Lost And Found
May 7th, 2016
Forrest Hills, Queens, New York
---
Peter emitted a sound somewhere between an annoyed groan and an angered yell as he slammed his hands against the keyboard in frustration. He had been spending the past two hours since he had arrived home from Germany on his old, somewhat perfectly functioning, desktop computer hacking into the RAFT, a prison made to hold the strongest people out there within its walls. Perfect to imprison the captured Rogue Avengers until their punishments were to be officially decided by the court.
During his time in Western Grand Berlin Hotel, Germany, Peter had overheard Mr Happy (more like eavesdropped on the man's conversation, but the details are unimportant) discussing a certain billionaire's whereabouts on the phone to who Peter presumed to be Secretary Ross. Or, more specifically, how the location of the hero was currently unknown.
---
May 6th, 2016
The Western Grand Berlin Hotel, Germany
-
Peter groaned into the silk, pearly-white pillows that covered his temporary bed. Two days had passed since the fight at the airport and Peter was positively bored. Mr Stark had come in once to check on the kid, but that was ages ago.
The conversation mainly consisted of Peter rambling nervously and the billionaire playing on his phone in the doorway entrance, anyway. Now that he thinks about it, it was hardly a conversation at all. Mr Stark had left without so much as a glance in the teenager's direction, and the only words Peter's idol had spoken was a nonchalant; 'How you holding up, kid?'; and a bored; 'That's nice, but I'll be going now. Superhero things to do and all that'.
If it were anyone else, Peter would have been at least a little offended by the disrespectful and dismissive behaviour, but it wasn't anyone else. It was the Tony freakin' Stark! Most people Peter's age don't even get to see him in person unless he's saving New York in his Iron Man suit, so that little acknowledgement Spider-Man had received was practically a dream come true!
Now if only he could tell people about it.
His vigilante alter-ego was a secret, therefore so were the activities Spider-Man experienced and the places he'd been, as long as the information wasn't already public. It was all a secret from everyone but himself, Mr Happy (although he didn't like being called that, but, then again, Mr Happy didn't like a lot of things), Mr Stark and Colonel Rhodes. Well, the last one Peter wasn't certain about, but he had heard the billionaire’s friend asking about Spidey's identity over a private comm line when Peter first made himself known prior to the fight. Super-hearing can be so useful sometimes. The teenager was pretty sure Mr Stark ignored the query anyway, but who knows, maybe Colonel Rhodes had received an answer sometime after.
But back to the point.
Peter was bored.
So extremely so that even taking apart and reassembling the awesome, technological devices in this room (such as that Stark TV over there) wasn't enough to please him. Anymore. Mr Happy had moved himself and Peter to two, new, separate rooms with soundproofed walls about three hours ago, and although Peter's enhanced senses were advanced enough to still hear clearly through them, the same couldn't be said about the chauffeur/bodyguard's. After he told the man an unnecessarily long and overly detailed recount of the battle which Peter had participated in during the drive here, as well as loudly repeated it for his video while they were in their previous rooms, Mr Happy had done everything in his power to avoid having to hear it again. Hence the avoidance. And the room change. And, well, although that did hurt a little, Peter got over it quickly. He was used to being constantly ignored by his peers in school unless they were picking on him, so this wasn't much different.
Yeah. Sure.
Just as he thought he was bordering on the edge of insanity a voice, sharp and serious snapped him out of his trance. “- o you mean ‘he’s gone’? People don’t just disappear, especially not Tony fucking Stark!”
Mr Happy.
The familiarity of the sound forced the kid to concentrate in order to catch every word. Sure, his hearing was phenomenal and far more enhanced than any normal human’s, but, usually, it was as much of a disadvantage as a benefit. Every moment of the day, Peter’s senses forced him to hear a whole bunch of things he probably would have rather not, like those two women three blocks away as they very clearly argued over whether one slept with the other’s boyfriend recently or not. It made it unnecessarily difficult to focus on a single conversation at once, and the fact that the loudly beating hearts of everyone within a mile radius of him echoed in his head at the same time was of no assistance whatsoever.
Anyway, back to the issue. With a worried and cautious curiosity, Peter listened as Mr Happy shouted in a panicked voice at the person on the phone with him. Every word Peter remembered perfectly and stored in his mind for future reference, which his hyperthymesia actually helped a lot with. But some particular comments uttered by Secretary Ross terrified Peter into action significantly more than others.
"~If Stark does not inform someone who either, wrote, signed or has some sort of significant importance on a global or national scale which is in allegiance with the accords within the following four days, - ~", the man on the other side of the line spoke confidently, "~ - we will have no choice but to consider that act as a violation of the accords, and Stark will be convicted until further notice.~"
"You better not be saying what I think you're saying, Ross." Mr Happy bit back angrily.
"~He shall remain prisoner on the RAFT along with the other currently imprisoned Avengers for a probable minimum of fifty days. There is a possibility, though, that he will remain there permanently if a compromise cannot be reached among those running the accords.~" With that Secretary Ross hung up, ending the call before Mr Happy had a chance to argue.
The following slew of curse words that flooded Peter's thoughts after that final sentence was spoken were enough to make even a sailor cringe.
-
On May 6th, at 04:38 pm, Tony Stark left the RAFT after arriving unannounced at approximately 03:52 pm. Following the mechanic's departure, his empty jet was located to be flying over a secluded and random part of the Kara Sea, so far high up that one would need to reach altitudes only Stark planes have the ability to climb up to. Inside was a handful of empty seats, the jet on apparent autopilot, with Mr Stark nowhere to be seen, and the Iron Man suit packed within the airborne vehicle similarly absent. Both were gone, vanished to an unknown location for an unidentified amount of time.
---
That was over a day ago now, and still no further information concerning Peter's idol was found. No way to communicate with the man or even attempt to track him down. He knows this because he managed to hack into Mr Happy’s phone, allowing the boy access to his chauffer’s emails, phone calls, messages, etc., and since Mr Happy had the ability to contact a whole lot of important people, Peter successfully used that to his advantage. During the flight back to New York alone, Peter used his own, out-of-date mobile to, albeit without permission, sneak into all of Secretary Ross’ private, digital information, something which could be said about multiple other, important people.
To say the least, this teenage vigilante was beyond concerned for Mr Stark. The man could be anywhere right now doing anything like being murdered or lying dead at the bottom of the ocean, or in a life-threatening situation or - Peter cut his thought trail off suddenly. He didn't have time to stress over this. Every moment wasted not tracking down Mr Stark's location was a moment in which anything could happen to him. The more time passed, the bigger the risk.
Which is why Peter had, upon arriving at his apartment and calling his aunt since she was still at work, rushed straight to his room, plopping himself down onto his old desk chair with an obvious disregard for the exhaustion that tugged at his mind. The multiple hour-long flight to New York was restless for Peter, along with the rest of his stay at the hotel following Mr Happy’s concerning conversation. Upon logging into his computer, the teenager had wasted not a second before beginning his journey through the RAFT’s surprisingly weak firewalls and low, digital defences.
