Here we go friends!
2012 was an interesting year for Weaver. The 9 year old, nearly 10, had been out on the streets scouting for the next hit. Thanks to being small, he could blend into the busy New York crowds easily, though his young appearance often caused many to look in alarm at a young child wandering the streets alone. The kind souls that asked after his well-being were met with quiet indifference, while the poor souls that thought his youth was something to their advantage found themselves sorely mistaken. The deaths were swift, unmerciful, a message to whoever would find the child traffickers or the molesters.
Peter would internally wince as the life bled from their limp corpses, though his face was indifferent. He never knew when they were watching, and had kept his thoughts firmly locked in the vault his intelligent mind offered for 3 years and 3 months. His hands were too stained at this point for the child to really wonder if his morality was in-tact or not, and a darker part of his mind raved that people who wanted to take advantage of helpless young kids deserved to die. He quickly stamped out that voice and tucked his hands in the coat pockets leisurely. Despite it being March, the Spider found himself cold often, and despite hating his room, it at least offered protection from the elements.
He did a mental count of what he had on him, and wondered with a twinge of amusement how surprised a police officer would be to discover the deadly devices the young asset carried on his person. His costume was firm against his skin, pressed into his thin frame by a covering exterior layer. While scouting in public spaces, civilian clothing were a necessity that couldn't be ignored, despite their firm insistence he hide his face. Instead he wore fake glasses, his hair tousled to help shelter his haunted gaze, a realistic mask secured firmly to his features to the outside world.
Weaver was distracted from his thoughts by a commotion, and he lifted his gaze to spot the crowds running around him. The stench of fear permeated the air, and if he hadn't been trained to be used to such a thing, he would've been overwhelmed by how oppressing it could be when so many New Yorkers were panicked. As it was, his senses flared in warning to the quickly changing situation, and his sharp gaze widened as a large creature came into view. It was massive, gliding past the city's tall buildings and swimming seamlessly through the air. It was nightmarish, large form covered in sharp armor, wide mouth filled with sharp teeth. The beast let out a loud roar, and more swarmed from the sky like deadly zeppelins. Whizzing past them at a much faster pace were smaller, more humanoid aliens, attached to floating motorcycle-like vehicles. Their guns flashed, shooting blue beams at random, causing spectacular explosions whenever it struck an incendiary.
Peter was no stranger to fear. Ever since that fateful November day almost five and a half years ago, he found himself in a perpetual state of anxiety, the shadows morphing and taking on forms of his deepest nightmares and gruesomest realities. The quiet moments were feasts for the demons that lurked in his head, his sharp memory acting as an unintentional tormentor as his brain unhelpfully recalled the things he'd so desperately tried shoving in the back of his mind to rot. The Early Years were the worst, and phantom pain zinged through his missing limbs at the conditioning he could remember came up. But with everything his repressed, overactive imagination could come up with, nothing had ever looked like this. He found himself rooted to the spot as he watched the alien invasion with ongoing horror. When an explosion rocked near him, he took an instinctive step backwards.
An alien had found eyes for him and began shooting towards him. Instinct made the trained assassin capable of dodging the blows, and he crouched against the side of a building almost ferally, the mask burning against his face and his hands itching to retaliate with weapons of his own. The protocols flashed through his mind, as well as the order to remove whatever stood in the way of completing his objective. Dropping from the building, he landed delicately on the ground, his prosthetic foot making a metallic thump as his thinner shoes failed to muffle the noise. He made to reach towards the flannel shirt and unbutton it to reach for the hidden utility belt.
The sound of a gun charging, then the following sound of a whirring repulsor and an inhuman shriek caused Weaver to startle, his body jerking ever so slightly. He turned to spy a flying metallic suit moving away from the location, an arm raised and shooting down the original alien, leaving the one that had snuck up on the assassin to fall to the ground, dead. Blood pooled from the wound, an acrid smell that the mutant didn't recognize and had him scrunching his nose beneath the mask. His hands hesitantly dropped as his gaze followed the path the red and gold machine had left through the sky. What was going on?
Ignoring that for now, he felt a quiet sound chirp from the arm, then a voice whispered to the corresponding chip implanted at the base of his ears, "Weaver, New York is under alien assault. You are to take cover until it blows over and assess the target's status when it is safe to proceed. If the target is still alive the orders are the same. If they're already taken care of, return to base." As suddenly as the voice had come, it fizzled out.
