a rich collection of thousands of books. A fireplace crackled with emerald magical flames, standing closer to it the imposing figure of the Sovereign of Latveria, back turned to the entrance with his arms crossed over his cloak, facing a grand stained-glass window that offered an exhilarating view of Doomstadt, the lush surrounding forest valley, and the distant snow-capped mountain ranges.
Peter flushed crimson.
"I—I'm so sorry, Your Majesty! I—I didn't mean to interrupt—"
"Are you lost?" The voice echoed through the mask, stripped of its chilling coldness or its usual indifference. Peter blinked; it almost sounded... inviting? "If you are lost, perhaps I can help you find yourself."
The teenager stood unsure in the doorway of the library, rubbing the back of his neck, completely awkward.
"Your... your castle is beautiful, sir... just way too big," he confessed stupidly, immediately kicking himself mentally.
Why, whenever he needed words the most, did he manage to utter the absolute dumbest ones possible? Seriously, Peter? Telling the Sovereign to his face that his castle was too big?
Victor von Doom didn't seem to mind the younger boy's bluntness.
"Latveria offers a rich architecture steeped in the history of my ancestors who founded this land. This castle is merely one of them. Stones tell tales, but true value lies in the people who shaped them."
The Sovereign turned partially toward him; his glowing green eyes found the teenager's brown ones.
"You are the young man who answered the final question of the decathlon competition today. It was an elegant display; your knowledge helped your peers and your school earn recognition and prestige for years to come."
Peter squirmed under the rare compliment.
"I... thank you, sir..."
"Your name is Peter..." Victor recalled, and the boy nodded in affirmation.
"Peter Parker."
The Monarch gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
"Your parents must be proud of your demonstration today; you answered several difficult questions correctly. Knowledge like yours is rare indeed in youth nowadays."
This time, Peter offered a tight, awkward, self-conscious smile.
"They're dead, sir; they passed away a few years ago, shortly after I was born. I've lived with my aunt in New York for as long as I can remember."
The Sovereign's gaze grew dense and piercing, and Peter fidgeted beneath its weight. The man's aristocratic and majestic posture hadn't budged an inch since their conversation began, but Peter sensed an air of genuine interest around him.
"A lamentable choice of words on my part... I offer you my condolences, Peter..." Victor's refined voice lowered, sounding sincere.
Peter furrowed his brow then, and before he could rein in his runaway big mouth, he blurted out the question.
"Why are you here, Your Majesty? Shouldn't you be at the banquet?"
The moment the words left his lips, his face burned completely red, scorching like fire. Who on earth was he to question where the Monarch should or shouldn't be inside his own castle?!
Victor's eyes gleamed subtly, and an aura of quiet amusement radiated from him.
"When one governs a country for so long, one learns to relish the moments of silence between the duties and obligations the throne demands." The man raised a gauntleted hand and gestured to the space beside him in a silent invitation for the younger to step closer, and Peter did so, still dying of embarrassment.
He definitely knew nothing about royal etiquette; he was completely out of his depth.
Curiously, the Sovereign of Latveria seemed not to care at all.
Peter stopped beside Victor, and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he watched the man raise his hands, push his hood back, and pull off the iron mask, revealing his face.
Peter stared with wide, shocked eyes, completely caught off guard as Victor lifted his gaze to meet the teenager's directly.
The mysterious face of the Sovereign of Latveria, far from the wild rumors circulating all over the internet claiming it was hideously disfigured and that was why he concealed it, bore no resemblance to what Peter was seeing now. His countenance was handsome, noble, aristocratic, and sharp, with high cheekbones, heavy brows that lent him a natural severity, a perfectly trimmed goatee, and an old scar on his right cheek that spread across the skin up to his ear and traced up the side of his eye, which iris remained deep, intense, and adorned with that unnatural green that served as a subtle trademark of the magic the man was famous for manipulating.
Peter had no idea how long he stood there openly staring at the man, as the Sovereign allowed it, his calm gaze remaining fixed entirely upon him.
"I have no need to wear it when I am in privacy; it is my choice." Victor answered the silent question hanging in the air.
"Then why do you?" Peter inquired dumbly, once again mentally slapping himself for his sheer bluntness.
A faint, subtle twitch at the corner of the man's lips revealed itself.
"Power. One day you will have the opportunity to learn that your presentation dictates how you exercise control and governance over others. A face that is unyielding, severe, and impartial becomes the symbol of unbreakable strength and security; my image today is the face of Latveria, for I represent the sovereignty of this nation."
Silence fell between them; not an uncomfortable silence, nor a strange one. Peter found himself embraced by the Sovereign's gaze, completely unable to understand what he was doing there, why this was happening, or why there was such a strange familiarity between them that, rather than pushing him away, seemed to pull him in, wrapping around him and holding him close.
What was happening?
"Your friends are looking for you..." Victor suddenly broke the silence, a very discreet, almost imperceptible sigh parting his lips.
Peter watched the man raise a hand and conjure a spell, and, absolutely fascinated, the teenager watched a glowing emerald sphere bearing the symbol of the House of Doom materialize over his palm. He offered it to the boy, who accepted the item in a mix of curiosity and awe.
"A token of recognition from Latveria to the young man who conquered both this country and the world with his knowledge today," the Sovereign explained to him, a rare softness lingering on the edge of his voice. "Your school will remain in Latveria throughout the coming week as my guests of honor. I hope you enjoy your stay in my country, and that you might return to Castle Doom during any free time you can spare from your obligations."
"Thank you, Lord Doom," Peter murmured, completely awkward, addressing the Monarch the way he had heard the professors and dignitaries do earlier. He offered an ungraceful, slightly clumsy bow, but one that was passable in respect.
The Sovereign nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on the younger's countenance for one final, extended second.
"Go now, Peter," he told him, his hand weaving strands of emerald-green mystical energy that danced around the teenager as if rejoicing in his presence. "The lights will guide your way."
Peter glanced one last time at the Sovereign's face, and very slowly, with an unconscious reluctance, he turned toward the library's exit.
Victor von Doom watched in silence as the younger's retreating back faded away—watching the son he had lost so long ago, and whom he had finally found again.