Peter Parker
I floated.
I drifted somewhere in between waking and unconsciousness. Sounds of an airship and frantic voices. Some clanging metal? Touch, too. Feelings. Jostling. Straps around my waist and thighs and shoulders, not biting like the chains, but tight, too tight—too tight, to cut it off—
And then a soothing voice that spread warmth and comfort through my agonized body, a gentle hand on my forehead. Familiar voices ensconcing me.
And then a sharp pain in my elbow, an unpleasant rush of cold into my being—
Wait—the pain was…going away?
Relief.
The first relief I'd felt in days. Maybe in weeks.
The first time in so, so long I hadn't been in pain or afraid or both.
A soothing hand trailed over my sweat-matted hair, gentle, senseless whispers easing me back into the safety of unconsciousness. For some reason, as I slept, I dreamt of the story of Medea.
Bucky Barnes
Chaos.
That's what it felt like. It felt like I'd been sucked into a vacuum of absolute chaos. The Quinjet was packed with bodies, moving around frantically. Natasha and Clint were at the helm, flying us back to the Compound as fast as the jet would go, but with so much extra weight, it wasn't much faster than the normal. Scott was with them, glancing back anxiously every few seconds, but giving us space to work.
We'd put Peter on the bench, still strapped to the backboard. It made me sick to keep him strapped down. I saw the bruises on his wrists and ankles, around his waist and his neck. He'd been strapped down to that damn table. But it was unavoidable.
Sam was passed out on the other side of the jet, T'Challa and Okoye tending to his injury quietly. Thor, Scott, Steve, and Rhodey were packed against the walls like sardines, looking a little lost, watching anxiously as Tony and Bruce rushed around each other, trying to stabilize Peter's vitals.
As soon as we'd gotten Peter on the jet, Stella had leapt to his side, hair raised and spine arched, ready to attack any strangers she detected. The flurry of movement must have confused her, but she didn't leave his side, curling up beside his right arm and meowing pitifully, sometimes pawing at his arm, becoming more insistent the longer he remained unconscious.
And I sat at Peter's head, as out of the way as I could be, providing all the comfort I could. His head would toss sometimes, his face would bunch up in fear or pain or both, and I would resume my rhythmic ministrations, quietly whispering to him until he quieted again. He flinched sometimes, in pain or alarm I didn't know, but the sight was enough to make me want to murder Jason Ross all over again, myself this time.
I couldn't even touch the thought of Thaddeus Ross in the prisoner's compartment below the jet. If I did, I'd kill him.
"He needs a blood transfusion," Bruce said, hastily trying to irrigate the infected wound on his arm. With each flush of water, green, yellow, and black discharge drained from the wound, the mottled skin sickening. It splattered onto the metallic floor of the jet, forgotten. "He's lost at least three pints, and from the looks of it, I doubt they fed him enough for him to get any of it back."
"What's his blood type?" Scott asked, taking a few tentative steps back into the body of the ship. "There's a bunch of us here, someone has to be a match."
"It's not that simple," Tony said, cleaning the wounds on his chest with practiced hands. He wiped the blood away rhythmically. Peter's entire chest was covered, obscuring the cuts. Tony had to clean them before he decided if any of them needed stitches. "Thor, Steve, Bucky, T'Challa, and Bruce can't even give blood; the mutations would cause too many unknown variables. And we don't even know if Peter can receive normal blood, with the mutations he already has."
"What about saline?" Bruce asked Tony, examining Peter's arm. His eyes flashed emerald for a split second, but he calmed as soon as it had come. "It's neutral. Maybe it would work on him."
"Can't hurt to try," Tony muttered, concentrating on the cuts with a frown. His hands slowed until they stopped completely, hovering uncertainly over Peter's hitching chest.
I didn't know Tony very well, all things considered, but I knew that frown couldn't mean anything good.
"What is it?" Rhodey asked, sensing his friend's unease.
"It's…they're letters," Tony said quietly, his eyes wide as he stared at Peter's mutilated chest.
My eyes whipped back to Peter's torso, zoning in on the part Tony had just finished cleaning, small patches of diluted red the only thing marring the cuts.
He was right. A crude A, and maybe a D, had been carved into his chest.
My stomach turned. I turned away from the others, putting a hand over my mouth until I was sure I wouldn't be sick. I forced myself to look back, my insides burning.
They had carved a word into his skin. Into his flesh.
I couldn't imagine the terror and pain that must have gone through his mind.