For once, his handlers were being sensible. He ran through the streets of New York, using his senses to try and guide him to a safe location. As he went, the sounds of tragedy and disaster reached his ears, and Peter found himself desperately wanting to block them out. They sounded far too familiar to some of his Failures from the Early Years and he could not afford to feel empathy. Hearing a loud fight up ahead, his brow furrowed and he quietly slunk against the wall, crouched low to the building's side. He crept forward until he could spot the source of the noise, though it made him confused more than anything. An odd group was assembled in an open space, staring at the threat like they were nothing, composed of a hulking green creature, a red-headed woman, a man with a bow, a man dressed in American colors wielding a star-spangled shield, a blonde in armor wielding a hammer, and the red and gold technology from earlier that, now that he were closer, appeared to be armor. As quickly as they had convened they broke apart, taking on the aliens with surprising cooperation. His eyes silently widened underneath the mask as he took in the scene, awed at what he was seeing.
He later learned they were a group of superheroes going by the moniker of The Avengers from the news as the city repaired itself from the damage. It droned on about the alien invasion and the nuclear missile that had nearly struck the city, and part of Peter felt a slight twinge of despite that he hadn't been fortunate enough to perish in the onslaught. Realizing how dark a thought that was, the child mentally shook his head, dismissing the suicidal notion with an equally dark thought that HYDRA would probably just have found a way to revive him, like they'd resuscitated him three times priorly. When had his mind grown so cynical? He paused in front of a screen as it showed the heroes shortly after the battle in the Tower, addressing the public. The news reporters were cheery, happy that Earth's Mightiest Defenders were around to protect them.
Weaver's eyes narrowed, a bitter, tar-like thing rearing its head. Where were heroes when he had needed them most, before he had been broken and painted in dark red liquid, before the weight of the sins on his back became suffocating? Jaw clenched, eyes dark, he cast his head away from the vibrant image of the world's heroes and stalked off into the shadows, knowing that they were too caught in the limelight to ever spot and rescue a shadow like him. His hopes for a bright future were left with the last image his mind retained of the heroes as they looked up to catch the world's adoration, ignorant to the looming threat beneath their noises that held Peter's strings in their hands.
Peter crept silently through the HYDRA base, his stomach flat to the ceiling as he crawled ever-steadily to the control room to take out their defenses. It had been a guessing game to find which bases the Avengers hadn't yet found, and a part of the former asset was pleasantly surprised to see that HYDRA's numbers were dwindling swiftly under their careful and thorough destructive ministrations. The number of bases HYDRA had fell by the day, and the mutant's mental checklist was growing further fulfilled as the hours rolled on. There were only five left now, and that made the assassin feel something he couldn't quite identify. Light is the best way he could think to describe it.
His thoughts were disturbed as an explosion rocked the building, and he instinctively clung tighter to the roof. "It's the Avengers!" a voice declared from up ahead, panicked. It was accompanied by the sight of many HYDRA lackeys running forward to face the fury of the heroes, and Peter mentally sighed. So much for his plans. Crawling over the nearest goon that was firing openly at the heroes, he relaxed his grip on the ceiling before twisting, cat-like, in the air to touch the man's shoulder with his left arm. His right connected to the side of the man's nose, breaking it instantly and causing the man to cry out in pain, dropping the gun. Using the opportunity, he picked it up and went to shoot at the other men, only to discover they were already down.
A small smile twinged at the edges of his lip before being quickly repressed, and he turned to face the Avengers, who had spotted him and frozen in place. Dropping the gun, he rolled his eyes before tapping, G-R-E-E-T-I-N-G-S. L-I-K-E-T-H-E-R-E-C-E-P-T-I-O-N?
Natasha huffed a breath, a small smile of her own blossoming onto her face. "Certainly not the worst I've received."
Tony's mask came up, and he lifted an arm. "Listen, kid, we'll leave if you want-"
Peter cut him off with the shake of his head. I-K-N-E-W-W-E-W-O-U-L-D-R-U-N-I-N-T-O-E-A-C-H-O-T-H-E-R-E-V-E-N-T-U-A-L-L-Y.
"You were expecting us?" Sam asked, a brow raised.
"Aw, how nice!" Scott chirped warmly.
The mutant's eyes narrowed slightly. I-H-E-A-R-D-O-F-W-H-A-T-Y-O-U-G-U-Y-S-W-E-R-E-D-O-I-N-G-A-N-D-D-E-C-I-D-E-D-I-T-W-A-S-A-G-O-O-D-I-D-E-A-T-O-J-O-I-N-I-N.
