Peter glared at Steve, feeling the familiar sensation of irritation prick the back of his neck.
"I. Tried. My. Best," he repeated for the hundredth time that day. Steve crossed his arms over his chest, which would have looked kind of funny in the outfit if Peter hadn't been so mad.
"If you had tried your best," Steve said, "then we wouldn't be in this mess, would we? HYDRA wouldn't be scrambling to hide that man. He would be in our clutches and we wouldn't be dealing with the backlash of agents trying to locate us and shut us down. Now SHIELD has to pay for your mistakes."
Peter clenched his jaw and looked away, keeping his back straight with perfect posture and hands clasped behind his back like he'd been taught. He focused on the view outside the window, gazing at the wintery landscape hundreds of feet below. They had been forced to evacuate their urban New York location for this remote dump, and it was party his fault, like this was now. But he tried not to think about it.
"You keep making mistakes that are costing SHIELD," Steve grumbled, leaning closer to glare at Peter as if it would be more effective. Peter tried not to grimace as spit flew from the old man's mouth and spattered his face. "You're nothing but a burden to this organization. We would have been better off if we left you in the clutches of HYDRA."
Yes, maybe I would have, Peter wanted to retort. But he had learned his lesson many times before and kept his mouth shut.
Instead he asked, "Where's Tony?" His voice was smooth and cool, betraying no emotion. Steve gnashed his teeth and took a step back, a vein bulging near his temple.
"Tony is putting in his efforts to keep the HYDRA agents at bay, the agents you failed to notice following you. Now we have a big mess on our hands."
Steve marched out of the room, leaving Peter alone with a few of the tech nerds tapping away at their computers, either giving him judgmental stares or looking away. They knew this was his fault, too.
If only Tony were here. Tony had found Peter as a young orphan while he was on a mission to plant a bioweapon in Queens, New York. He had taken him back to the SHIELD base, where Peter spent his childhood learning how to be a bloodthirsty warrior.
One curious afternoon had led him to explore the labs. Unfortunately it was the same day a biologically engineered spider had escaped, and he'd been bitten. Now with uncontrollable powers, Tony had convinced Steve and the other SHIELD agents to allow Peter to join them on missions.
It had apparently been a bad idea.
"I'll fix it," he whispered, almost to himself as he pulled his black mask out of his pocket and slipped it over his head. "I'll fix it. For Tony."
Getting back into the HYDRA base was easy. Locating the man, whom he was supposed to kidnap last time, was not.
The base was heavily patrolled the farther he went in. He pressed himself into nooks and crannies, holding his breath as soldiers passed by. But eventually those soldiers became too many for him to hide from, so he was forced to use one of his powers: camouflage.
He wasn't exactly a hundred percent sure how it worked, but if he concentrated really hard to blend into his surroundings, no one was able to see him. Not even himself. It was a tactic that proved useful during the few hide and seek games he got to play with Tony on his birthday or other special occasions.
It didn't work very well in sunlight, much like the Lord of the Rings, but fortunately for him the hallway he was making his way down was very dim.
He had spied on some of the guards for a few minutes until he got the information he needed: the sorcerer he was looking for was in cell 186-B. He wasn't exactly sure where that was, but he knew he could find it if he looked long enough.
As he was walking down the hall, squeezing past guards and searching for the right cell, his camouflage wore off. He stared down at his black suit, which was accented with green, and panic flared up in his chest.
"Hey! You!"
A guard shouted, and Peter heard the many, many guards along the hall cock their guns and start running over in unison. With many more to come.
Peter dodged bullets as if he were sidestepping a dodgeball and managed to wrench the guns from the guards, then began firing back. When they got within too close of a range, he dropped the gun and delivered crunching kicks to their heads. By the time he was finished, guards piled the hallways. Dead or wounded, he didn't care.
Throwing down the gun, Peter snatched a card from a soldier's belt and slid it to open the cell door.
Instead of facing a prisoner, Peter found himself standing in some sort of lounge. Huge windows opened to a magnificent view of the bustling city streets below, and a long, empty dining table acted as a barrier between the door and the modern-styled kitchen.
Peter tensed as he saw a man standing by the window, sipping a cup of coffee. He had a dark blue tunic of sorts on, with a long red cape and graying brown hair. Peter recognized him instantly from the many files he had studied before being sent out on his mission. This was the man he was supposed to kidnap.