So far, Mr Stark’s visit to the floating prison was the student’s only lead, and now, after far too much time spent hacking into the cameras in search for both visual and audible explanation concerning the billionaire’s earlier visit, Peter’s realised it to have been pointless. Seconds after Mr Stark reached the Falcon’s enclosure the cameras were disabled by the engineering genius through false information that they had simply ‘malfunctioned’ momentarily. Right. Because highly developed machinery always malfunctions like that, but the fact that the code was clearly manually tampered with was of no importance. God, I’m laying the sarcasm on thick today.
With quickly retreating hope, Peter watched through the cameras as past Mr Stark climbed back onto his form of transportation, effortlessly lying through his teeth about what had been discussed between Mr Wilson and himself. The teenager had to admit though, Mr Stark was a fantastic liar. The only thing that gave the man away was the dull grey that loomed in his dark brown eyes, a feature that contradicted his playful smirk unnaturally.
After Peter released his frustration through abusing his keyboard and an animalistic growl-like sound that forced its way out of his throat, he allowed a reluctant and defeated sigh to leave his trembling lips. He’d failed. Currently, he was no closer to locating the missing celebrity than he was two hours ago. Useless. Why can’t I do anything right? I’ll never find him now. That was it. My only chance.
Much to the devasted teenager’s annoyance, tears had started to pool in his eyes, threatening to spill and stain his cheeks with far too noticeable, wet streaks. Angrily, Peter pushed the palm of his hands harshly into his now closed eyes as if in attempt to make the growing cold of self-hate and depression that continued to well up inside vanish. The attempt was futile, and only irritated his eyes as well as got his hands wet from the water that managed to escape his closed lids.
What else was there to do, though, besides wallow in his own self-pity? Mr Stark was gone, for who knows how long, in his stupid, flying suit of armour – Peter froze. The fingers that had been wiping at his eyes remained stock still in their position as his eyes grew wide in realisation. I’m such an idiot. The teenager mentally face-palmed.
Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? With a renewed swell of confidence that warmed the cold he’d felt inside, Peter pressed his hands back down onto the beige computer keys and began furiously typing away. The rest of him had remained unmoving, with only a slightly straighter posture compared to what it had previously been contradicting his sudden, subconscious paralysis.
His fingers moved quickly, faster than they ever had before, to the point that they were simply blurs even he struggled to follow despite his fantastic sight. Doe brown eyes skimmed the dark screen of his computer as letters and numbers he hardly had time to read covered it, each one arranged in neat yet complicated horizontal lines. He saved the data he’d collected due to his successful hacking into the RAFT into a coded and digitally protected folder (just in case) before deleting the rest of the information he did not require.
It was of no use currently and simply did not matter at this moment in time. Peter was only really saving some of it in case he ever needed to expose Secretary Ross for his inhuman treatment of the ‘guilty’ Avengers - which he planned to do as soon as Mr Stark was found, be it by Peter, someone else or the billionaire simply returning on his own terms, which was a large possibility considered all the other, insane things the man had done in the past. But Peter couldn’t risk it, because there was a chance that the man wouldn’t, or, even worse, couldn’t return on his own. And such a risk was not – and never would be – worth taking.
Peter’s plan was simple. The RAFT was easy enough to hack, although getting access into their servers would have been so much simpler if Ross hadn’t gone through the effort of encrypting the passwords, but whatever. The RAFT was barely a challenge, and Peter could always try getting into SHIELD (he’d done before so it shouldn’t be too difficult) but he didn’t see how that would help him any. The same could be said about the jet Mr Stark had been using prior to his unexpected disappearance.
Not the ‘he’d done it before’ part, but the part stating that it would be unnecessary. The jet’s cameras had been deactivated the moment the billionaire first stepped foot onboard before the trip to the floating prison ever occurred. Mr Stark had clearly been prepared, and an email to Mr Happy from one of Secretary Ross’ followers provided Peter with all the information he needed to figure that out.
So that ruled out what used to be Peter’s entire checklist of ‘Who And What to Hack to Find Mr Stark’. What Peter didn’t know was why he never considered hacking into the Iron Man suit or the billionaire’s AI that was connected to it. Maybe because of how unbelievably difficult it would be. SHIELD was one thing; Stark’s personal tech was another. There was an obvious increase in digital defence when it came to Mr Stark’s hand-made machinery, and as entertainingly challenging it was, Peter just didn’t have the privilege of enjoying himself.
Peter was stressed, worried, as well as beyond terrified. Terrified that he would fail. Terrified that he’d mess up and cause structural damage to the extremely expensive and treasured suit. Terrified that he’d be too late to save a man he hardly knew yet had idolised for a long time. Terrified that he wouldn’t be good enough.
The whole situation was causing the teenager’s anxiety levels to spike until they were far more than simply uncomfortable. Mistakes weren’t an option, and they strictly could not be made. Because a life was in his hands. A very important life that many adore. A life that had risked his own countless times in order to fix the problems he’d caused, and to save those who could not save themselves. To protect a planet that had viewed him as nothing more than a douchebag billionaire that tore the world apart before putting it back together. The life of Anthony Edward Stark, previous weapons manufacturer and current, world-renowned superhero and Avenger.
Sure, that reaction may seem a bit exaggerated and over-the-top, but it was how Peter was feeling right then and there. How he viewed the situation. Those were his worries and fears that dominated every other thought that happened to momentarily cross his mind. This was something new, and unpredictable. Anything could happen, and one wrong move could make everything go wrong.
---
Five hours passed. Peter was yet to so much as glance away from the screen or even momentarily pause the rapid typing his fingers were performing. It was a Tuesday, the teenager vaguely recalled, and May had the night shift. She shouldn’t be home until around five the following morning. That gave Peter a solid six and a half more hours to hack his way through powerful firewalls before he had to jump into bed in order to be ‘asleep’ by the time his aunt arrived and grounded the life out of him otherwise.
Peter had always been a light sleeper, and his enhanced senses did not help that fact any. On a regular day, the loud noises of New York would keep him awake for a while until the exhaustion the day’s events had placed upon him finally lulled him into unconsciousness. On a good day, the boy would be able to block out the sounds until they were limited to only slightly above an average, human level and sleep would come easily. Today, he’d probably get about one hour of rest – if he was lucky. Not the worst he’d ever gotten.
Then again, him getting some sleep tonight largely depended on whether or not he found Mr Stark soon. If he didn’t then he just wouldn’t sleep. Yeah. Okay. That should be fine.
But the fact that school hadn’t been put on hold at all during Peter’s absence yesterday and today only served to further dampen his mood.
