The Infinite Child

Peter stared at the roof of his cell, wondering if Fury knew that there were at least four different ways to escape. 

First was the the Air Vent. Though small, it’d fit anybody with a slim figure. Meaning all a dude gotta do is lose weight and slide through. Second was the cameras. Stark taught him a few tricks that any engineer would know. The cameras are connected to the security system. A little rewriting trick and some time to plot, anybody could shut down their defense systems. Only the brightest would know it, those good with computers and hacking. Though nerdy, machinery was a bit out of his expertise. He was more of a scientific fellow.  Third would be through the panels. Similar to the vents, there would have to be gap layer with no cement to block him from crawling around in. Perfect for escape since it was technically above the ventilation system. 

Peter huffed. He wondered how many people had his exact train of thought and escaped. He could imagine Fury’s red face as yelled at all his Agent’s for losing one of their prisoners. It would be chaos until they either find their prisoner hanging on for dear life on the side of the helicarrier or hiding out in the bathroom. He laughed at the thought, fondly imagining the whole scenario.

“You should be fighting, my gem. These people do not deserve your cooperation.” 

Peter didn’t even glance at his protector, keeping his eyes glued to the wall. 

“Doesn’t matter. I deserve to rot for what I did. I’m just lucky Shield is helping me to get rid of this curse inside of me.” He could feel the stones weakened protest, their conscious on the brink of fading. It was a warning to him that he didn’t have much time till the stones fully merged into his soul. 

“Your guilt is clouding your judgement. You must let go of your silly human emotions-“

Peter scoffed. “If you’re gonna lecture me, then save it. I don’t need another adult telling me what a screw up I am. I’ve already heard it.” The teen crossed his arms stubbornly, glaring at the ground beneath him now. 

“I was told that you were going to the best. The stones choose you,” Red Skull reminded, ignoring the teenage stubbornness, “However I’m failing to see how you, a child running from himself, is to be the world's protector. So far all I see is a coward.”  

“Yeah, I’ve heard the prophecy. I’m either gonna be this world’s protector or destroyer, thanks for the reminder.” Peter bit his lip, feeling his soul shiver at the reminder. 

“You hide every time something goes wrong, but pretty soon you’ll run out of spots to hide. Then you must choose who you are. Are you the monster you think to be, or the world’s future hero?” 

“I’m not a hero.” The teen shook his head. “I never was, and never will be. I’m just a kid from Queens.” 

“Killing the boy was a bust.” 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Strange glared at Fury who continued to point out his mistakes to poke fun. The one eyed man didn’t even have to look up from Peter’s notebook to let him know he was being a jerk. It frustrates him. 

“Also a bit over the top.” 

“There’s no cure for stones syndrome. He’s a global threat now making him my responsibility to make sure he does reach universal.” 

“We have bigger threats that you should focus your work on, like the tears in our world.”  Fury studied him carefully, looking over his frame, taking in every twitch of the brow, eye flicker, blink. 

“Also, Stark isn’t going to be happy to hear his magical best friend tried to kill his super power sidekick.” 

“I frankly don’t care if Stark gets his feelings hurt, he’s blinded by his emotions to see the threat right in-front of his eyes.” Strange pointed out, his tone rising. “He’s already killed at least half a dozen men, including one of your undercover’s.  What’s to say, you’re not next? What’s one more stain?”

Fury seemed to contemplate this idea. His men lost their lives, Peter has tasted their blood. Who’s to say he won’t mind some more? It was a thought he needed to take seriously. 

“He’ll kill us all. It’s just a matter of time.”

Tony sat in for questioning the second time around, taking a seat next to the minor. 

Peter seemed a bit more open, answer only a few questions. Though vague, the answers provided insight. 

“I-I can’t explain it. I just lost control,” Peter told the Director, his body shifting uncomfortably. “I just remember people yelling at me and then they weren’t.” 

The Agent behind Fury looked annoyed, almost pissed at the explanation the kid try to give. To call the death of countless agents just an accident was sickening.

“There you have it! Kid told you everything he knew! Now we’ll be leaving,” Tony stood. 

“What? No!” Peter all but shrieked. “I can’t go back!” 

“Oh yes you can! Watch us.” 

Fury sighed, sitting back in his seat. He seemed annoyed by Stark’s impatient actions but that wasn’t uncommon. Dozens of other agents shared his unpleasant feelings.