"I'd hope so, we've been thorough," Wanda remarked casually.
"Wait," Bucky said, a small frown on his face. "Does that mean you're willing to... work with us?"
Peter's head tilted down slightly as he contemplated the question, before remembering the decision he had come to that had spurred the hunt he was currently on. W-E-A-R-E-W-O-R-K-I-N-G-T-O-W-A-R-D-T-H-E-S-A-M-E-G-O-A-L. W-O-R-K-I-N-G-W-I-T-H-Y-O-U-E-N-S-U-R-E-S-H-Y-D-R-A-F-A-L-L-S-F-A-S-T-E-R.
"But you do not trust us." Steve stated, reading what went untapped.
N-O. The reply was simple, the shortest tap he'd given the heroes.
Letting out a sigh, Tony's mask clicked back in place. "That's alright, kid. All we ask is that you have faith in us that we want to do the right thing."
Faith. What was that word? Peter didn't really know, but it sounded like a good thing in context of the sentence. He mulled it over in his head, before he turned and began walking further into the base. L-E-T-S-G-E-T-T-O-W-O-R-K, T-H-E-N. H-Y-D-R-A-W-O-N-T-F-A-L-L-I-F-W-E-S-T-A-Y-S-T-I-L-L.
His tapped declaration was met with a few quiet cheers and somber determination. Watching the camaraderie between the heroes that had been working together for five years, a pang of longing and jealousy raced through his heart at how familiar they were with each other. As he waved the group forward to the attack, a part of him wondered if, after the fired died down and he survived, that sort of lifestyle might become available to him. He shook the thought away. He would have to survive everything with HYDRA first.
Don't think about it, his mind hissed at him. Believing everything will be alright is something you left back in 2012.
You left it with them, another voice shot back warmly, and his gaze lingered on the heroes once more. And they've come to give it back. You can hope again.
As they surprised a room loaded with HYDRA lackeys, Peter fighting with them and not against, he couldn't help but wonder if the second voice of reason wasn't as idealistic as he originally thought. Maybe there was something to hope for here, after all.
The former asset learned what faith meant as he accompanied the group in taking out the three last bases before the main headquarters. When they'd brought the word up again, and he hesitantly tapped out the question that had been burning at the back of his thoughts since they'd first mentioned the word, they had been quick to give him a definition. Complete trust or confidence in someone or something, FRIDAY had helpfully supplied when Tony had asked for him. Peter thought it was a peculiar word. How could someone have complete trust or confidence in anything? But as he worked with the heroes, he found his unvoiced queries were steadily answered.
The heroes worked in complete and total tandem, a streamlined and well-oiled machine that took down HYDRA bases far faster than the spiderling could ever dream of doing alone. Without speaking they seemed to know what to do, where to go, meshing seamlessly with changes in strategy and adapting to the situation flawlessly. They were confident in each other's abilities, trusting in their plan and dedication, having faith that everyone would play their part. It was fascinating to watch, and he caught himself staring more than once, awed and struggling to comprehend how so many different beings could work in tandem so smoothly.
He was further surprised when he realized that they were granting him the same treatment. Peter's trained eyes noticed all of their openings, always towards him but never towards the snakes they were destroying. How they relaxed around him, his presence already natural to their senses. How they were unfazed and even went along with his lethal methods, agreeing without word that the only way to kill HYDRA was to ensure every last one of them was purged. Even without telling them of what he was doing, they followed his thought process with startling ease, playing along without a word on his part. They were confident in his skills, knowing full well that this was an area of expertise for the former asset, and they trusted him implicitly. They had faith in him, too.
As they finished off the last base before the headquarters, an elated feeling had risen to the surface, and as they joked about how easily it had been and complemented each other on their successes, a small laugh escaped Peter's lips. It was rough, hoarse, and cracked, broken and aged from when he'd last spoken and rusty from disuse. The sound surprised everyone, including himself, as Peter's eyes widened and he stared uncomprehendingly at his mouth, a hand moving to his lips and the other hovering uncertainly above his voice box. The situation seemed to freeze as the realization that Peter had laughed, even momentarily, clicked for all of them. Then, the ice thawed instantly as the Avengers' spirits soared, the group becoming even more merry than before, going in for a group hug before Peter swiftly backpedaled from the affection, feeling like he was a step behind everyone else as his mind fixated on the comprehension that he had unintentionally made a sound for the first time in 8 years.