The missed work he’d be forced to complete tomorrow negatively impacted his optimistic mindset and acted as an unpleasant and looming thought. It wouldn’t be difficult – Peter had always considered high school easy. He was never one to brag, of course, but the work was never challenging. One thing it was, though, was plentiful.
Each of Peter’s eleven subjects and five clubs he was currently part of had the bothersome habit of providing students with a large abundance of work to complete within a short amount of time. Peter had never struggled to finish it all prior to the due date in the past, and he already knew that the questions would not be hard to correctly answer, they would just take multiple hours out of his day. Multiple hours which Peter could not afford to spare. Not to mention the actual classes he’d be forced to attend on Wednesday.
He might as well just kiss the entirety of tomorrow goodbye now.
As the realisation that time was more limited than he first assumed it would be dawned on him, Peter suppressed a flinch at his disorganisation. How could he be so stupid as to completely dismiss the disadvantages his mandatory attendance at school would cause him? Normally, Peter would place his aunt’s needs and wants above his own, including her desire for Peter to have the opportunity to experience all the things other people his age do.
Such as high school and the struggles of homework. She wants the best for him, and that Peter can understand. Not everyone was fortunate enough to have someone in their lives that cared for them so much, and Peter had made it his mission to never take that love for granted. He wanted to be the best nephew that he could be considering all the secrets and additional responsibilities he had to keep.
Peter would clean and cook without complaint. He only ate what he thought a normal teenager would – sometimes less – even though his metabolism required he tripled that amount because he knew they were tight on money and May wouldn’t be able to afford it. He always completed tasks related to his education on time, with full marks, because he knew it made Aunt May feel proud. He’d tell his aunt about his day (without including details such as Spider-Man) because he knew she liked to be involved in his life. It was his self-appointed job to remain as reasonably obedient as he could.
Skipping school in order to search for a missing billionaire didn’t fall under that category. It, unfortunately, contradicted it.
But something told Peter he’d have to.
Peter had only been Spider-Man for around a year (despite the ‘six-month’ lie he told Mr Stark) and over that time his powers had evolved. He learned to control his senses and how much stimulation they received at once, although doing so did make him feel rather drowsy for a while and sometimes he would simply lack the energy. His healing ability was the same. He could control the speed at which injuries would heal, although the speed would be limited by how much he’d eaten since his fast metabolism largely contributed to that particular power.
That one was very useful because normally, despite how little food he’d limit himself to, the healing was too fast and would cause more damage than good. Bones would heal in minutes before he had time to set them, and bruises would be gone practically before they appeared. Those attributes not only caused additional pain when he’d have to rebreak bones or cut his body open to pull out a bullet, but also aroused suspicion in his surprisingly violent bully. But now that Peter could control the time it would take for his body to heal from physical injuries with his mind and by pure will, it made him feel less rushed which also resulted in less painful mistakes being made.
He was faster. Sure, his reflexes and agility had been insanely quick before due to the bite, but they had changed. He could cross a room faster than the bare human eye could comprehend. It was like everything around him had simply stopped moving. It was crazy. Although, majority of the time, Peter forgot (well, not forgot really, as he physically can’t do that – more like was ignorant of his amazing ability) that he even had this power at his disposal.
His spidey sense, as Peter liked to call it, probably improved the most out of all his supernatural powers. It was now more specific about the danger headed Peter’s way. It wasn’t like a voice inside his head or anything – Peter just kind of knew what the danger was now based on the feeling of his sixth sense. It’s hard to explain but it was there, and it gave Peter a security he didn’t realise he needed.
Then there was the fact that his sense would alert him when others were in danger, not just himself. He’d have to obviously be thinking of the person beforehand, but people were constantly on his mind anyway. When Spider-Man was fighting, he’d be thinking about the bad guy and the victim at the same time – it couldn’t be helped. It was just as descriptive for others as it was for himself too, so that was great.
What was extremely worrisome, though, was the almost painful buzz of his spidey-sense on the back of his neck whenever Mr Stark crossed his mind. The feeling was aggressive and seemed to increase in strength every passing hour. Unlike its behaviour the past few months, Peter’s spidey sense was, surprisingly enough, lacking in detail.
All Peter knew was that it was relaying a single worded message that repeated constantly; ‘Death’.
I’ll skip school tomorrow. Peter decided eventually. I’ll skip school tomorrow and find Mr Stark.
I need to find Mr Stark.
---
Peter knew May had finished work by now and was probably already heading home, but he couldn’t find it in himself to react appropriately. His aunt worked rather close to their apartment, and the drive to and from was only half an hour long. It’d be much shorter were it not for the bothersome New York traffic, and since nobody in this city seemed to sleep, returning home took just as long as going there did. Walking was not an option for May, as the pathways were just as busy as the roads and travelling by foot would only take longer than doing so by car.
Basically, Peter had time. He was so close to success he didn’t want to even consider stopping for any reason. He was so close. Victory was within his sights as another digital defence withered and deteriorated before his eyes. A minute more and –
The soft jingle of keys distracted Peter from his train of thought. Aunt May was home. As she inserted the key into the lock, Peter raced to turn off his device and jump into bed before he could be caught awake. By the time May set foot into the apartment, the teenager had already thrown a blanket over top himself, successfully hiding the fact that he hadn’t yet changed his clothes.
He inhaled and exhaled slowly in order to relax his tense body. To get away with Peter’s necessary and blatant rule-breaking, he’d have to play the part as best he could.
When Peter heard the door to his room open, he had to remind himself to continue breathing as fear and unreasonable panic flooded his mind. He laid stiffly beneath the covers, painfully aware of all the difficulties being caught would force upon him when it came to his current project. Even the sound of his bedroom door shutting didn’t manage to relax the worried teenager.
The moment Peter’s enhanced hearing picked up the quiet snoring of his aunt, though, a wave of relief washed over him. He hated lying to May, but it had to be done. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
With stiff movements, Peter quietly pushed the blanket towards the edge of his bed before twisting his body in order to dangle his legs off the cheap furniture. The comfort of his squeaky mattress beckoned him to lay back down and drift off for a few, short minutes. But Peter couldn’t afford the very possible risk of being unable to wake up until much later in the morning, and despite the human body’s need for rest, the teenager managed to convince himself that he would be able to handle it. He was Spider-Man after all.
Tip-toeing silently back to his desk, Peter refrained from taking a seat. His old chair had a habit of somehow lulling him into an unwanted slumber commonly during late-night and early-morning studying. If he wanted to stay awake until this task was fully complete, he’d just have to stand.
With a soft, exhausted sigh, Peter turned his computer back on, the bright light hurting his sensitive eyes. Covering his eyes on reflex, Peter felt himself deflate as rays of sunlight began sneaking past his closed curtains and piercing his closed eyelids. Fantastic. Now the sun’s rising.
This is going to be a long morning.
---
“Yes!”
