3. second star to the right

Monroe's screams are loud and desperate. They echo throughout the training room and Peter wishes he would stop, maybe control himself a little bit better, behave as he expected all his experiments to behave while being poked with needles and jabbed with knives. Peter doesn't even know exactly what's causing him to scream. He's got his back turned, the computer chair shifted to look towards the wall instead of where Stark and Natasha are working, as per the request of Captain America, or Steve, as he told Peter to call him. There's no point to this, of course, because Peter is sure he's seen far worse, but for now, he's happy to comply. Every time one of Monroe's pathetic screams pierce through his ears, the gnawing ache in his stomach tightens.

It crept in shortly after Stark attempted to pry the tracker off by force. A small, dull ache at first, but since then, it's grown, and has kept growing, into something a little more painful. He's reminded of the time he got food poisoning from a ran down restaurant him and his parents stopped by on the way home from somewhere Peter can't remember. Just remembers throwing up into a plastic bag in the backseat of their small car, his mom rubbing his back and how good he felt once they were home, once he was back in his own bed…

Another scream brings him back to reality. His stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.

"What are they doing to him?" asks Peter, looking to Steve and Bucky for an answer. They're both sitting on the floor, leaning up against the wall he's being forced to look at.

"Extracting information," replies Bucky.

Peter rolls his eyes, pushes his head deeper into the chair's mesh backing, at the intentionally vague answer. He crosses his arms. "I've seen worse, I bet."

"I'm sure you have," says Steve.

A small, blinking red light takes Peter's attention. The security camera icon on the computer is lighting up, prompting Peter to reangle the chair and double-click on the desktop shortcut. Live footage of the hall outside the room's front door fills the screen. Number One stands outside the door, standing eerily still, looking directly up and into the camera. Waiting for the lockdown to lift. And he's not the only one. A few guards, a few other kids Peter tries to steer clear of, all gathered, ready to storm in once they're able.

Peter feels a weight on the chair and looks up to find Steve looming over him, peering at the computer monitor with him.

"Do we have company?" asks Bucky, not bothering to leave his spot on the floor.

"Yeah, but it's nothing to worry about. They can't get to us and we'll be gone by the time they can."

"Lockdown means no one comes in or out," Peter points out, somewhat impatiently. He glances at the timer. 9:32. "It's impossible to be gone before they get in."

"Well, maybe."

Peter eyes Steve suspiciously, wondering how exactly him and the rest of the Avenger think they're getting out of here, but breaks his stare when One starts to move towards the door. He takes the lighter from his pocket, plays with the flame in the palm of his hand until it grows into a larger, wilder, ball of fire. He applies it to the side of the door where the hinges are hidden and waits patiently.

"That might actually be a problem," says Steve, but Peter's barely paying any attention. The pain in his stomach goes white hot, stabs at him from the inside and it takes every ounce of his focus to prevent himself from crying out. Unfortunately, Steve must have been able to read it from the pained expression on his face. "Are you doing alright?"

His stomach gives another hard twist, and this time, he can't help gasping out loud. He double overs, slamming his forehead against the desk and clutching his abdomen with both arms. Peter stays like this for a few seconds, until a cool hand comes between his forehead and the desk, lifting his head only slightly, before gently letting it fall back down.

"You're burning up."

"I am?" asks Peter. He looks at Steve, but the edges of his figure blur.

"Yes."

"I… I think I'm gonna be sick."


They're getting nowhere with Monroe.

He refuses to talk, no matter how many persuasive tactics they decide to deploy and Tony's starting to feel the ticking clock, distracted by it again, despite the actual timer being out of his field of vision altogether. It's almost time to signal Barton, almost time to call his suit, almost time to leave, but none of that can happen until the tracker comes off the kid. Or, at the very least, he figures out a way to get it off.

Nat's about to try something creative when Bucky approaches, interrupting them. "We may have a problem."

"Just what we need," says Nat. She backs away from Monroe.

"The boy who killed the HYDRA agent is trying to break down the door," says Bucky.

Not a problem, Tony thinks. He can't imagine the metal security door being broken down by a boy. Even a deranged mutant one.

"And Peter is sick."