A warm, bubbly feeling surfaced in his chest, and his uncertainty was replaced by a tentative, nervous smile as he met their expectant, hopeful gazes. They were so so bright in his eyes, yet their light was cast on him, bleeding some of the shadows away. He felt seen for the first time, and a weight seemed to fall from his body as he decided to give the faith thing a try. He stuck his right arm out, fist closed, miming the motion he'd seen them do at one of the earlier bases. Then, that tingly feeling grew as they laid their own hands on top of his, miming the motion, until they were all in a circle together, staring at each other. A sparkle seemed to light his dark brown gaze as they broke what Peter would later learn was called a team hand-stack. His veins were buzzing as they left the building to confront the last remains of HYDRA, for once the dark tar that clung to his thoughts being swept to the recesses of his mind.
As he left to cut the last string keeping him dangling in HYDRA's clutches, Peter cataloged the word faith in his mind as something sacred to be shared with those who shone so, so bright, so bright that it overshadowed their flaws. Now, when his mind asked if he trusted the Avengers, the answer was no longer uncertain. The hope that came back with the spotlight being cast into the shadows he had hidden in so long was held close to his chest like a flame, one he was determined to keep from blowing out. He had faith that the Avengers could cut off HYDRA's heads once and for all, and he would stay to prevent their heads from regrowing. When he looked to the future, it stayed uncertain, but he found himself more drawn to the desire to survive despite the odds.
If HYDRA fell and his string was cut, he hoped that he'd live to see another day. With quiet amusement, his mind quietly corrected, You have faith in the future now. It was a warm feeling, and it seemed to silently chuckle. He silently laughed along with it, the smallest of smiles twinging onto his lips, and he felt optimistic for the first time in a long while. Among such bright people, he hoped their light would rub off on him, and maybe, just maybe... there was a light at the end of the tunnel for him.
The anticipation ate at his skin as they approached their final destination; HYDRA's headquarters. The cold wind brushed across his newly suited form as Peter crouched behind a snowbank, waiting for the signal. He was thankful that his new companions had half a mind to provide him with his old outfit, and while he no longer liked the HYDRA insignia it had stitched at the nape of the neck, it was comforting to be sheltered for the first time since he'd been captured at the Compound. Part of Peter found it ironically hilarious that the people he'd tried to kill 2 and a half weeks ago were now the people he was base-busting with, that had broken the gate on his repressed emotions and had slowly begun coaxing them out of their self-imposed prison. He wasn't fond of the cold (he despised it as any self-loving arachnid with terrible thermo-regulation would), but he was willing to crouch with Natasha, Bucky, and Steve in the bitter white snow if it meant they could strike HYDRA where it hurt.
The signal came through Hawkeye's explosive arrow piercing the weak wiring of the door, hitting it with a boom that rumbled through the air. The doors fell open and the heroes and Peter rushed into the building, knowing they would be working with a limited amount of time. What none of them were expecting, however, was the silence. A curious frown covered Peter's face as he made his way to the control room and shut the power off, his sense of unease spiking higher as he met up with the others in the main room, where weapons were left abandoned. His skin pricked and his senses were going haywire. The building should've been more full, should've had more people. There had always been at least fifteen soldiers in a base at a time, and even moreso from what he'd heard of the headquarters the few times he'd been there and above the surface.
Something was wrong, and he couldn't pinpoint what. It wasn't until an icy cold bolt shot down his spine, the lights flickered back on, and a loud booming that sounded like thunder happened that Peter realized the error of their ways. His wide eyes faced Ross as the man stared him down, a malicious and triumphant smile on his face as he faced the heroes, surrounded on all sides by the remains of HYDRA's forces. They had gotten the power back on after they had left it, and the booming was from the doors slamming and locking shut behind them. It was too easy, a voice nagged at the back of Peter's mind. They were expecting you. It was a trap.
"Well, well, well. Look who walked right into my webs!" Ross declared enthusiastically, before giving a small bow to the Avengers. "Bet you weren't expecting this, were you?"
"R-Ross?" Tony asked incredulously, stunned. "You're... you're HYDRA?" His eyes had landed on the perfectly visible HYDRA insignia on the man's military uniform.
"Amazing, isn't it?" The man asked, a reverent look on his face. "I consider myself very fortunate to have been invited to such a prestigious and worthy cause. I'm thankful every day they invited me to their fold, and look where that got me!" He gestured to the crowd around him with a beaming smile. "The last one standing at HYDRA's helm!"
