The Avengers are Dead
Peter eyed the newbies with interest. He inched closer to the glass until his hands rested on the cool metal bars so he could get a good look. Excitement bubbled in his stomach. It was a feeling Peter hadn’t felt in a long time. Sure, they were probably enhanced murders, but at this point, Peter didn’t care. That seemed to be a common mood nowadays.
Apparently, when you are alone for so long, even a terrorist would seem like good company.
There was a dark skinned man, (Peter noted he kind of looked like a handsome cockroach-) he was the first to take any notice of Peter, as the rest of them, other than the girl, were too busy mouthing off to the guards. As the teen and the older man made eye contact, Peter didn’t square his shoulders. Or shrink back. Or make any move in general other than a lazy flick of a hand for a wave and a tight smile. The man’s face flashed through a series of emotions: surprise, contemplation, pity, anger.
“You have a child in here?” The man hissed, turning to spit towards Ross. Huh, Peter liked that. Extra fuel to stoke the fire.
At the comment, the whole group paused and turned to look in his direction, like an animal in the zoo on display. Peter, in the back of his mind, didn’t know why he really didn’t give a fuck that he was being observed. If he remembered correctly (which wasn’t very regular), he used to be on the quieter side and shied away from any attention. But now, he just gazed back and nodded his head. The girl was the only one who really caught his eye. Her head was cocked to the side, only slightly though as the collar pushed against her jaw where it jammed against her collar bone. Peter winced inwardly; he did not miss that thing. He noted the lady was staring at him in a different way than the rest- not shocked, but almost understanding. And sad. So sad. But she didn’t speak. The shorter, very ‘dad’ looking white dude, took her place as he made a face; pointing at the teen in the cage.
“Please tell me that’s one of your kids who came to shadow one of you for work day,” The man almost pleaded.
“I doubt it,” The last dude grumbled.“Not like they have any morals.” He looked oddly familiar. Something in Peter’s gut flipped, like he was staring at a long lost friend. No, he would definitely remember a friend….. Maybe. God, he really must have seen him before though! Alas, two years had stretched into a thousand for him, and there was a lot he probably should remember that he didn’t. So Peter couldn’t put a name to the face exactly, but he swore he knew that guy..
“You can get acquainted with Mr. Parker once you are settled in,” Ross interjected. “I am sure he will be thrilled to talk.” The guards took that as their cue to usher the new prisoners into their cells, spewing the ‘this place is inescapable so don't even try anything’ shindig that Peter had heard several times in the beginning. He was pretty sure these people would still try to get out a few times.
He had.
Peter had tried so hard-
Once all of them were locked up, the crowd exited the room, leaving Peter and co to their own devices. All of them kind of just did a one-eighty spin to gather in the boring ass room. As they did so, Peter thought it only proper to introduce himself as they took in the cells. Maybe he could do a british accent? They would never know he wasn’t from England…. Nah, that was stupid. Peter shook his head, spreading his arms wide, not opposed to a little drama as he announced to the pack:
“Welcome to the shittiest apartment ever,” Peter exclaimed, catching all their attention instantly. “They aren't lying when they say ‘when stuff is too good to be true than it probably is’. Because when you find a place with free rent, you have to expect a few unpleasant amminitys.” Peter grinned. When they all just stared Peter chuckled awkwardly, flopping back to sit on his bed.
“Sorry, not my best analogy. I’ll work on it.”
“How old are you, kid?” Mr. Handsome cockroach spoke up, pressing his palms against the glass.
“Sixteen,” Peter told them proudly, ignoring the ache pressing up his throat at the thought. Like an annoying, unyielding earworm. He should have his license by now-
‘Shut up’ Peter hissed to his own mind.
“Holy shit,” Dad-guy whispered, shaking his head. “Sixteen? Why the hell are you in here?”
“More importantly,” The woman, who has some sort of weird ancient, interrupted. Her eyes met Peter’s again, slicing through him from where she sat, curled up in the corner. “How long have you been here?”
“Uh,” Peter paused, trying to remember as he kicked his feet as they hung off the edge of the bed. He looked over to his special little spot on the floor and found his last writing, reading it out loud. “Two years, three months, and four days.My name is Peter, by the way. Peter Parker.”
Silence
The group went still for a solid five seconds, not a breath was breathed or an eye blinked before-
“Fuck Ross,” Familiar guy seethed, clenching his fists.
“You could say that again,” Peter snorted, apparently surprising them as they all gave him questioning looks. Had they expected him to pity himself? Because Peter had done that a long time ago. Now he just didn’t care. He couldn’t.