Immediately, Peter slapped his hand over his mouth, mentally cursing himself for shouting out in triumph when May was still asleep within the premises. He stood silently, listening intently for any sign that he had woken his sleep-deprived aunt during his impulsive celebration. After a few minutes of May’s nearby snoring filling his ears, Peter gladly declared that she had been unaffected by the boy’s outburst.
It was 10:27 am, and Peter, after multiple hours of non-stop, gruelling hard work, had finally succeeded! The lack of rest, sufficient food consumption and self-care in general throughout the previous one – two – days had proved an obvious challenge when it came to focusing and working efficiently, but at least he got the results he wanted. Eventually.
Peter stared at the coordinates that shone brightly on his computer screen, a wide, happy smile tugging at his lips as a relieving satisfaction seemed to melt his sore muscles to jelly. He’d done it. He knew where Mr Stark was. Finally.
But how in the hell am I going to get to him?
Concern stabbed through his joy and pride, effortlessly destroying his cheerful mood. Peter had had time to plan his following course of action before now, of course he did, but in his unhealthy state the thought had completely slipped his mind and remained an ignored preparation until now. He should have planned ahead – he knew he should’ve. But he hadn’t and now he was trapped in a situation he didn’t want to be in.
Feeling inexplicably defeated, Peter allowed his weak body to crumble to the floor. He already knew that the coordinates led to an unidentified Siberian HYDRA facility in Russia, one of which was not located in any of SHIELD’s files, yet was, for some unknown reason, recently catalogued into the missing Iron Man suit’s servers. Along with that information was proof that James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes was innocent of the crimes he was currently being accused of – not including his Winter Soldier escapades.
And as intriguing as the drama between the Avengers, and the abundance of interest Mr Stark apparently had in Mr Barnes’ after the engineer’s departure from the RAFT were, the only detail Peter was focused on was the location of the missing billionaire. Siberia was quite a distance away, and as much as the disappointing reality that Spider-Man wouldn’t be able to simply swing or drive (despite Peter being too young to legally do so) to the required destination negatively impacted the boy, he couldn’t waste time on self-loathing. According to the last vitals the Iron Man suit recorded on Mr Stark about a day or two ago, the man wasn’t doing well.
His injuries were extensive and ranged from internal bleeding to broken bones and a fractured skull. Apparently, the suit had been forcefully shut off immediately after a dangerous blow to the chest portion of the armour, during which apparent trauma was delivered to the heart. Peter was no doctor and he didn’t need to be in order to know that there would definitely be at least some permanent damage left behind from whatever had occurred in Siberia.
The built-in camera’s had also suffered damage, from which they most probably couldn’t be repaired from. In order to access their files, though, Peter would need to do so manually. Basically, the teenager knew something happened in that HYDRA facility which destroyed the most recent Iron Man suit to the point it stopped functioning altogether, as well left Mr Stark somewhere between alive and on the verge of death, but he had no idea what. So now there was also the issue that if he went to the specified location, he could also risk walking into danger blind.
Obviously, Peter was still going to go. If anything, that list of injuries was even more of a reason to go find Mr Stark. Now the teenager was sure that the billionaire was in real danger, and it was becoming obnoxiously clear that he was the only one aware of it. So far. But what would my means of transportation be?
Peter leaned back from where he was seated on the floor in order to press his back against the wooden side of his bunk bed. Feeling devastatingly irritated and defeated, Peter allowed an empty sigh to leave his dry throat. His options were insanely limited, restricted by both his age and lack of access to the appropriate, large payment necessary to legally obtain what he currently required. He’d need some type of airborne vehicle, like a plane, jet or helicopter, but there was no way he’d be able to afford something so expensive.
Sometimes Peter wished he was rich like Mr Stark. Mr Stark would be able to afford a plane. Who was Peter kidding – Mr Stark already had several private planes and other flying vehicles just because he could!
Peter’s eyes widened in realisation, a cautious excitement lighting up his dulling, brown eyes. He already had access to the Iron Man suit and Mr Stark’s AI, FRIDAY, which also happened to control the entirety of Stark Tower. Additionally, the AI’s access included personal vehicles and, coincidently, happened to serve as an autopilot function of sorts for majority of Stark Industries’ and SHIELD’s complimentary, self-funded conveyances. Good thing Peter researched all of Tony Stark’s revolutionary creations in the past, otherwise he wouldn’t have known that particular detail, without having spent a lot of time he doesn’t have investigating the famous company and their brilliant Artificial Intelligence.
Although his body still ached from exhaustion and lack of use, Peter pushed himself up off the floor with only mild discomfort. He grunted as his sore joints shifted and groaned in protest of the sudden movement, yet showed no further, visible acknowledgement of the albeit bearable pain his body was causing him. Instead of worrying about his lack of recent self-care, the teenager dragged himself back towards his computer, typing in the command necessary for FRIDAY to begin preparing a fairly large jet for take-off. A few seconds later once that was complete, Peter typed in the coordinates of Tony Stark’s last known location according to the Iron Man suit Peter had hacked previously.
A normal flight from New York City to Siberia, Russia, would take anywhere between one and two and a half hours depending on where specifically in Siberia the plane were to land. With a Stark Jet, especially one of this size, Peter could arrive within twenty minutes to an hour. If all went according to plan that was. The plan which hardly qualified as a plan at all but Peter didn’t have time to dwell on specifics anyways. A rough idea should, hypothetically (hopefully), be sufficient for now.
As soon as Peter received confirmation that a flight path was decided on and that within ten minutes the chosen jet would be ready for a below the radar flight to Siberia and back to Stark – Avengers (the name hasn’t been officially changed back yet) – Tower, he began to consider if he should invite anyone else to accompany him on the journey. Mr Stark was critically injured, and probably lying on the ground somewhere bleeding out by the minute. As much as Peter wanted to fully commit to the risk of completing this self-set task entirely on his own, that goal was quickly being proven to be beyond possibility.
Peter’s medical knowledge and experience was anything but vast, due to being strictly limited to his aunt’s work stories, surprisingly accurate television shows and injuries the teenager was forced to treat on his own in secret. That last category mainly existed because of school bullies and Spider-Man related activities, but, as Peter keeps needing to remind himself, specifics are of no importance considering the current circumstances. The point the vigilante was trying to get at was that he alone could not provide sufficient assistance to the deathly injured billionaire.
He’d need doctors who knew how to actually help someone so physically wounded and, hopefully, had treated Mr Stark in the past. In the unlikely event, the engineer was still awake, it would be more calming for him to be met with somewhat familiar faces. Speaking of familiar faces and previous company from Mr Stark’s perspective, it may be appropriate for Peter to inform some of the famous hero’s close friends of his findings now that he had a location and a form of transportation.