Sure enough, Tony spots Peter kneeling on the floor, his face in a trashcan, while Steve hovers over him, rubbing his shoulder, wiping messy and hair now matted with sweat back from his eyes. Awfully convenient time to be struck with a stomach bug. Tony whirls back around on Monroe, without warning, seizes him by the throat and slams him against the wall with his iron-covered hand.

"What's happening to him?" He demands. "I'm done asking nicely."

Monroe gives him a twisted smile, fresh blood visible on his front teeth, but he doesn't say anything.

"Fine," says Tony, squeezing the man's throat, cutting off his oxygen. "If you're going to be completely useless, might as well finish you off." Their eyes lock and Tony can tell, Monroe doesn't believe him. "Don't think I'll do it? I'm not a thirteen-year-old boy who's afraid to pull the trigger. You don't wanna test me." Seconds go by. Tony tightens his grip, ready to see the life leave his eyes, until finally, Monroe starts to panic. His arms flail, he pounds the wall and Tony loosens his hold, just enough to let the man breathe, but not properly. "Start talking."

"…He's dying," says Monroe, his voice comes out raspy, still trying to breathe. "The tracker's laced with five doses of a fast-acting poison, try to take it off, it gets inject into his body. I'm guessing you triggered one of them, but that's enough. Five's just a precaution. He'll be dead in minutes."

Tony lets him go and watches him crumple to the ground.

"Congratulations Stark," he says. "You just killed the boy who saved your lives."

"Except he's not dead," says Natasha. Her head is turned towards the computers. "He looks fine."

Following her gaze, Tony watches Peter as he stands up straight, having an animated discussion with Steve, while frantically beckoning at the computer monitors. Tony blinks a couple of times, expecting the scene to change, but it doesn't. Steve shakes his head at the kid, leaving Tony to wonder what they're arguing about and how it's possible for him to have the energy to argue, after having just been sick. As if they sense they're being watched, Peter and Steve look over at him and the kid sprints towards where he stands with Bucky and Nat, before Steve can stop him.

"We have to open that door," says Peter.

"Uh, no. That's the actual opposite of what we need to do," says Tony. He pauses and looks him over. "Do you still feel sick? You don't feel, uh, poisoned?"

"No, I'm fine." But he's out of breath and his eyes keep darting back towards the door.

Tony tries to check his temperature with the back of his hand, but he ducks away. "Are you sure?"

"Well," he admits. "My head hurts."

"Because he slammed it against the desk," says Steve, joining them.

"Wait," says Peter. He takes a couple of steps back and looks down at the tracker on his wrist. His voice hitches up a couple of notches. "Why would you ask that?"

He doesn't wait for an answer to confirm his fear. He starts pulling at the bracelet, violently, scratching his own skin in the process.

At least he's moved on from wanting to open the door.

"Stop doing that," orders Tony. The last thing they need is for him to accidentally trigger another dose of poison.

But the kid doesn't hear him or pretends he doesn't. He keeps at it until Tony steps forward in one stride, snatches his wrist away from him and holds it still. He examines the tracker again while Peter struggles against his grip, trying desperately, and in vain, to get away. It looks and feels looser, as if a screw has fallen out. A blessing and a curse, because now they are one step closer to getting it off, but also, it's unstable. Tony's not sure how much pressure, how much force, it will take to set if off, now that the first one is gone.

"Let me go!" He's still trying to tug his arm away – not doing himself any favors.

"This is why I told you to keep him over there," Tony growls at Steve and Bucky, both who seemed completely unphased.

"He's fast," says Steve, evenly.

"Hey, knock it off. Stop panicking," says Tony. He makes his voice loud, booming, hoping it makes it through whatever chaos is happening inside the kid's brain.

For a second, Tony thinks Peter didn't heard him, but then, suddenly, he stops. Either too exhausted to carry on or finally coming to his senses. He's still breathing heavily and the same look of terror flashes across his eyes that Tony saw just after he discovered they were the Avengers. It moves him from annoyed to pitying, reminds him of why he's so determined to help him in the first place.

"Keep this arm still. Wrist up, like this, alright? Good. Don't move."

Tony lets go, but stays near, watching carefully to see if he's going to lose it again. He doesn't. He stands with his arm out, wrist up, like Tony showed him.