Caring was so much harder to deal with; it made the nights so much longer.
“Why?” The girl asked, shifting slightly to face him more. Peter shrugged, shaking his head.
“Beats me,” he answered honestly. “Maybe we can figure that out later because I have been seriously clueless. But first, what are your names? Because I gotta know before we go on any further.” Peter asked, not wanting to keep using nicknames lest they stick in his brain forever.
They all blinked again, as if Peter should already know their names- were they super famous world criminals or something? Fuck. Was his memory really that bad-
“Well shit, guess he wasn’t around to hear about us, huh?” Dad dude asked.
“They never do remember me,” familiar guy whispered simultaneously.
“I’m Sam.” The dark skin man introduced himself over the others. The girl followed suit.
“I’m Wanda.”
“Scott!” The dad looking dude raised his hand.
“Clint.”
Wait, waitwaitwait...
“Oh uh,” Peter froze, brain working overdrive. “Hold on-”
Clint. Clint? That was- wait no. No that wasn’t right. That-
“Oh my God,” Peter stood, pointing at Mr. Clint Barton himself, standing flesh and bone across the room from him. An Avenger. A hero Peter grew up dreaming about. One of his biggest role models. Right there. Right there! “You’re Hawkeye! Holy shit! The Hawkeye, Clint Barton!”
“Ah ha!” Clint broke into a haughty smile. “I am popular among teens!”
“Don’t let it get to your head.” Wanda mumbled.
Peter ignored her. Because literally what the hell? Why was Hawkeye in prison?
“Dude! Why are you here!? Did aliens take over? Is Ross the secret leader?” Peter leaned forward, curiosity killing him. “Did you get in on the wrong crowd? What am I saying, of course you didn’t- Did you get blamed for something you didn’t do? Are you on a mission?”
The uncomfortable silence that followed stilled Peter instantly. The four of them gave each other significant looks; knowing looks. A silent conversation was held right in front of Peter’s face so clear he wondered if they were all telepathic or something. He thought he might get in trouble, but when Clint turned back to him, he just gave a tight smile.
It wasn’t a happy smile. It was tight and hurt, hiding wounds that were not physical. Peter knew it only because he saw it every single day.
“Let’s just say the world forgot really fast that we saved it’s ass several times.” Hawkey sighed, kicking off his shoes and settling in on his bed. Peter chewed the inside of his cheek nervously, a little more hesitant to ask but still bursting at the seams.
“But,” Peter popped his knuckles. “What about the rest of the team? The Avengers, they could get you out, right?” Peter asked with a much more subdued tone. His heart lurched every so slightly at the idea that maybe the team couldn’t get them out. Maybe something terrible had happened-
As if on cue, Sam’s shoulders dropped at the question, Scott turned his head. Wanda stared blankly at the floor, and Clint-
Clint sagged back against the wall, sitting cross legged. His eyes shined with a mixture of anger and grief, jaw clenching and unclenching.
“The Avengers are dead.”
Peter’s heart gave out.
Ironman.
Ironman was… dead? That couldn’t- no. No he was Peter’s favorite! His idol! He was Peter’s hero, he couldn’t be dead! Peter still had to meet him! He had to find a way to get him to come to the raft and see him, just so Peter could tell him that he was everything to him!
“Nice job, kid.”
Peter had to thank him for saving his life all those years ago-
“Wha-” Peter curled his hands into the bars, knuckles going white. “But who could kill the Avengers?”
Peter watched Clint’s eyes darken, face morphing into something like regret.
“Tony could,” Clint whispered, voice coated with venom. “Ironman could.”
Oh.
What the fuck?
Peter had dropped the subject after that, even though his mind was racing and he wanted to know more. He wanted to understand. Peter needed to know what happened. How had Tony Stark ‘killed’ the Avengers? Surly Thor could have, like, pinned him? Even with the Ironman armor? And Captain America too! They could have stopped him if he had been possessed or something! They were strong, they were a team! Plus, weren’t Captain America and Iroman best friends? Peter had always heard that. Neither of them would have wanted to kill the other.
Yeah, he must have been possessed.
Even if that was the case, how did these four survive? And why were they here now? Peter guessed if the rest of the Avengers were dead, other evil people could have brought them here. Maybe this was a new world war or something. God, Peter hoped not. Because May was still out there-
Just the thought of her name brought a hot dagger to Peter’s chest. He hadn’t seen his aunt in two years, and he probably never would again. Part of him didn’t want to, because if he did, Peter would have to tell her. If she didn’t already know, if she didn’t already hate him; He would have to explain why his uncle was dead. And that was something Peter was not strong enough to do.