From what Peter had learned from his obsessive watching of Mr Stark’s interviews during earlier years of the boy’s childhood, the billionaire’s circle of trusted loved ones was small and insanely difficult to squirm one’s way into. It mainly consisted of; Pepper Potts, previously Mr Stark’s personal assistant but now Stark Industry’s CEO; Colonel Rhodes, the self-appointed best friend; and Happy Hogan, the private chauffeur/bodyguard that happened to grow close to the elusive genius after the death of Howard and Maria Stark. At one point, that list of people included Obadiah Stane, but that changed due to some… particularly complicated issues that arouse between Stane and Mr Stark himself from which only one escaped with their lives.
Then there were the Avengers. Mr Stark, as practically all life on Earth, was aware of, was part of the legendary superhero team. He supplied the weapons, the costumes, the housing, the technology, the money, as well as covered any other expenses Peter might have forgotten to mention. None of the other Avengers, excluding Black Widow and Hawkeye, from Peter’s knowledge at least, was employed nor earned some type of income. The agents' Peter previously listed work – or used to work, I guess – with SHIELD, so they weren’t exactly financially unstable without Mr Stark’s voluntary assistance.
Clearly, both Iron Man and Mr Stark were obviously extremely valuable to the team – the team which most likely wouldn’t be able to function without the famous billionaire. It was simple mathematics really, though that stunt in Germany showed that about half of those heroes weren’t aware of that fact. Best not to dwell on that now, Peter. Focus. Should I try and contact any of the Avengers or not? I already have access to the RAFT, where the majority of them are anyway. It would be easy to inform them, but the real issue was whether or not it would be in Mr Stark’s best interest.
Majority of New York believed the Avengers to behave as some sort of dysfunctional family, but Peter just couldn’t manage to realistically visualise such a strong bond existing between any of the Avengers besides a few groups here and there, like Black Widow and Hawkeye, or Captain America, the Winter Soldier and the Falcon. But even those seemed more like really close friendships rather than a mutual, familial love. Peter, in contradiction to popular opinion, speculated that the Avengers’ relationship was actually strictly professional. Well, mostly anyway.
One could tell by the way they acted around one another. How physical contact was rare besides the occasional hug now and then or when they physically fought against each other, like at the airport a few days ago. Arguments seemed to arise rather frequently among them, and although they undeniably worked well together on the battlefield, tension always blossomed afterwards. Friendly banter rarely ever left the fight with them, not to mention conversation always focused around the work they’d done rather than themselves and their lives outside the Avengers.
(It wouldn’t be until much later when Peter would question if Tony knew that too.)
Peter had figured all of that out simply from the videos he found online and what the news showed, which, might he mention, was more than enough to deduct that conclusion. He’d learned to be observant of people’s body language and behaviour over the years, especially after all the incidents he’d had with unfortunately unpleasant people in the past. Not to mention it came in useful when he went out to patrol as Spider-Man, particularly when the culprit was about to either attack or attempt to escape. It was surprisingly convenient being able to infer an opponent’s next action simply based on the way they held themselves even with Peter’s insanely accurate spidey-sense helping him out.
Peter suddenly shook his head to clear his train of thought. No Avengers, he decided. Not even Colonel Rhodes. He has enough going on with the whole lower-body paralysis issue. That decided it. The teenager would email Mr Happy and Ms Potts from the other’s account, informing them of Peter’s findings and instructing them on what they needed to do while remaining somewhat vague on the overall situation in order to avoid panic. Sure, they may both behave professionally but that doesn’t guarantee they won’t act irrationally when they find out a loved one is extremely injured and nearing death in some abandoned HYDRA facility.
The spider mutant’s access to FRIDAY, Mr Stark’s AI, provided the teenager with simple ingress to the accounts and the electronic devices of people such as Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan. And even if it didn’t, Peter already obtained their contact information and more during his time spent hacking the latter’s digital documentation on the plane ride back to New York. With a startled excitement, Peter happily recalled that he had left a tab open on his phone with Mr Happy’s email account open for the main purpose of checking the emails the bodyguard received for news on Mr Stark.
And yeah, Peter was aware that what he had been doing was probably not allowed and a total invasion of privacy, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Using his new-found exhilaration for a severely needed boost of energy, Peter quickly grabbed his phone and typed in his short password with practised ease. As he did so, the exhausted teenager happened to glance at the time, only to wince as he realised how long had passed since he commanded FRIDAY to prepare a jet. Sure, twelve minutes might not seem like that much in other circumstances, but in this one, every second spent not racing towards Mr Stark’s location was time wasted and time within which the billionaire could have died.
Had the current circumstances not demanded quick results, Peter would have taken the time to read previous emails Mr Happy had sent in order to create a believable message that could easily fool the receiver without arousing any sort of suspicion. But he was already pushing the boundaries of the human body’s ability to remain alive in such dangerous conditions, and couldn’t risk suffering the consequences of performing such an unnecessary procedure. He'd just have to wing it. He could do that. Maybe. Hopefully.
(Now when Peter looked back on these events, he found it rather unnerving how much the word ‘hopefully’ sprang up.)
Not allowing himself further time to ponder the disastrous effects getting caught now that he was so far into this operation and so close to receiving the results he’d been after could have, especially when it came to Mr Stark’s survival, Peter began typing. He kept the email short, being careful to avoid mentioning himself or anything that wasn’t completely necessary while he composed a brief explanation of what the recipient, Ms Potts, needed to do and why. Soon, the teenager had created what he considered to be a decent email containing very limited yet very important information. The instructions were vague and the details concerning Mr Stark were even more so, but as long it got the famous CEO on the jet and soon it didn’t really matter. Peter would have time to fill her and Mr Happy in more properly on the ride to Siberia anyway.
Just as he was about to press send, Peter found himself hesitating. He’d already decided that he would bring some medical professionals along as well, specifically ones which had assisted or, at the very least, met Mr Stark in the past. The issue with that was that he could think of no one that fit that criteria and he certainly didn’t have the time to spare in order to find people who did. But maybe, just maybe, someone else already had the solution to his problem.
Mr Happy and Ms Potts were some of the very few who were close to Mr Stark on a personal level, therefore, if Peter’s theory was correct, at least one of them was bound to know a doctor or two that had previously treated the billionaire. It was only common scene really. The only major issue with that was who out of Mr Happy and Ms Potts would be more likely to have access to that type of information.
Mr Happy was a personal bodyguard and head of SI security – last Peter had heard – so it wasn’t completely unlikely for him to have some sort of contact with medical professionals, just in case something went wrong. But then there was Ms Potts, the person who arguably had the closest relationship with Mr Stark. They had known each other for years, as well as worked together personally on many different occasions for almost that entire period of time.
On top of all of that, Ms Potts was also usually the one (along with Colonel Rhodes) who would scold Mr Stark publicly without shame if necessary, drag him out of dangerous situations whenever possible as well as force the billionaire to receive medical care when he obviously needed it. Right now, the famous CEO seemed like the most probable person to be able to find the specific people Peter needed someone that was not Stark himself to. Once he felt satisfied with that decision, Peter quickly adjusted the email he was sending to Ms Potts and pressed send, not bothering to read over it for spelling errors he was sure were there. He felt strangely relieved when the word ‘Delivered’ appeared on the screen.