“Actually I have something else to talk to Peter about,” Fury spoke up. 

Tony glared but stayed quiet. He searched his old friend like drug sniffing dog, searching for any sign of bad intention. Once he gets a whiff, the next time the one eyed bastard wants to talk it would be through his long wall of lawyers. 

Suddenly Fury pulled a photo up from his files, sliding it downwards towards the teen. His was was straight while the kid curiously looked over. The kid seemed to hesitate, glancing at the dozens of agents and Fury. It wasn’t until Tony peaked and signaled him with a nod, encouraging him to continue. 

Peter grabbed onto the picture, taking a breath before flipping the photo over. 

It was like a car hit him. A speeding car with no sense of self preservation. It collided with his body, sending him flying into a pit of burning lava. It festered and charcoaled his body.

“This is Skip Westcott, and he was found dead in a Brooklyn alleyway the night after we met.” 

Tony glanced at Peter and Fury confused, switching gazes every few seconds trying to find an answer to his confusion.

“What does this have to do with the kid?” The billionaire asked, sitting forward in his seat. 

“He was one of the Agents we sent to find him.”

Peter’s breath hitch as he went flying back, muttering no over and over again.  He tried to stand but he tripped over the seat. He landed on the ground attempting to crawl away but a guard stopped him.

“Don’t touch me!” Peter screamed at the men who touched him.

“Get your hands off him!” Tony demanded, rising from his seat. “This interview is over!”

It was like Westscott was violating him all over again, pinning him to the cold gravel ground saying his dirty words and reeling of cheap alcohol. His sweaty hands clasped on his mouth, keeping him held down. It was like the man still kept him under his thumb even from the grave.

“No! No! No!” Peter was backed into the corner. The Agent refused to let him go so he did the only thing he could do to survive. He fought back. He threw the man down, using his strength. He watched the concrete crack under the immense pressure. The man was knocked out but alive. 

Peter’s back hit the back wall, muttering repeatedly, “it can’t be.” It must’ve been his hundredth time saying it before shouting,

“Beck!”

He banged on the windows, his strength breaking the one way window in a second. “Help me! Please-“

There was a sudden jolt of pain before there was nothing.

“Peter....”

“Uncle Ben...,” Peter breathes out, his lips curving upwards to form a smile. 

This time he was fourteen, sitting in a stadium while a baseball game played in the background. He remembered this. This was when Ben took him to some baseball game as a bonding moment. 

He wasn't a sports fan, and openly was against it. He told his Uncle that he didn’t want to go to some sports games. However once he saw his Uncle’s dejected expression, he imminently took it back and agreed to go. Peter had more fun than the originally intended, expecting the night to be a total bust, he actually enjoyed the quality time with his Uncle to just bond. Like a father would do with his son. 

A fond memory that he cherished deeply. Now he was reliving that memory inside what he presumed a dream or some sort of vision.

“It’s good to see you, sport. I’ve really missed you,” Ben told him, placing his ghost hand against his shoulder. He gave a kind smile that made the boy’s heart warm up.

“Me too.”

Ben smiles before ruffling his hair. Man the teen hadn’t had his hair ruffled since his court date. It made him giggle like a child. There was a moment of silence as the two looked each other in the eyes. Nobody spoke, leaving this moment to feel like hours as Peter tried to memorize the man’s face, picking apart every detail. 

Then suddenly Ben’s eyes turned sad.

“Why are you doing this Pete? You don’t deserve this...” Peter snapped out of his trance, reeling back at Ben’s words like he was slapped across the face. His memories of the events in the interview came to the surface. As he remembered he felt anger. It was bleeding red, making his teeth clench. 

Shield was supposed to be the good guys. Instead they turned into a corrupt system with dirty agent’s and filthy staff working. They set him up. They sent that awful man after him who would forever haunt him. They were like every villain he’s ever faced. A liar. 

Peter grasped at the bench he sat on, causing a darkness to spread.

“I don’t want to talk about them.” 

“Don’t shut me out Peter...please.” Ben looked sad as he studied his nephew. He could see the darkness keeping his light hostage. It grew stronger, consuming him. “Peter-“

“I said no!” Peter snapped, growling. His quick to anger response tensed his shoulders, causing him to hunch over. The darkness exploded, consuming his happy memory, turning it into a wicked nightmare.