“So, Peter.” Sam, bless him, bumped into Peter’s thoughts right before they began to spiral. “You got a story behind those?” The man gestured toward his walls of art with an amused smile. Peter grinned slightly, pushing back the lump that had been forming in his throat.
“Those are my water drops.” Peter told him, patting one of the pieces. Sam snorted.
“I can see that, but why?”
“Well,” Peter leaned his chin onto his palm where he lay belly down on his cot, facing the center of the room. “When I got here, I got really bored really quick, and obviously there isn’t a lot to do so I asked for a sketch pad and batta-bing batta-boom here we are! I draw one every day.” Sam nodded thoughtfully, taking in Peter’s hoard of work.
“May I ask, why water?” Sam questioned innocently, seeming genuinely interested. Peter’s heart warmed at the thought of someone actually caring..
“I guess there really wasn’t much else in the room to draw. I mean, there is- Like the bed or the sink or the mirror, but they don’t change, you know? But with water, I can splatter it anywhere and it’s always just a little different, so it gives variety. Plus, it seemed like a challenge, and I had nothing better to do so....” Peter shrugged, surprisingly eased by finally being able to talk about it and explain. Especially with Sam not judging him. Or at least not judging him outwardly. Like Peter was normal. Like he wasn’t going crazy or stupid. It was really nice.
It was nice to be treated like a human.
“Hm,” Sam considered for a moment that explanation, before making up his mind with a gentle smile. “They are really good. Very impressive.”
Peter’s chest swelled.
“Thanks!” Peter couldn’t stop the cheeky grin. Sam laughed quietly, but there was sadness in it.
“You’re welcome.” Sam said, taking a seat on the cot. His face drew more serious, and he leaned forward like he was ready to dig deep into a conversation. Peter wouldn’t mind, he was happy to talk.
“Peter, why did Ross put you in here?”
That again. Peter took his hand off the wall, forgetting the artwork and he propped himself up onto his elbows.
“I-” Peter hesitated. Maybe it was because he was afraid to be scolded again like Ross always did. Or maybe, it was just the fact that Peter honestly didn’t know. “I have no idea. Ross won’t tell me anything. He always claims that I know what I did but… the only thing I could think of that could possibly be it wasn’t even legally my fault.”
The blood on his hands, screaming for help, watching Ben’s eyes lose their light-
“Nobody likes a liar, Peter.” Ross had said. And Peter was a liar. It was his fault. But Sam couldn’t know that. He didn’t need to.
“And even if it was my fault, it wouldn’t be a sentence to this hell hole.”
Sam frowned, eyes scanning the teen as if trying to read his mind. “Ross won’t tell you why he gave you a life sentence in a floating prison in the middle of the ocean made for enhanced individuals?”
“Nope,” Peter popped the ‘P’ in attempts to lighten the mood. He didn’t need to care. Caring was such a fucking disadvantage here. It screwed you over even more than hopelessness did. “He just caught me and drug me here one night. I couldn’t stop him, he had.. Prepared for my abilities. There was nothing I could do.”
“Abilities?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I got bit by this radioactive spider thing when I was younger, and now I can climb walls and shit.” Peter gave him a sheepish grin. Sam cocked his head, opening his mouth and closing it twice before responding.
“A radioactive spider?”
“Mhm.”
“Gotta say, that’s a new one.” Scott chimed in from where he was washing his face in the sink. Sam laughed, nodding his head in agreement.
“That’s even weirder than mine.” Wanda’s lips pulled up at the corners.
“It is a little weird,” Peter admitted. “But it’s a cool story!”
“Better than any of ours.” Clint said. They all stated various agreements and such and continued onto pointless banter.
For the first time since he got here, Peter thought that he might be okay. He wasn’t going to get out, no. But at least he wasn’t alone. There was nothing worse than being alone.
And so when the lights shut off for the night signal, Peter was able to crawl into bed and finally got to say goodnight to the air and receive actual responses. He got to listen to five pairs of breathing lungs and five heartbeats thrumming softly.
That night, when Peter closed his eyes, he got to imagine he was in his classroom during a test. Imagined he was at a sleepover with the decathlon team. Imagined he was with his aunt and uncle and his parents. And with the beating hearts and gentle breaths, it was so much easier to imagine it was real.
For the first time since Peter arrived, he didn’t want the night to end.