Then he opened Ms Potts’ email account and sent an almost identical email to Mr Happy, whilst silently praying to whatever Gods he could think of (mainly Thor and Loki) that they would notice those emails soon and follow them without question. The teenager was immediately aware of how rushed and badly thought-out this plan was, but it was all he had, and if Ms Potts and Mr Happy arrived too late or not at all then Peter would leave for Siberia on his own and hope that he could manage.
Yeah. He could do this. Totally.
Though the fact that he had been mumbling a majority of his thoughts out loud subconsciously throughout the past few hours without noticing was definitely worrisome. Carelessly, Peter shoved his phone into his pocket and hurried towards the window. Just as he was about to jump out and swing his way to Sta – Avengers – Tower, he noticed the lack of web-shooters wrapped snuggly around his currently bare wrists and the absent feeling of cheap material covering his now exposed face. Mentally berating himself for almost making such a stupid mistake, Peter dashed back into his room and grabbed his homemade (and truthfully visually unappealing) Spider-Man mask and his surprisingly well-produced web-shooters, throwing the first item over his head messily and strapping the others to his wrists in a clumsy manner.
Soon he was swinging across New York in a mad attempt to reach the prepared jet before anyone else did.
And if he crashed into the occasional building now and again well, that didn’t matter. Not when something much more important than his well-being was at stake.
---
Peter sat impatiently on the jet, fiddling with his bright red mask in his trembling hands. He’d arrived here maybe five minutes ago, only to find the surrounding area deserted and empty of life besides his own. Although little time had passed, to Peter it felt as though every second stretched for hours, and every minute lasted days yet it still seemed as though every moment was rushing past too fast to comprehend. He had been checking his phone obsessively, growing more worried and stressed as the moments crawled by without any update from Ms Potts or Mr Happy.
Just as he was beginning to fully consider going to Siberia on his own and hoping for the best, the distant sound of talking distracted him. Usually, his hearing was much better due to his powers, but his senses had recently been drifting from intense strengths to hardly noticeable ones, resulting in a pounding headache and sometimes blurry vision. The exhaustion tugging at his mind relentlessly wasn’t much help either and it was becoming obnoxiously obvious that he was on the verge of collapsing.
(It wouldn’t be until weeks later that Peter would even begin to hypothesise that his super-human abilities and senses were all messed up because of the migraine his spidey-sense had been giving him at the time. Ever since Mr Stark’s disappearance was first mentioned, Peter simply couldn’t get the man out of his mind, and since his spidey-sense was having such powerful reactions to the mere thought of the billionaire, such a result should have been expected. The more the teenager thought about it now, the more it made sense to him; the restlessness, inability to concentrate, fatigue, and muscle stiffness that all pointed towards the ‘Prodrome stage’ which occurs before a migraine; or the numbness in his left arm that he had been stubbornly ignoring which signified the second stage.
Sometimes despite Peter’s unnatural intelligence he could be seriously idiotic.)
Choosing to ignore his own health issues, the teenager straightened in his seat and listened closely. Eventually, the noises became clearer, allowing Peter to recognise Mr Happy’s and a woman’s voice. They seemed to be arguing about something Peter couldn’t quite make out from this distance which bothered him to no end. His hearing was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be better than this.
Quickly, the teenage mutant jumped up from his seat and raced towards the jet’s opening, peeking around a wall in order to catch a glimpse of who it was that was approaching. Previously he’d been standing at the entrance of the vehicle in anticipation for Mr Happy’s and Ms Potts’ arrival, but had somehow found himself drifting inside the jet and plopping himself onto one of the many available seats during the wait. Now, he crept back towards the open entrance silently, cautious of the company Mr Happy had seemingly brought along. She sounded strangely familiar though, despite the fact that he was certain he had never met her before.
One glance was all it took for Peter to immediately realise the person’s identity as well as understand why he had vaguely recognised her voice. Ms Potts was a popular individual on such a wide scale that is was practically impossible to not instantaneously recognise the CEO upon spotting her. For Thor’s sake, he should have been able to identify her by voice alone! However, this was the first time Peter had ever so much as heard her speak in real life rather than on his television screen, so it wasn’t too far of a stretch that she may have sounded a bit different.
“I know that you don’t remember emailing me, but it’s obvious you did. You have to understand that what you’re saying right now doesn’t make any sense!” Ms Potts argued, her tone bordering on the edge of hysterical as she struggled to subdue her growing anger.
Peter basically tuned their conversation out as he stared in awe at the approaching people. Ms Potts stood tall, posture perfect and black high heels click-clacking against the rough concrete ground with every confident stride. Beside her, maybe a step behind, was Mr Happy, rushing to keep up with her. Their bodies faced the jet they were walking towards, but their heads were turned in order to face each other as they talked.
Behind them was a group of about ten individuals, each one dressed in white and blue scrubs that hung snugly around their forms, and pale blue plastic gloves that covered their hands up to above their wrists. Majority of them held some type of medical equipment ranging from kits filled with presumably bandages and medicines to Oxygen Concentrators Ventilators and hospital beds that they dragged by their side. The occasional two had stethoscopes wrapped around their necks, or medical face masks covering their nose and mouth.
The teenager’s eyes widened in awe and amazement, penny brown irises lighting up like fireworks as he stared at the people that were quickly drawing closer by the second. I can’t believe they actually showed up. If Peter’s jaw could physically drop low enough to hit the floor, it would’ve. Oh my gosh. They actually showed up. Peter felt like crying. He couldn’t believe they were actually here. This might actually work. Oh my gosh.
The medical professionals remained quiet, focusing on their respective equipment rather than their destination. Despite an obvious disinterest in the direction they were going, the group moved quickly, managing to barely fall behind the CEO and the Head of Security. Suddenly, Ms Potts stopped walking, turning around fully to glare at Mr Happy angrily, the latter almost tripping over his own feet at the unexpected pause. The doctors ( - nurses? Surgeons? - ) managed to react much better than Mr Happy did, their larger equipment freezing by their sides causing the rattle of wheels on rough concrete that Peter hadn’t noticed until then to vanish.
“I didn’t contact you! Why would I have? I don’t have time for practical jokes. I have an entire company to run which, in case you hadn’t noticed, tends to leave me pretty busy majority of the time! The only reason I’m here right now is because you said it was urgent in your email to me and that it concerned Tony!” Ms Potts said, glaring at the unfortunate man in front of her.
Tony…Mr Stark! Peter snapped out of his trance, flinching slightly at the billionaire’s mention. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Focus! Angry at himself for getting so easily distracted, the teenager hit himself repeatedly in an attempt to both punish himself and force himself to focus. It was enough to wake him up a bit more at the very least, although the aggressive pounding of his spidey-sense drowned out a majority of the pain. He didn’t even notice when his skin turned purple and blue as a large bruise began to form. Luckily, it was gone within a few short hours (his healing was on automatic slow at this point).