"You were playing the government this entire time?" Natasha asked, eyes narrowed.
"Oh yes, they were easy to manipulate," Ross said casually. "They're so arrogant and caught up in their own belief that you heroes-" he spat the word as if it had offended him. "- are the solution to all of their problems. They corrupted themselves. They were practically begging for me to step in and wrap them around my little fingers."
Bruce let out an uneven breath, fists beginning to clench. "So you tried to get us to war against each other with the Sokovia Accords, with Bucky, with the Winter Soldiers?"
Bucky's eyes turned dark, his own anger beginning to seep to the surface. "You used me! You tried to pin the bombings on me!"
"Yes, yes," Ross replied dismissively. His own passive facade began to melt away, revealing the underlying burning hatred beneath. "My Sokovia Accords that I sought to establish that were so rudely dismissed by you and your party tricks," he growled, eyes narrowed. "You enhanced are becoming too relied on, too powerful! Soon you could take over the entire world! I needed to knock you down a peg, remind you of where you came from," his teeth gnashed and he grit them in frustration. "I grew sick and tired of you dancing right out of my hands, usurping all of my goals and dreams!" He raised a hand, pointer finger extended, before slowly leveling it with Peter. "...Which is why I needed to knock you down permanently. And yet... here we are, my own Spider turned against me." A coy grin played on his face as his head tipped to the side. "Are you having fun with this game, Weaver?"
A game? Was this all a game to Ross? Peter had no mask, so his expression was visible for all to see as it morphed from barely disguised confusion, to anger, to uncertainty. He gripped at his prosthetic arm, gaze trained on nothing but Ross before he tapped out, W-H-A-T-A-R-E-Y-O-U-T-A-L-K-I-N-G-A-B-O-U-T?
The man frowned at that momentarily, before it turned into barely-contained bubbled laughter. "Wow, they failed me more than I initially thought," he murmured, letting out a quiet sigh. "Looks like I have a lot of reprogramming to do after tonight."
Tony stepped in front of Peter, anger bleeding from every word. "You won't lay a finger on him."
"Aw, have you grown attached to my little pet?" Ross asked, before shaking his head. "What makes you think that you can tell me what I can and can't do with Weaver?" He moved to the side so his eyes could meet Peter's once more, and kept walking back and forth whenever Tony would adjust his stance to prevent their eyes from locking. "I'm the one who took him, after all. Finder's Keepers, Mr. Stark."
Peter's blood ran cold at that as a very faint memory, foggy from the years of training, began to play in his mind. Dark, it was so dark. He was bound, could barely breathe. Suddenly there was light, and he was in a room, a dark room, two men standing nearby, just out of sight. They were talking, talking about him, about what had happened to his parents, his family. The other man grinned, and said, "Don't disappoint me, Ace. I need an attack dog and Peter Parker's the perfect candidate. I hope you won't let me down."
"Yes, Ross," Ace's voice had replied. "I won't let you down."
His eyes widened as he came back to reality, before his body became shaky, too shaky. His fists clenched and his teeth grit, and for the first time since the Early Years he growled, an angry, broken, bitter thing that rumbled out of his chest with the heat of a thousand suns. His burning gaze fixed on the man that was the cause of his torment, downright feral and predatory. With a jittery hand, he tapped out, Y-O-U-D-I-D-T-H-I-S-T-O-M-E.
Ross smiled. "I did." He raised his phone. "I also did this." With that, he pressed the button that was affixed to the back of it.
White-hot fire raced down his nerves, causing Peter to suck in a breath. His vision went wild, and it felt like his entire body had been struck by lightning. He collapsed to the floor in a limp puddle, and Peter begged for the pain to stop. Then, it did, but something felt wrong about it. He could see again, but his body was moving on its own, raising from the floor and standing almost robotically. The man typed something on the phone, and suddenly, his legs were moving forward. A quiet horror began to dawn over Peter as he stood beside the man that had ruined his life, and Ross looped an arm around his shoulder merrily.
He couldn't move. His body wasn't his to control anymore.
With a grin, Ross chimed, "You've always been on my strings, boy. You've forced my hand, now live with the consequences." He gestured to the Avengers, before typing on the phone. "Kill them."
His body rushed forward on its own.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2, ASHES, COMING TOMORROW OR SUNDAY