“Peter please...Don’t do this to me again.” Before the boy could process what he heard, a sharp bang cut through his eardrums. The world around him blurred, turning dark as he spun around. He no longer sat in the baseball game, now standing in a dark alley. Dark veins consumed his once paradise. 

He could hear whispers echo as the sight of red splashed on the dark pavement caught his sight as he choked on the smell of death that infiltrated his nostrils. 

Peter screamed, however nothing could be heard. His painful sorrow filled cries were muted in the dark world. 

“Peter...why...? Why didn’t you save me?” Uncle Ben asked, gasping as blood drips from his mouth. His hand laid over his bullet wound as he reached out for his nephew. “Wh...why couldn’t you be better?” 

“I-I’m sorry-oh god-Uncle Ben!” Peter could finally hear his own voice trip over himself, stumbling. He wanted to run over, his mind getting caught in moment, however his feet wouldn’t move. He was stuck watching his worst nightmare replay itself. 

“I died...and the man who killed me still walks...Tell me, How is that fair?”

“I-” Peter saw a shadow figure move. Instinctively he looked up. There was the hooded man, he seemed to linger over his dying Uncle’s body, his gun flashing in the dark. It was the robber he let go. He watched, his mouth agape. Never before had Peter noticed how time is so much like water; that it can pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink. In this slow time-bubble he was trapped in he watched the man who murdered his Uncle walk away like he hadn’t pulled fatal bullet for his own greed. He was right next to this murder, his shoulder nearly touching his own, close enough to hear his heavy breathing. 

“Please...help me…” His Uncle wasn’t looking at Peter but the robber who shot him. 

The hooded figure paused, his body stiffening like a statue.

“Somebody...help me….”

A droplet dripped down his cheek, every second stinging like wax paper being ripped off from his skin leaving behind an angry raw piece of flesh, only fueling the fire that burned inside of him.  His Uncle called out helplessly to the man who shot him, begging him, yet the man hesitates. 

“As long as there’s evil….”

The shooter didn’t turn. He didn’t even look. He put one foot forward, and then another, and another. 

“...there will be sacrifice.”

Every single step was like gasoline pouring over his open flames, building up. This anger, it's been inside of him for a while now, burning, seething, growing, escaping every time he loses somebody he loves. His eyes squeezed shut, clenching his fists tightly in the air.

The footsteps echoed behind him, taunting him as the world around him goes dark. He felt himself slip, for once his stupid morals didn’t blind him from the world. He grabbed his anger, reeling it like a wild horse, gaining control over himself in a single moment. 

His eyes opened and the universe now laid in them.

He spun around, his fist jabbing forward. He heard as gasp escape the strangers lips. He opened his eyes to find in his hand weren’t empty as he thought, in his palms was a silver blade. It’s steel part as halfway in the stranger, stuck inside of him. He pulled out the weapon in a swift motion. 

The figure hunched over, grasping his wound before tumbling over. 

Peter’s eyes fell on the bloody sword, his thumb rubbing across the hilt in a hypnotised movement. He ran his finger over the centered gem, it’s bright light captivating him. He couldn’t understand this burning sensation in his veins. He looked up at the mess he created. 

The figure gasped for air on the ground, his face hidden from his view. 

Peter thought he’d feel guilty, angry at himself, hatred for his actions. He waited for those negative emotions to take their effect but it never happened. Instead it felt good. It frightened him. He loved the pure adrenaline rush, the wild effect it had on him. The thrill of it all. 

If this was so bad, then why does it feel so good?

He felt the sweet release of revenge. Like in some twisted way he avenged his dead in a single moment. His emotions had him wanting to look at his Uncle’s murder’s face.

Peter bent down, dropping the weapon causing it to crumble to dust. He raised a hand up to the black hood, quickly ripping it off.

Instead of seeing the face of another human he saw himself. A reflection that was apart of himself. A weaker, morally righteous teenage boy. He looked so frail and young. He was practically skin and bones. He looked like a puppy who’d just gotten kicked for the first time. 

“You’re...a monster…” 

Peter studies his mirror, his face emotionless as his eyes wandered across his face. After a few seconds, he raised a hand up and cupped his reflections cheek, staring straight in the others eyes, burning into skull. 

“You will never take anything from anyone ever again.” 

And then there was just him.