"Good morning," the man called without turning around, taking another sip from his coffee mug. "I've been waiting all week for you. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up."
"News flash," Peter called, stretching out a hand to shoot webs at the man and tie him up. "I'm not your Amazon delivery guy! Hands up!"
The man gave an amused snort and turned, regarding Peter with a slightly bored expression. Feeling frustration well up in him faster than a boiling pot of water, Peter shot a strand of webs at the man to stick him to the wall.
Without dropping his mug, the man waved a hand and an orange shield appeared out of nowhere, blocking the pathetic sticky substance. Peter gawked.
"You know, kid," he sighed, finally setting the mug down on the table. "I don't really think you know what you're doing."
Peter glared at the man. "You don't even know what I'm doing! I--I mean, I know what I'm doing, of course, I just meant you don't!"
"Sure."
With an angry yell, Peter charged forwards and went to give the man a punch that he knew would knock him out for at least several hours, but his fist never made contact.
Instead, the man had created some kind of yellow ring around both of them, suspending him in the air. He struggled, but before long he could hardly feel his face. He felt his tense limbs go slack as his vision dimmed.
"This doesn't look right," he heard the sorcerer say before everything exploded in a burst of yellow light.
Peter opened his eyes to find himself on the floor, face pressed against the cool tile he could feel through his mask.
Breathing heavily, he jumped to his feet, only to be overcome by an extreme case of vertigo. He stumbled, clutching his head as the world spun, and tripped right into the arms of a familiar red and gold suit.
"Peter?!" Tony's voice shouted. Peter steadied himself and groggily stared up at the armored villain who was his hero.
But there was something...different about him. He couldn't put his finger on it.
"Where---where'd the wizard go?!" Peter shouted, spinning around. Tony put his arms on Peter's shoulders.
"Hey, relax." His voice sounded light, happy, almost, like Peter had never heard it. "Steve and Natasha are sneaking him out now. HYDRA won't know what hit 'em!"
Peter gave a nervous laugh at that. "What--what do you mean? How long have I been out, when did they get here?"
Tony put his hands on his hips. "Uh, they arrived here with us, genius. When do you think?"
"So you..." Peter gulped. "You followed me?"
"Of course!" Tony threw his arms up in the air. "You're still a kid, Pete. I know you're strong and capable, but you can't rescue a sorcerer from HYDRA on your---Wait, when did you get the new suit?"
"What are you talking about?" Peter blurted. "This is the only suit I've ever had."
Tony's faceplate popped open, revealing his frown and wrinkled brow. "What about the one I made you? You know, the multi-million weapon with A.I?"
"Oh, that one..." Peter rubbed the back of his neck, thinking of his very first suit Tony had made for him. He had only used it for a few days after it caught on fire, and he had almost forgotten about it. "Well, besides this one, I guess."
Tony looked like he wanted to ask another question, but changed his mind when he heard a shout down the hall. His faceplate popped back down and his blasters fired up.
"Okay, kid, as much as I'd love to continue this chit-chat, we've gotta bolt!"
"Yes, sir!" Peter clenched his fists and prepared himself for battle.
Fighting side-by-side with his mentor, this was what he had always wanted.
"Alright, we're go for extraction!" Tony said as Peter heard the sounds of HYDRA's bootsteps getting closer and closer. "We're gonna book it out that window and rendezvous with the jet in midair above the base. Think you can do that? Need me to carry you?"
"What?" Peter asked, a little slow to comprehend. "But what about fighting?"
"What about fighting?" Tony shot back as the door started rattling. "Kid, remember this: we always avoid a fight whenever possible."
Peter blanched. This was not something Tony had taught him.
Tony himself had made sure to engrain the 'kill or be killed' thing inside of him. Leave no witnesses. Tony had been the one to help him unleash his inner warrior into his inner beast, and the two had grown even closer after Peter had made his first kill at fourteen: a HYDRA agent posing as a spy within their own ranks.
Peter remembered the cheer as Tony ran in with his armor, the confident way he leaped out of his suit and pulled Peter into a hug, giving his back a few loving slaps. Raising a grinning Peter's bloody hand above his head for all to see.
"That's my boy," he had whispered.
Peter had never felt more like he belonged somewhere, like he actually had a purpose, than when Tony had been proud of him.