As what Ms Potts had just said began to finally sink in, Peter felt a cold guilt wash over him in harsh waves. He should’ve considered the fact that they might’ve had plans that they would need to cancel in order to show up. And now, on top of all of that insensitivity, Peter was continuing to waste their time and allow them to blame each other. Upon realising this, Peter immediately decided he had to stop them. This was all his fault anyway. And if they were mad at him then he deserved it.
Peter took a deep breath in in attempt to steady his nerves before stepping out from his hiding place. Surprisingly, he wasn’t immediately spotted and as relieving as that was he knew he had to speak up. Just as Mr Happy was opening his mouth to say something else Peter beat him to it.
“It was me.” He said, voice monotone and nervous.
All eyes were on him instantly – even the medical professionals glanced up once they heard the unfamiliar voice speak. A few took a step back in surprise while some barely reacted. Peter felt immediately overwhelmed by the attention anyway, yet he somehow managed to stand his ground, though he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking or his body from breaking into a cold sweat. Ms Potts’ and Mr Happy’s heads had snapped around to face the jets' opening where the teenager currently stood revealing matching shocked expressions. The latter, however, had a slight look of recognition mixed in with his understandable surprise.
“I – I sent you both those emails.” Peter stammered, resisting the urge to run and hide. Stupid anxiety.
Ms Potts already had her phone in her hand, fingers hovering over the screen ready to contact emergency services. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” She asked, a cautious softness in her voice like she was talking to a wild animal.
“I – I – ” The teenager didn’t know how to respond. Should he tell them he was Spider-Man? Mr Happy already knew but Ms Potts didn’t and there were all those people behind her that he didn’t want knowing his identity. Did he tell them he was Peter B Parker? Would them knowing his name even really matter?
“Peter?” Thankfully, Mr Happy interrupted Peter’s stuttered reply before the teenager could say something he would possibly regret later. “What the hell are you doing here?!” He exclaimed; an undeniable anger audible in his tone.
At that Peter flinched back. His hearing had unexpectedly become very sensitive and that had hurt a lot more than he had expected it to. Tears pooled in his eyes without his consent as his headache increased to the point it was hard to think straight. Instinctively, Peter reached a hand up to his head only to accidentally brush over something wet. He pulled his arm back, horrified to find fresh blood coating the top of his fingers. It was coming out of his ear…
At the sight Peter had to bite back a whimper. The group standing in front of him must have noticed because some, Mr Happy and Ms Potts particularly, gasped. Some doctors had begun instinctively reaching for their equipment only to freeze when they must’ve inevitably realised that the boy before them was still possibly dangerous and a threat.
“Kid – ” Mr Happy began, his tone still strict and firm yet cautiously concerned.
“It’s fine.” Peter insisted instead. “I just – I emailed you. Both of you. I – I hacked into your accounts and I’m really sorry.” Peter stuttered, watching in terror as their expressions changed with every word that left his lips. “I’m really, really sorry, - ” He continued, “ – but I really need your help.”
(At the time, Peter didn’t understand why he was so scared, but he later blamed it on his screaming spidey sense. It had just kept shouting constantly. He assumed it had been messing with his perception of danger.)
“Why?” Ms Potts asked, walking closer towards the teenager as she spoke. “Why did you do it? Why do you want us here? What do you want with us?”
“Please I just – I know where he is and where to go but I couldn’t go alone and I’m really sorry. Please you have to trust me. Please.” Peter wasn’t exactly sure when his apologies had formed into desperate begging. “I – I won’t hurt you. I swear I won’t but please – please – I need you to come with me.”
“Do you know him?” Ms Potts turned to Mr Happy, finally acknowledging the man’s previous statements.
“Well, it’s complicated – ” The chauffer/bodyguard attempted to explain only to be quickly interrupted.
“Do you know him!?” Ms Potts shouted, gesturing to Peter as her patience thinned by the second. This time, Mr Happy only nodded stiffly. “Can we trust him?” She then asked with forced calmness.
Mr Happy turned to Peter and stared into the teenager’s desperate eyes for a moment before turning back to the CEO. The spider mutant held his breath, knowing that whatever the man’s answer was could largely impact whether they retrieved Mr Stark or not. Eventually, Mr Happy nodded without a trace of hesitance. Internally, Peter deflated with relief. Externally, however, Peter only smiled slightly.
“Alright. Peter, was it?” The teenager nodded in confirmation. “Alright. Before you mentioned a ‘he’. Who were you referring to?” Ms Potts was walking closer, phone already returned to its previous spot in her skirt pocket.
Peter shakily inhaled, visibly trembling as he replied. “Mr Stark.”
---
The jet landed on the pale white snow, immediately dwarfed by the large HYDRA facility that sat nearby. Seconds after the large vehicle became stationary the engine stuttered off. The back opened, creating a large, flat metal ramp that led to the entrance of the Siberian structure where the ground wasn’t coated in thick layers of snow but was rather partially spared due to the roof which hovered a few feet above. The ugly grey walls of the building stuck out in the pale surroundings ominously, still eerily obvious despite the falling snow.
Peter stared at the new location for a split, tranquil moment before jumping up and out of his seat. The medical professionals that had been fussing over him despite Peter’s insistence that they should save their energy for the actual patient, Mr Stark, exclaimed in annoyance as he slipped out of their clutches. Behind him, Mr Happy and Ms Potts shouted out in surprise, commanding him to stop and wait for them. Their pleas fell on deaf ears, however, as the teenager continued to sprint onwards, speed-enhancing powers pushing him to go faster than his body could manage.
As he dashed out through the jet’s open exit, he found himself stumbling due to the cold air that attacked him instantly. It bit hungrily at his bare arms as the short-sleeved shirt Peter was wearing failed to keep him warm. He knew he should have dressed more appropriately for this expedition, but he hardly cared at that moment in time. There were bigger fish to fry.
It wasn’t until that he was halfway down the ramp, though, when he managed to find his footing and continue, old sneakers pounding against the metal with every step. The falling snow clung at his clothes, the icy coldness causing every movement to become stiff and slower than Peter would have liked. Spiders can’t thermoregulate, Peter reminded himself as he finally came to a pause in front of the open door that now stood before him.
From where he stood, frozen in fear and hesitance, the teenager could clearly see inside the dark bunker, where the corridors stretched into the shadows and rooms were hidden behind gloomy corners. Peter already knew that he could see insanely well in the dark and yet the sight before him still unnerved him. Something hurt Mr Stark bad in there. What if whoever or whatever it was that did that, was still in there?
Peter growled angrily, frustrated at himself for hesitating before proceeding to force himself onwards. The echoes of his footsteps drowned out the concerned shouting of Ms Potts and the desperate yells of Mr Happy commanding him to wait.
