THIS IS PART ONE OF TWO DIRECTLY CONNECTED CHAPTERS!
This chapter splits off in the middle and stays with one party, and the next chapter follows the other party throughout the day.
The weekend came all too soon; at least to Peter, who had spent the last few days in a state between frustration and curiosity. The former and the latter, ironically, centered around the same source- his newfound head space companions- and as a result the days flew by faster than he could keep track of. Friday morning saw him sitting on the roof in the common room, staring out the window at the rising sunset. A soft groan left his lips as he rubbed his flesh hand against his face in a fruitless effort to drive off the exhaustion that clung to him.
You'd be less tired if you bothered to sleep, Rose brought up with a smirk.
Narrowing his eyes, the mutant pointedly remarked, "Well, jeez, I'd also be less tired if I could actually fall asleep. Guess what doesn't help with that? You all talking my ears off in the dead of night."
Not exactly our fault we can hear each other's thoughts, Araneae muttered. Besides, don't blame what the nightmares and headaches are causing on us.
"Alright, fine, fair point," Peter muttered, before heaving out a sigh. "I'm sorry I'm snappy, it's just..."
The situation is bizarre, you have no idea how to deal with it, and more just keeps happening, because we can't catch a break? Weaver offered.
"It's all just... moving so fast," the former asset's voice grew softer at that, a dark shadow falling over his mood. "I'm used to living in volatility, yes... but it's a lot of changes within just under a month."
At least the changes, this time, are mostly pleasant! Ben chimed, grinning brightly.
...If you don't count our own issues, that is, Weaver sighed.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Peter huffed out a laugh and grumbled, "Yeah, and I'm talking to a few of 'em."
Ouch, so cold, Rose said, amused. It's such a shame you're stuck with us, isn't it?
A curious frown crossed Peter's face as he adjusted to sit cross-legged on the ceiling. "Well... that's just the thing, isn't it?" The mutant tilted his head curiously. "We haven't really found out what this is, have we? So we can't really say if it's permanent or not, or, well, anything on what it entails."
Well, we know some things, Araneae pointed out. That we can 'switch places', see and interact with each other in the Mind Prison, that we can always hear each other when we're active, and know each other's memories. The spider paused a moment, contemplative. Oh, and that we're different... identities? Personalities? I... don't really know what we are, to be honest.
The assassin gave a nod to that, furrowing his brow. "On that note, is this just... what would've happened given our circumstances anyways, or did... our prior situation contribute? They did a lot of crap, some of which we don't actually know the full consequences of," Peter stared at the floor, biting his lip. "Which, by the way, I've been meaning to ask-"
You want to see if we should open up to the Avengers on our own experiences that give perspective the files didn't, Weaver finished, a deep frown on his face. I... don't really think that's a great idea, just because it's a sign of weakness my training can't ignore, but on the other hand... saying nothing could have some terrible results.
Like what, them not knowing what to do when we freak out? Rose asked, raising a brow. We never had help before; what difference is it gonna make if we keep it to ourselves?
If I may, Mayflower tapped hesitantly at first, before getting more confident as she continued, There's... not really any harm in letting them know? They're offering the help, and even in the low chance it does backfire, we know how to get out of it. What do we have to lose?
Mayflower's got a point, Araneae agreed. It's not like we can go any further downhill. If it makes things easier for us and everyone around us, even if it brings some... less than pleasant things to light... then that's the best option.
"I just don't know what to say," Peter murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm having trouble admitting that you guys are here, let alone ten and a half years of baggage. How does one even start a conversation like that?"
"Preferably not with keeping it to yourself," Natasha's voice chimed in amusement. Peter startled but managed to keep his grip on the ceiling, and spun around to see that Black Widow was standing in the doorway, well-disguised curiosity resting on her frame. She walked further into the room so that Clint behind her could prepare for his own breakfast. "What's on your mind, маленький паук?"
Making sure his feet were stuck to the ceiling in his now crouched position, Peter waved his hands dismissively. "It's... nothing! The only thing on my mind are the headaches."
Natasha and Clint shared a look of disbelief, clearly not falling for the lie. "I've got kids of my own, Pete. They always fail to pull the same excuse you're trying," Clint drawled, a small grin on his face, that was quickly dropped. With a sigh, he sat on the bar near where Peter was hanging, turning his attention to the roof-bound arachnid. "You mentioned others being 'here', and ten and a half years of baggage. That's clearly not headaches."