Now he stared at his suit that was a bit lighter toned and rounded, trying to comprehend the fact that Tony had just asked him to retreat.
"But--but we don't leave any witnesses," Peter managed. "You said we've gotta cleanse every place we hijack."
"I said that?" Tony asked incredulously. "Must've been a bad day. Well, showtime's over, kid, so if you wanna get to the compound in time for movie night, then we'd better roll out now. Comprendo? Understand?"
"готов к соответствию," he mumbled regretfully, waiting for Tony's praise of Peter's compliance like he did every time. Instead Tony jumped out the window and started flying towards the jet. He hadn't even heard him.
With a sigh, Peter slung out his webs and jumped out after him.
When he got into the jet and yanked off his mask to gulp in a mouthful of fresh air, everyone gawked at him.
"Where'd you get the new suit, kid?" Clint asked, taking the cocked arrow out and putting it back in the little pouchy-sheath-thing strung around his back. "Like the color."
"More importantly," Tony interjected, stepping out of his suit and stepping closer to Peter. "When did you get your hair cut? Does May know about this? I thought she said she liked it a bit shaggy and loose."
Remaining silent in contemplation, Peter ran a hand across the top of his buzzed head.
Every other week, ever since he could remember, a lady named Pam shaved his hair and a few other SHIELD agents. They were required to have military cuts. Having longer hair had never occurred to him, not once. It was the way his hair had always been.
He decided not to say anything, as usual, which seemed to make Tony troubled.
"You got something to say?" Clint probed, crossing his arms across his chest. Peter shrugged.
"Uh...sorry for sneaking away to HYDRA to kidnap the wizard, I guess. But I'd do it again."
"No, I mean---" Clint broke off into a bout of laughter. "I mean, you're always babbling about how cool everything is. Don't you have some movie to compare it to?"
Peter's brow creased in confusion. "Movie?"
"You know," Tony said, giving his head a nod. "That little thing called Star Wars."
He frowned. "I don't---"
"Hey!" Natasha called, stepping into the cargo hold where they were standing and sending Peter a warm smile. "What's up?"
Peter glared at her, sure she was about to drop some kind of smug criticism about him, as usual. They couldn't stand in the same room with each other without Natasha critiquing, roasting, or punching him. Instead, her smile flickered and turned into a frown.
"Are you okay?" she asked genuinely. "Did you get hurt at the base?"
"Dunno," Peter began coldly, tensing for a fight. "Depends on whether or not you're gonna decide to dish it out now or wait in cowardice until later."
"Peter!" Tony exclaimed, but Natasha shushed him.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked. "You wanna talk about it over the movie tonight?"
Peter rolled his eyes, getting tired of her playing in front of Tony and Clint like this all the time. "Oh, go to hell, Nat! I'm sick of your games."
A hush fell over the cargo hold, making his cheeks suddenly burn. Had he said something wrong? This was him and Natasha on a good day. Usually their bickering was worse. Much worse, involving broken bones and a casualty or two.
Natasha was extremely good at masking her emotions, but Peter, who was seventeen years younger than her and the closest in age compared to all the other Revengers, had gotten rather adequate at it.
And she was hurt. Really, truly hurt.
"You okay, Pete?" Tony asked gently, looking concerned. He raised his hand as if to slap Peter's face and he flinched violently before realizing he had been trying to feel his forehead for fever.
"I'm fine, Tony, sir," Peter hissed through clenched teeth, trying to control his temper after the room had frozen like that. He recited the verse he had repeated countless times with a drawl to his voice. "'I apologize for my actions which may have caused any disputes and in the future I vow to avoid such miniscule mistakes.'"
Tony had gasped as soon as his own name had left Peter's lips. "Did--did you just call me Tony?"
"Uh, y--yes, sir..." Peter clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his already-perfect posture. Tony snorted and ran a hand through his hair.
"You know what, I think HYDRA must have messed with your brain in there. I don't---Hey, where's Steve?"
"Right here," a voice called. Expecting to see the man himself step up, Peter was very confused when a young blonde man, maybe in his twenties, showed up. In Steve's uniform.
"Steve?" Peter blurted. Steve glanced from Tony to Peter as if holding a silent conference.
"Um," he cleared his throat. "That's me."