---
“Mr Stark?” Peter yelled as he hurried up and down hallways, desperate to hear some sort of response. “Mr Stark? Iron Man? Sir? Are you there?”
Peter knew that he was in the right place – it was practically impossible he wasn’t. The coordinates were burned into his mind and the information that came with the coordinates – injuries were extensive – internal bleeding – broken bones – fractured skull – trauma was delivered to the heart – permanent damage – were similarly engraved into his subconscious. This was the right place. He knew it was. But then where was Mr Stark?
---
Peter was growing frantic, a raw, terrifying panic gripping at him with sharp claws that refused to let go. He didn’t know how long had passed since the jet had landed in Siberia and he hardly cared. He had yet to spot another human being – even Ms Potts, Mr Happy and all other company that had joined him on this trip had whereabouts unknown to him. He knew they were still here – Peter doubted they would leave after everything that they had discussed within the too short yet painfully slow ride here. But he hadn’t seen them since he’d run off, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was growing scared.
As much as Peter despised crowded places (an unfortunate trait to have when one lived in New York) he also couldn’t stand being completely alone. It bothered the teenager how cut off from the rest of the world he was. He had no means of contact as his phone had no signal here and Peter wasn’t about to waste time trying to hack into the closet internet source. He still hadn’t found Mr Stark and he needed to find Mr Stark.
Peter panted as he continued to sprint down every corridor and in and out every room that crossed his path. This building was a lot bigger than he’d originally anticipated, stretching both above and underground for a few storeys. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, a sound which was drowned out by the rhythmic screams of his spidey sense. He had yet to stop running and the excess, sudden exercise was beginning to take its toll on him.
Despite having tried multiple times to use his heightened senses to his advantage, every attempt resulted in a bigger headache and further fatigue. Peter found it better if he just tried to ignore as many of his senses as possible because utilising or acknowledging them wasn’t doing him any favours. All he had to depend on was his spidey sense which, might he mention, wasn’t very good with directions. It warned the teenager of danger, threats and occasionally mild inconveniences. It did not, however, tell him which turn to take in order to find the probably – most definitely – dying billionaire.
Stupid senses. Stupid useless powers that never work when I want them to. Eventually, Peter found that he couldn’t run anymore. He was forced to momentarily pause his search in order to try and catch his breath. It was like, for a split second, Peter forgot how to breathe and now he was stuck gasping for air as his dry throat protested with every greedy inhale.
Bent over with hands rested on his partially bent knees, Peter felt his mind begin to settle. For a few, satisfying moments, Peter could think straight without feeling dizzy as panicked thought after panicked thought no longer attacked him instantaneously. It eerily reminded him of the calm before a storm, when the world slows down for a short, precious amount of time, before descending into chaos. He shivered, and despite the way his teeth chattered, and his hands trembled slightly, Peter knew none of it was due to the suffocating cold that surrounded him.
Then he heard something.
His head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise, jumping from side to side in hopes of spotting the source. At first, Peter couldn’t tell what it was, his mind struggling to process the sound while at the same time it anticipated hearing it again. The teenager first assumed it was a figment of his imagination – a flicker of hope that he knew he needed. But then it came again, this time louder and sounding closer even though Peter was certain that whatever caused it hadn’t moved in a particular direction. When it echoed down the hall a third time, beckoning him closer with the sound of metal hitting concrete that he finally recognised, Peter wasted no time sprinting towards it.
He found himself in a part of the facility he had yet to explore. The air felt colder here, and a draft swirled around him tauntingly as he drew closer. The noise was growing louder, clearer. Easier to hear and listen to. It repeated randomly, seeming to become more aggressive each time. It was sporadic and irregular, each bang of metal on concrete startling Peter and causing him to flinch. Sensitive hearing sucks. Ouch.
Then, before Peter had even realised how far he’d travelled in so little time, he noticed it. And opening in the wall akin to a doorway but lacking the door part. It wasn’t a window because there was strong gusts of wind flying through the opening and hitting his numbing skin with powerful slaps of cold. He stood in front of it, frozen in a mess of emotions as he stared, dumbfounded, at what lay before him.
It was a large room, barren and still coloured entirely in depressing greys like the rest of the facility. There were these pillars – is that what they’re called? – tall and sloped. They stretched up from the floor to the ceiling in all their concrete glory, barely affected by the winds of time. The sloped sides went inside, into the large room Peter couldn’t bother to examine properly.
Behind the pillars was outside. Snow danced in the air, piling on the floor in thin sheets. The sky was bright, shining with the vibrant noon – at least it was around noon when Peter first arrived here – sun that sat high in the bright blue sky. Truthfully, Peter was sure that if he’d taken the time to actually look at his surroundings properly, he’d find the pure white snow rather beautiful. He always did have a love for winter despite how much his body seemed to despise it – both before and after Spider-Man.
But Peter wasn’t looking at any of that.
He wasn’t even looking at the infamous red, blue and white shield that had been carelessly tossed into the centre of the room, no matter how much the scratch down the middle of it would have surely fascinated him in better circumstances. Maybe if he’d looked at it or at least acknowledged its presence, he could have been distracted – even for the littlest while – from what would soon come to haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
No. He wasn’t looking at the shield or at the snow or even at the remains of what he would later discover to be James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes’ metal arm. No. He wasn’t looking at any of that.
Instead, Peter found himself staring at a pool of red liquid, dark and partially frozen but still terrifyingly wet. He was watching, hypnotically, as it oozed from the corners of the man’s eyes and mouth, spilling onto the floor. He was watching as the Iron Man armour, destroyed beyond hopes of repair and mangled to the point it was almost beyond recognition, slammed into the ground repeatedly as the man it was attached to shook and jerked and twitched.
Peter was watching with wide, once innocent eyes as Mr Stark seized uncontrollably, coated in dry and wet and disgusting layers of his own blood. Peter was watching as his idol, his hero, convulsed and spasmed as the billionaire choked and gagged on his own blood. Peter watched as the man he’d come to rescue, worked so hard to find, banged his head and limbs against the concrete involuntarily.
For a second – one single, never-ending second – Peter was paralysed in horror and unimaginable fear. He didn’t know what to do. What could he do? But then Mr Stark, from where he was laying between those dreaded, ugly pillars, twitched his head slightly and their eyes met. Briefly. For less than a moment.
(The look on his face was one Peter would wish he could forget years after Mr Stark was all better again.)
And then Peter moved – no, he ran. Ran like his life depended on it despite the fact that he felt heavier than stone. Despite the fact that bile was rising up his throat. Despite the fact that tears were blurring his already messed up vision. Despite the fact that he wanted to turn away and run and hide more than anything. And when he spoke – shouted – there wasn’t any relief in his voice like he thought there would be.
No. There was just pure, horrified fear, like a prayer yelled to the Gods Peter knew would never be able to hear him.
“Mr Stark!”