"What does it say?" Natasha's steely voice cut through the silent Quinjet, the only other sounds the hum of the engine as it carried us home. She didn't turn around. Sparing her a quick glance, her rigid form stared out over the waters, every muscle coiled unbearably tight.
"I—I have to finish cleaning it," Tony stammered, resuming his task, seeming a little shell-shocked. "I can't—I can't tell yet."
Agonizing minutes went by. I kept my eyes glued to Peter's face. If I ignored the blood and the bruises marring his features, I could almost pretend he was just sleeping on the couch in the living room after a long day. While Tony cleaned, and the others held their breath to see the message, I grabbed a spare rag and started gently cleaning the blood from his nose and mouth, desperate for something productive to do. His face scrunched up a bit as I brushed his nose, which must have been broken. Though he couldn't hear me, I whispered a quiet apology until he relaxed, continuing to wipe the blood away.
Absently, Steve squeezed my shoulder once. I couldn't respond, but he knew I appreciated it.
I had just started wiping the blood from his chin when Tony's voice confirmed my worst fears.
"'HYDRA.'"
Silence.
"It…it says 'HYDRA.'"
I hung my head. I fisted my hand around the damp rag, pink, reddish drops sliding through my fingers. My metal fist groaned. I clenched it hard enough that a bolt snapped. My pinkie no longer worked, the rag slipping from my fingers. I couldn't find the presence of mind to care all that much.
If I hadn't been so worried about Peter, I would have forced Natasha to turn the jet around. I would have flown back to that damn Siberian base and murdered every single one of the agents left inside. I would have torn them apart with my hands. I would have looked every one of them in the eyes, so they knew exactly why I killed them.
As it was, that wasn't an option.
So all I could do was gently touch my forehead to Peter's and close my eyes, convincing myself that he was here. That he was alive.
For what it was worth, he was alive.
Peter Parker
A warmth against my right arm, my good arm, hairy and soft. An animal?
Pain flitted through the recesses of my consciousness, but not acutely enough to wake me up. I stayed in my warm cocoon of sleep, dreaming of a Greek woman and a hero named Jason.
Something about that didn't seem quite right to me, but I couldn't really remember what.
I remembered the woman's general story—her name was Medea. She was Jason's lover, and they were that couple so stupidly in love it's sickening. But also sweet, and everlasting, and unbreakable. She did everything for him.
Not too unbreakable, it turned out, because he loved another woman and left her and their kids in the dust.
The thoughts contorted, then, unconsciousness slowly dragging me back under the waves of blissful sleep. The next story was lost among the scattered thoughts.
T'Challa, Son of T'Chaka
The boy was small.
I suppose I expected him to be taller, perhaps more fit. But then I had to remind myself that he had been under HYDRA's thumb for a considerable time. The sunken cheeks and caved in stomach indicated malnutrition, which was expected. However, it seemed as though the child was small of stature in general, a bit smaller than Ms. Romanov, and slight of build.
He reminded me of Shuri.
A wave of protectiveness and fury crashed over me as I unwillingly imagined my younger sister in the same vulnerable position, and my hands shuddered over Mr. Wilson's wound before steadying again.
"Are you alright, my king?" Okoye whispered in Wakandan, her sharp eyes inevitably catching the tremor.
Giving her a slight, sad smile, I nodded. "I sympathize with them. I…well, if it was Shuri or Nakia, or even you…"
Okoye's eyes became soft in understanding, and she placed a strong hand on my shoulder. "We will always support you. And in turn, we know you will always support us. You have nothing to fear."
"I know," I replied, smiling again before turning back to Mr. Wilson's wound.
The man was deeply unconscious, Shuri's gelatin providing a small anesthetic to keep him comfortable as I worked. The wound was deep, but not life-threatening. The debris had bruised his spleen, but it would heal.
I was beginning to stitch the wound when certain words from the conversation across the jet startled me.
"It…it says 'HYDRA.'"
My hands froze, Okoye going rigid beside me. I dimly recalled the beginning of the conversation.
This organization had taken it upon themselves to carve their name into the body of a child. Of an innocent child who only wanted to live.
I glanced at Okoye, a rare, passionate anger alighting each nerve. I felt the spirit of the Panther, of Baast herself, roar within me, the panther in my soul demanding retribution.
But as I glanced at the group of broken, angry heroes at my back, I shook my head slightly, acutely aware that retribution was not mine to take.