"Maybe you should just cut his hand off, feed it to a hungry crocodile and avoid all this trouble," says Monroe, lazily, from the ground.

"We're not doing that," says Tony, immediately, with a scowl, reassuring Peter to avoid another freak-out. Nat almost looks like she wants to add something, but holds back, while Steve seems to be considering whether or not he should kick Monroe's head in, to shut him up.

"I don't get it. If he's poisoned, how's he still alive?" asks Bucky.

"Probably cause I heal faster than regular people," says Peter. He's staring at his arm like it's a bomb that might go off at any moment. Tony doesn't blame him. "It's part of the spider bite thing."

"Impossible," says Monroe. "We have no record of any such ability."

"Of course not. Why would I say anything to you about it?" asks Peter. There's no mistaking the disgust in his words, the way in which Peter talks down to him, as if he's both the youngest one in the room and the smartest one in the room. "So you could cut me open and time how fast I heal? No thanks. It's not my fault you're not observant enough to figure it out yourself."

Tony stares at him. He's going to want to know all about what Peter means by the spider bite thing later, especially since now he's convinced there's going to be a later. It all clicks into place. What he needs to do. How he's going to free Peter from the tracker. One screw at a time. One dose of poison until it's all gone. Poor kid's in for a rough night, but at least when it's over, he's free.

"Nat," says Tony. He pushes a button on his gauntlet. "Give Barton the signal. We're ready for him."

"Stark," Monroe says. He's looking at Peter with warmth, pride, but not because he sees an exceptionally bright boy. Because he sees his research come to light. An accidental discovery. A miracle, really, but unfortunately for Monroe, it won't ever benefit him. "You can't have him."

"What?"

"He belongs to us," says Monroe, sounding surprising strong for someone laid out on the floor. "You can't just trespass in here and kidnap a child."

"Oh yeah? Watch me."

Tony would like to explain the complex differences between rescuing and kidnapping, but they would obviously be lost on Monroe.

"What? I'm not going with you," says Peter. "That's not the deal. You said you'd get the bracelet off!"

"To get it off, you're going to have to come with us."

"No. No way." He shakes his head vehemently, but he's also impressively careful not to move his arm.

"Sorry, kid. You don't have a choice."

On second thought, maybe they are kidnapping. Second hand kidnapping. Kidnapping a kid who's already been kidnapped.

"Stark," says Natasha. She waves him over to her, away from everyone else. Hesitantly, he steps away from Peter, shooting Steve and Bucky a warning shot, hoping they get the message that they're suppose watch him. Keep him from doing something exceptionally stupid. Like running away or poisoning himself.

"What?"

"Maybe Monroe has a point," she tells him. "We need to get rid of that thing the fastest way possible."

"You can't be serious."

"I am," she says, "Just listen – "

"I don't want to hear it. You're talking about chopping off a child's hand."

"To save him, to save us," says Natasha. "What happens when we get on the jet and they follow us because they're tracking him? What happens when they decide to push a button and kill him? You're not thinking logically."

"We'll fly off course until it's destroyed."

"So we're just going to what? Slowly poison him over and over until it's gone?"

"Yes, I see what you mean. Amputating his hand clearly sounds like the better option of the two," says Tony, dryly.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "And if they decide to end him before you get all the poison out? You're willing to live with that on your conscience?"

"They won't do it. Not after finding out they created a super mutant with super healing abilities," says Tony. She doesn't look convinced. "But if they do, then yes. I guess that one will be on me."


Don't move. Don't panic. No choice.

All these words are incompatible, and yet Peter finds himself standing completely and totally still. He supposes that it's true. He really doesn't have a choice. He may not understand how the bracelet works, how it's supposed to be poisoning him, but he at the very least, he trusts Stark enough to know he wouldn't have told him to not to move if it weren't important. And he doesn't like it. Trusting. It feels like entering into dangerous territory.

Maybe he's just tired. It's easier to do what he's told when he's tired.

But then, out of curiosity, he zeros in on Stark and Natasha's conversation. That's another ability he won't be sharing with the class anytime soon. Enhanced hearing. His last wild card. There's a reason they put a lot of distance between him and their conversation, and Peter's going to figure out why. He listens in, horrified at the idea of losing his hand but also not thrilled about the thought of being poisoned all night.