Realizing he wasn't going to get out of this conversation any time soon, the mutant dropped to the ground with a sigh, then joined Clint and Nat by the bar. Scrubbing his flesh palm down his face, he said, "I... don't really know what to say. It's weird."
With a huff of amusement, Natasha got Peter's attention by booping him on the nose. "Trust me, squirt, everything and everyone around here is weird," A thoughtful hum left her lips, before she added, "Y'know, everyone around here has their own personal oddities, both the minute and the extreme. Did you know Scott managed to impress his ex-wife and her new husband so much that he gets joint custody with them for their daughter, and hangs out with them all the time?"
Wow, that is impressive, Rose snorted. Don't know what he did to fall out of his ex's graces, but what kind of crap happened to not only get back in but also end up joining their extended family?
"Oh, we're spilling the tea?" Clint asked, an evil grin crossing his face. "Alright, get this. About a year ago Thor was over for a visit, and he's got his fancy hammer, Mjölnir, which he claims only he can lift. He got pretty much everyone in the tower to compete over who could lift his hammer; which everyone failed. What we only found out later is that, after the Ultron stuff wrapped up, Thor decided to have a little fun with a prank. He placed the hammer on Bruce's workbench, and let Bruce struggle to try and move it so he could do his science stuff for a few minutes, before carefully manipulating it in a way that made Bruce think he'd moved it himself. The doctor's face was priceless, he just stood there gaping like a fish for a good two minutes before racing off to tell Nat. Thor took his hammer back and told the rest of us, and we all promised to never tell Bruce. To this day, he still thinks he lifted Mjölnir."
Peter huffed, a grin crossing his face. "Wait, seriously? Wow, that's great. Do you think Bruce will ever find out?"
"Not if we can help it," Tony piped up as he entered the room himself. Walking over to the small group, he ruffled Peter's hair (much to the former asset's chagrin) and added, "So we're spilling family secrets now, huh?"
"Figured it'd help break the ice so the webhead wouldn't feel so awkward about what we caught him discussing," Natasha said with a shrug.
Tony turned a quizzical gaze to Peter, who had quickly clammed up under the attention. "I... uh, well, i-it's not really that important-"
"What's not?" Sam asked as he, Bucky, and Rhodey entered, shortly followed by the others. Pepper frowned as she approached, lifting a hand to place on his shoulder, before second guessing it. She ultimately let her hand wrap around Tony's.
Well, this is what you wanted, is it not? Rose pointed out sardonically.
...Yeah, uh, maybe that was a bad idea, Araneae relented.
What? No, Mayflower has the best ideas! Ben replied eagerly.
Do you need me to get us out of here? Because I will, Weaver offered, on full alert.
Please stand down, Peter responded internally, before stating aloud, "We- I- uh, there's... some things I'd like to discuss..." The mutant swallowed thickly, his anxiety practically choking him. "B-but, uh... i-it can wait? I know you guys are gonna be busy, uh, tracking down that magician and all, it's really no big deal-"
"Peter," Pepper interjected softly, calling the teenager's attention to her. Less hesitant now, she moved her free hand to rest on his flesh hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Anything you think is important. You're important. I'm sure there's no harm in postponing the search and our shopping trip while you tell us what's on your mind."
The pressure was too much, and Peter could feel his breaths coming in shorter bursts, lungs clenching tightly. Alarm bells rang loudly in his head, almost drowned out by his cacophonous, doubting thoughts, leering at him that opening up was a weakness, that needing help was pathetic, that he couldn't rely on anyone, that no one was there for him, and he would suffer all alone, forever-
Peter! Weaver's voice cut in sharply, as if the mask had sliced through the static with his knife. Okay, good, you can hear me. It's alright, you're fine. You're safe.
The words came to Peter as if they were stuck in honey, processing slower than he would've liked. Blinking the dark spots in his vision away, he took steadying, deep breaths, latching onto Weaver's words like a life preserver. Eventually, his awareness of the outside world returned, for him to find himself on the floor, staring up at his worried guardians. As he went to sit up, a splitting headache tore through the fog, and the mutant winced.
"-eter, can you hear me?" Wanda's voice drifted to his awareness, and Peter tilted his head to stare at the redhead. Her eyes and hands were alight with her red magic, the sensation buzzing gently at his senses. With a sigh of relief, she remarked, "Okay, good, you're responding."
"Wh..." Peter scrunched his nose as his voice cracked and splintered. "What happened?"