"But--but you---" Peter's voice dried up in his throat. He had no words.
Where was the wrinkly old man who claimed he 'still had it in him?' Where was his wispy white hair? Did he get some work done?
"What is it, Peter?" Tony probed. "What's wrong with Steve?"
Peter took in a shaky breath, stepping back. He couldn't stay here in this messed-up world. He had to find Tony and Steve---the real ones.
"That--that's not Steve," he managed to whimper. His arm raised to slam the big red button that would open the cargo door, allowing him to escape from this horrid reality.
"Peter, stop!" Steve shouted, grabbing his arm. Peter bared his teeth.
"Let me go!"
He punched Steve hard across the jaw, harder than he ever dared to since he was supposed to be so old, and everything erupted into chaos.
The next thing he knew, he was on his knees, fighting for consciousness as his eyelids grew heavy.
He plucked a dart from his stomach and held it up to his eyes, staring in half-wonder half-horror at the red tip.
Natasha's blowdart gun was still clenched in her hands, pointed at him. She looked sicker than he felt.
Peter awoke in a cold sweat, head slumped against a cold, metal table. He kept still, assessing the situation.
His hands were free of bondage, as if his captors didn't care if he escaped or not. His suit was gone, replaced with some sort of baggy garment that smelled of... Old sweat and stale pizza.
"Hey, Pete," Tony's voice called from across the room. "I know you're awake. Nice try regulating your breathing, who taught you that?"
You.
Slowly, Peter inhaled through his nostrils and sat up, desperately trying to blink the bleariness from his eyes. Tony was seated across the room, legs crossed. He wore a strange garment with a symbol on the front and the words Black Sabbath. A code?
"Where are we?" Peter croaked, beginning to panic. This looked like one of SHIELD's interrogation chambers, and while he had never been present for one, the screams echoing down the empty halls told him enough.
"Calm down," Tony said, regarding him with concern. "We're at the compound. After your little show in the plane, we just needed to get some answers, is all. The others wanted to chain you up, but I said no. I knew you wouldn't hurt me."
Typical Tony, Peter thought, fighting back a grateful smile. No matter what was going on, he always had Peter's back.
"What is this?" Peter ventured to ask in mild disgust, pulling at the baggy garment, which was made of cotton. He couldn't feel his suit underneath. Glancing down, he took note that the garment was a shade of blue with a yellow ring around a symbol of a lithium atom.
"That's your sweatshirt." Tony hugged his arms to his chest and his brow wrinkled in fear. An unusual emotion for Tony to express.
"A sweat-what?" Peter echoed, squirming uncomfortably. With a sigh, Tony opened a bag at his feet. Peter flinched, but he realized it was his own.
Tony tossed Peter's uniform, clumsily refolded, on the table and he instantly grabbed for it. He ran his hand along the silver SHIELD emblem printed on the front next to a small tear and bloodstain it'd gotten during battle training with Natasha the day before. She had cut him, but he had refused to tell Tony and ask for a new one, knowing that it would make him look like a crybaby to Natasha. She would never let him forget it.
"If it's about the bloodstain..." Peter began, unfolding the uniform and beginning the neat process of folding it properly. "That was Natasha yesterday."
"No." Tony's eyebrows left the planet. "I was going to ask what it was."
Peter froze. "My--my uniform? I was going to ask where yours was."
Tony leaned back at that. "Peter...tell me everything. Just--just to make sure you don't have amnesia or anything. I want to figure out what HYDRA did to you."
Pushing down his rising irritation, Peter began the long story of his life. Tony finding him on a mission, getting raised by SHIELD, finding an escaped spider and getting bitten before he could return it to the lab. Spending countless hours in the training room with Tony. Finally getting released for missions.
By the time he was done, Tony had abandoned his chair and was pacing the room. The gesture made Peter nervous; they were taught not to pace. It was a gesture of weakness, of contemplation.
"This proves my theory," he whispered, pointing at Peter, who had started to pick at the baggy garment again. "I mean, we all know the multiverse exists, we proved that during the war with Thanos, but this is a whole 'nother level."
"What do you mean, Tony? Sir?" Peter sat up straighter in his chair, half-wishing he was chained to it so he wouldn't have an excuse not to pace alongside his mentor.