If I wanted even a small sliver of their revenge, I would need to get in line.
Peter Parker
It picked up right where it left off, when my mind could form thoughts—or, dreams, I guess—again.
Jason left her. Abandoned her. And boy, did she get him back.
She killed his lover and two of their kids. I personally always thought it was a bit overkill (pun intended) but she got her point across. Jason didn't die, but he suffered for the rest of his life, because his kids and his love were dead.
Medea didn't have a very happy ending, either, but she made sure Jason sure as hell didn't.
Jason. The name sent instinctual fear coursing through me, though I couldn't remember why.
And why was this story so important, anyways? Why wasn't I hallucinating purple marshmallow men dancing on a deserted island in togas?
Oh, geez. Maybe I was hallucinating.
When unconsciousness gently tugged again, I let it whisk me away.
Steve Rogers
As soon as we touched down at the Compound, Tony and Bruce whisked Peter away to the Medical Wing, Bucky hot on their heels and Stella glued to Peter's side. Breathing hard, I forced myself not to follow, no matter how badly I wanted to. They'd be crowded enough as it was.
T'Challa and Okoye, after the king nodded in my direction, followed quickly after them with Sam. He wasn't critical by any means, but apparently the Jell-O had a time limit.
A grunt and a thud followed by the sound of crunching brick had me whirling around and to the left. Thor had slammed his fist through the brick wall, clouds of dust rising from the debris at his feet.
"How—" He growled, every muscle in his body quivering in absolute fury. I'd never seen him like this. Glancing at Natasha, I saw she was just as wary as I. The others stood back with us, watching cautiously.
"How—how is this world…so evil?" He rasped, his stormy eyes darker than I'd ever seen. Electricity arched over his form, warping around him. Storm clouds gathered above us, thunder sending a shudder through my body as the air shook around me. Fat drops of rain hit my uncovered face and suit, running down my shield, soaking into my hair.
"How—why—why would that mortal carve—"
He stopped, then, and roared at the sky with all the power of a god. The sky responded in kind, thunder as loud as an explosion almost knocking me off my feet. I saw the others waver and right themselves. I saw Lang hit the ground hard, staring at Thor in nothing short of terrified awe.
"That innocent child," Thor panted, heaved, screamed as he pointed at the Compound from our place on the landing pad, "is suffering in agony because your world is so—is so—"
"Our world is fine," a tight voice to my right said. I whirled, eyeing Clint with nothing short of astonishment. He stood, soaking wet beside Natasha and Rhodey, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set. Thor's electric eyes snapped to his, his heaving form rigid as the wind convulsed around him. "It's just some of the inhabitants that are shit."
Well, he wasn't wrong.
"It sucks. It does. Our world is great. Some of the people in it are just…" Clint shrugged helplessly, his arms falling to his sides, his face sagging. "…messed up. In a lot of ways."
Thor's heaving shoulders and sparking eyes were still terrifying, but the horrendous thunder died slowly to a steady rumble.
Clint inched forward, hands loose and empty by his sides. "Peter's going to be okay. Bruce and Tony are going to make sure of it. Natasha shot Jason. We have Ross 1.0. We have files and files of HYDRA officials. We're going to take them down, one by one, until HYDRA is absolutely decimated." He turned back to us, his soaked form tall, steadfast, resolute. "Right?"
Matching his determination, I straightened, gripping my shield a little tighter. "Right."
Similar answers came from the others. Lang had since stood and was nodding fervently, eyes wide. Rhodey had his arms crossed over his chest, watching warily, and Natasha stood slightly on the balls of her feet, expression neutral, ready to react.
But they all answered affirmatively.
The clouds, dark and angry, slowly smoothed over, forming a rainless, off-white covering. The soft blue eyes gently calmed until the lightning fizzled out, and Thor's shoulders slumped. He stumbled back against the wall, his huge form sagging. "Young Peter…he just…"
"I know, Big Guy," Clint said sadly, putting a hand on Thor's broad shoulder.
I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, glad that situation was taken care of. I don't know what would've happened if Thor had gone ballistic on us.
I turned to the others as Clint whispered quietly to the god, ushering him inside. "Rhodey, can you show Lang the guest room? I think we all need a bit of time to dry off before we crowd the medical wing."
Rhodey nodded and took Lang inside. I didn't miss the way Lang's footsteps faltered.