He's not mad at Nat. She's right. It makes sense. He looks at his wrist and glances over at Bucky's metal arm. If he managed to survive losing an entire arm, losing a hand wouldn't be so bad in comparison. Sure, he would prefer to keep it, just like he prefers to escape on his own terms, but it's looking more and more unlikely. Stubborn as he is, determined as he is to do things on his own, he knows it's mostly pointless to fight for that anymore.

Especially since there's a chance he might not even survive to begin with.

And he's tired. So tired. His arm shakes, the infected wrist moves.

"Steady," says Stark, back from his and Natasha's secret discussion. She stands nearby. Her expression is unreadable, but whatever it is, it's aimed at Stark's back.

Peter looks up at the retractable ceiling. It's moving. It's being pealed back from the center, from where the two sliding panels meet. He watches as what looks like a red and gold robot rips it away and leaves a gaping hole in the training room ceiling. Peter knows it's no coincidence that this robot's colors matches Stark's weaponized hand, and so this time, he doesn't jump when the thing comes flying straight towards them.

He is a little shocked though, when the robot comes open and Stark steps inside of it, disappearing into the armor. The faceplate goes down and Stark's face becomes visible again, and that's when it happens. Peter doesn't know if it's because the timer has finally worn down or because One succeed in his ill-advised plan to weaken the door with fire, but the door comes down, creaks off the hinges and falls flat. Led by One, hands fully aflame, the guards and the others come filing through the door, pouring into the room.

"Oh, good," says Stark. "Is that all of you, then?"

One raises his hand, ready to blast them with fire, but he's cut off. Stark is faster. He stretches out his arm, followed by some strange noises from his suit of armor, then a beam flies from the palm of his hand, completely demolishing the other side of the room. When the smoke clears, not one of them is left standing. Peter looks on, wide eyes, as he sees One sprawled, along with the rest of them, out on the concrete floor.

In that moment, it becomes clear to Peter how much of this situation has been a set-up. The Avengers have been playing with kid gloves, had weapons the entire time they could have been using from the get-go, but choose not to. Captured on purpose? Maybe, but Peter still doesn't get it. They surely weren't there for him – or any of the kids – that had been a surprise, and Peter's willing to bet, that surprise changed their mission. Whatever their original plan had been, it hasn't been carried out.

How could it have been? They've been too preoccupied with him and the tracker.

Peter finds himself looking up at the sky again. This time it's not a robot but a jet, slowly descending out of the star covered night sky and into the room. There's no energy to be surprised about anything anymore, so of course there's a jet, he thinks. Just go with it.

It lands, and Steve, Bucky and Nat waste no time moving straight for it, disappearing inside. Peter doesn't move.

"Better hurry," says Stark. "They'll be more of them coming."

He glances back at where the door used to be, where everyone lays unconscious. Earlier he pleaded with Captain America to help him force the door open, fight past One, in order to help the kids he's afraid to leave behind. He looks back at Monroe, who's done talking. He only offers narrowed eyes and a frown in return. How are his friends going to survive without him? Who's going to bring them food and stuck up for them against One and the others?

"I could force you into the jet," Stark warns him, "But you'll just poison yourself in the struggle."

Peter tilts his head. Words coming out before he can stop them. "Isn't that the plan anyway?"

"Did you –" Stark starts, then stops, seems to change his mind. He points a finger at him. "We're going to sit down and talk about all the abilities these whack jobs accidentally gave you later, but for now, just get in the jet. Please."

So much for keeping one last thing to himself. Well played, but he's too tired to even properly criticize himself and way too tired to appreciate the idea of being poisoned all night, while being several hundred miles into the air.

"We'll come back for the others, I promise," says Stark.

"Yeah, okay," says Peter. Too tired for any more discussion.

He follows Ironman across the room and into the jet, keeping his arm still. He looks back at Monroe one last time. When he first arrived at the facility, the man towered over him like a monster, but now he's just an old man laying crippled on the floor. And it is a little comical.


A/N: As always, thanks for reading!

Next one's coming at you the earliest Tuesday and the latest Wednesday!