"I'm not Tony." Tony's eyes were wild now, and he was grinning with excitement. "Not your Tony. And you're not my Peter. My Peter is a big, energetic softie who always forgets to tie his shoes."
Peter stifled a laugh. Tying boot laces was a rookie mistake made by new recruits.
Tony nodded at his stifled laughter. "I knew you would relate to that. It's all coming together. See, Bucky never has his shoes untied. Ask him. He's surprisingly sensitive about it, said it was just a HYDRA thing."
Bucky...?
HYDRA's golden boy? He had taken down more missions than any other enemy agent and was well-known among SHIELD's ranks to be a superpowered nuisance.
"So..." Peter shifted his weight in the chair, looking down at his uniform now laying neatly folded on the table. "You're saying that I somehow switched worlds with your less competent Peter? That he is somewhere right now, wrecking havoc on my life?" He suddenly became panicked, thinking of what would happen if the idiot-Peter found his way to the SHIELD base. They would think he had gone insane.
"I think so." Tony crossed his arms and shrugged. "It's just a theory, but it would explain the strange uniform, your new suit, your stupid haircut, your horrible attitude..." He paused, as if expecting Peter to protest at the insults, but he remained silent.
"But--but how am I going to get home?" Peter asked, trying not to make his voice betray how small and scared he felt. "How are we going to get your Peter back?"
Tony stuck out his hand. "You're going to have to trust me, okay? No more punching Steve. I'm going to do everything in my power to get you back, but as long as you don't try to beat us up or escape. Deal?"
Peter nodded, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Deal."
"Are you sure this is going to work, Strange?" Tony asked, his anxiousness betraying itself in his fearful voice.
The wizard, Dr. Strange, scoffed as he poured a thick golden liquid into a bowl. "Of course. I mean, I'm fairly certain. Ninety-two percent."
"And this will take me back home?" Peter inquired quietly. "Back to my universe? Where everyone's...not as nice?"
Strange eyed him before nodding. "It should return you to your original universe. We just have to wait until it's open."
Tony raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Open?"
Sighing in frustration, Strange clasped his hands in front of him as he placed the bowl on the counter and clapped his hands, making an orange ring appear around Peter.
"Think of it like two different subway trains. They both have their own destinations and paths of getting there, but eventually, the paths will run parallel with each other. This Peter was just unlucky enough to accidentally jump from one train to the next, and now we just have to reroute the tracks to have the trains cross again."
Tony nodded, but Peter could tell he didn't really understand. "And how long is this going to take?"
"Not long at all."
As soon as the words left Strange's mouth, a yellow spark jumped between himself and Peter.
"Is it open?!" Peter shouted as Strange jumped into action, waving his hands around all weirdly and making the orange rings multiply and spin around them. An invisible wind whipped up out of nowhere, making Peter and Strange float into the air. As he glanced down, Peter saw Tony hiding under a table.
"On the count of three," Strange shouted over the roar, "I'm gonna toss you to the other train! But you've gotta know when to catch a hold and get to your feet!"
"How will I know?!"
"You'll know, trust me!"
And, just like that, everything was silent.
Peter squeezed his eyes closed, and when he opened them, he found everything was pitch black. He began to panic and opened his mouth to call for help, thinking the spell hadn't worked, but there was no air to gasp.
He hugged his arms close and brought his knees to his chest, feeling very small. He was alone, just like Steve always said he was. No one cared about him, it was all some sort of elaborate plan SHIELD had set up to get rid of one more inconvenience.
Then, a spark of familiarity. It was home. It wasn't warm; it was cold and sterile, everything in perfect order. Not a toe out of line.
Home. And just the way he liked it.
He reached a hand out and grasped it, like a ball, and pulled himself back up like he was swimming through murky water, trying desperately to break the surface.
He opened his eyes lying on the floor of one of SHIELD's white cells, papers strewn all around him. Dr. Strange, looking a bit different, had his arms extended to him. A fading orange glow surrounded them, and the air was fresh, disturbed, and light, as if a breeze had just flown through.
"Peter?" Tony asked, kneeling on the floor in front of him. His hair was buzzed, not long and carelessly shaggy, and he wore his crisp uniform.
It was Tony.
Stretching an arm out, Peter wrapped him in a hug.
"You," Tony whispered into his ear, embracing him so tightly Peter started to worry he would burst, "have a lot of explaining to do, son."