"Do you need any help with Ross?" I asked, the name bitter in my mouth. I glanced at the Quinjet, where Ross was still tucked away in the prisoner's compartment.
"Sure," she said, eyeing the jet coolly. "The more, the merrier."
I gave a humorless chuckle, not envying the fallen general in the slightest.
Peter Parker
Everything hurt.
I tossed my head, my breath hitching when my limbs wouldn't move from where they were secured. Familiar voices bounced around me, but I couldn't place them. Panicking, I thrashed against the restraints, crying out as pain lanced through my injuries.
I thought someone might have been telling me to calm down, but I couldn't be sure. Was it the doctors? I couldn't hear or see clearly, but my surroundings were the same—some kind of medical room. Oh, God, was I back there?
I thrashed again, snapping the restraint over my torso with little difficulty. My left arm hung useless at my side as I sat up blindly, tearing at the strap over my thighs and over my shins. They were soft material, not cutting or biting or painful, but they were holding me down and I needed them gone—
"Peter!"
Were they using my name now? I couldn't tell. Shapes, human forms moved around me frantically, trying to calm me down, maybe? One person rushed out of the room.
I fell off of the surface to the floor gracelessly, agony slamming into me as I landed hard on my shoulder and left side. I grunted, then started to push myself up, desperate to get out.
Strong hands grabbed my shoulders gently but firmly. One of them was unbearably hot, the other unbearably cold. I jerked weakly, on the verge of hysteria, desperate to get away, to get away.
"You're safe, Peter," a voice said, but that wasn't right because I wasn't safe, I wasn't safe, they were feeding me lies to calm me down so they could cut it off and take my memories and my power and my free will and my choices and my family and my name—
I coughed raggedly, collapsing onto my front, the force of the cough doubling me over and sucking what little strength I had away.
"P-please…" I begged, acutely aware of the pathetic break in my voice, completely indifferent to the mortification I should have been feeling. In my feverish, panicked reality, I knew nothing but terror. "P-please…"
A prick in my arm had the world spinning almost immediately. I felt my body go slack even as I tried to get away, the gentle, yet firm grip on my shoulders never leaving.
A voice whispered, "I've got you. I've got you, kid. I'm not leaving."
With a final, muddled thought of escape, I faded again.
A/N: I'M SO SORRY.
I've been doing my best! I have! But lol my life is falling apart X'D but it's fine! I'm fine! I'm sorry this is so late and so short and mostly trash! I'm trying my best!
Anyways! The continued support is the only reason I got this chapter out sooner rather than later, and I can't thank you enough for it. I so appreciate every one of you who review and leave your thoughts, who are following, who've favorited, or just those of you who come back every week for more. Thanks so much :)
Reviews from last chapter! Special thanks to slader91, Wisdomsqueen, PrincessNaina, Supergurkan, mpathy, Navyangel85, jenakara, GoddessOfFanfictonn, AnnaMalfoy1905, doglover500, totallynotachicken, SongNoFound, Myxes, BabyPinkPuppy, TCHowl, jenny.s.72, Melancholy's Sunshine, The Violent Kurumi, Peacockgirl, screechyfangirl, The Striking Storms, Mickey Mouse, angeldevillove99, AstralWolf, SkyDreamer12, monkeybaby, Silvermane1, ALonesomeAuthor, Luzith, OneOfYourFans, Bob is a ninja, Delhirose, katwinchester, Guest, StormShadow13, Ammy of Asgard, wolfcathope, Slayer of demons, Tightpants182, Guest, A Novel Addict, Flufflez McSugartop, Guest, and Guest!
Mickey Mouse: lol here you go XD hope you liked it!
OneOfYourFans: I'm so glad to hear you're doing better! Ohhhh that's actually a good idea! I might play with that a little. Thank you so much! I'm SO HAPPY to hear that! It's never easy losing a pet. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. Amen :) happy you're doing better.
Bob is a ninja: Lol you're welcome!
Guest (OMG I LOVE THIS FIC!...): Thank you so much! Lol something like that will probably happen not gonna lie
Slayer of demons: Omg thank you so much! I'm gonna try to finish it up by Christmas, but we'll see how that goes…X'D. Ugh thank you so much I really appreciate that :) doing my best lol
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Guest (You are such a great writer): Omg thank you so much T.T that makes me so happy to hear! Here's a chapter :) hope you liked it!
Thank you guys so much for everything! I hope the next chapter won't involve nearly as long of a wait, but we'll see. Thanks so much for your continued support :)