Wanda crouched next to the teen, hovering one hand over the length of his body while keeping the other near his head. Her gaze grew more concerned, and her brows furrowed, the young woman pursing her lips in contemplation. She eventually responded, "You started freaking out over the offer to listen, and fell off your chair and sat dazed for a good twenty seconds."
She's hiding something, Weaver pointed out, detecting the hesitation in her words. She's figured something out and doesn't want to bring it up.
"Is there something wrong?" Tony asked, before following it with, "...Do you want to talk about it?"
There's plenty wrong, Rose jibed, but considering what just happened, do you think the latter is doable?
His hands shook furiously, and he barely managed to get them under him to push up. At first, his balance was off, and it took Peter a few seconds to get his bearings again. Eye twitching, the mutant propped himself up with help from the counter, pointedly staring at the marble surface instead of the lingering gazes brushing his senses. "It's... it's nothing. I'm fine, really."
The easy lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and it was very clear none of them believed the words even he couldn't trust. Still... it was just too much at the moment. He'd tell them all eventually; he knew, logically, keeping everything to himself had already done enough damage to his psyche (which elicited a knowing snort from Weaver) that continuing the habit would likely make things worse. And yet, he found the words wouldn't form, stayed trapped within his thoughts, the steadfast filter unyielding. Swallowing thickly, he fought off the urge to pick at his prosthetic arm by muttering, "It's... uh, well... I-I'll tell you all. Eventually. But I'm not..." He gestured widely with his hands at the crowd, as if that would explain things. "I'm not used to... sharing my thoughts. On my own volition, I mean."
And, well, while that wasn't the full truth behind why he'd flown into a straight-up panic attack, it was certainly a prominent one. He bit the inside of his cheek, guilt at the other reasons bubbling beneath his skin. As much as Peter would try to deny it, he couldn't ignore what he knew to be true; he didn't know what to do about any of this. Half of him desperately wished they'd just force him to spill his insides out, order him around, direct and guide him, take his autonomy away from him so he wouldn't be left to scrabble desperately in a world he didn't have the faintest idea how to properly function in. The other half wanted to use the little bit of freedom he was used to having to hide away from reality once more; to blind himself to his imperfections and faults, and pretend he was fine, unaffected and undamaged by the past he more than desired to paint as an illusion. Both of these wants warred under his marred flesh, coalescing into a host of trust issues and the inability to properly discern fact and fiction.
You're waxing philosophical again, Weaver pointed out with mild amusement. Let's also not forget the trauma we can't forget, and the damage we don't properly know the consequences of.
Not to mention the identity crises, mutant-based foreign instincts, the inability to really relate to anyone, and a whole host of other problems thanks to the last ten and a half years, Rose added dryly.
"We understand," Bucky remarked, understanding far better than he'd like to. The tension in the air was palpable, so the former Winter Soldier decided it was time to break it apart. "I do believe we've all got plans for the day we need to get to. We can deal with this family drama one problem at a time."
Scott and Wanda huffed out a laugh at that, with the former remarking, "Let it be known the James Buchanan Barnes just called us a family."
"FRIDAY, please tell me you recorded that," Wanda grinned, her magic fading, along with the odd glances she'd been shooting at Peter.
"Recorded and stored in both video and audio format," The AI chirped in response.
With the conversation successfully steered away from their ward, they settled in for what on the surface looked like a normal, domestic breakfast. However, the air felt stiff and off, and it was readily apparent the prior discussion was still on everyone's mind. The heroes were really just trying (and failing) to break the ice and move on from it, but Peter felt more than saw the glances directed at him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. A spark of annoyance bubbled in his chest at the continued motions, and something cold and hard seemed to settle into his veins the further it progressed.
Eventually, the team left him and Pepper to their own devices, off to their own mission they purposefully shut him out of. It was only ten in the morning, but the day already felt like it had gone on too long. As Peter followed the SI CEO to her car for a day of whatever she deemed was 'shopping', the ice spread further, crawling closer to his chest from his limbs, making his one feeling arm and legs buzz with pinpricks. The mutant wasn't really sure what to call the feeling; he only knew that the chill was familiar, and, in an odd way, comforting.
Peter didn't know what to make of it, and neither did the voices in his head, so he tried to ignore it. What he couldn't predict was what would happen as a result of the encroaching winter in his bones.
The mutant's hands rested in his jacket pockets, the sleeves a bit too long on his short, slim frame. They provided extra cover on top of the gloves, though, so Peter wasn't really complaining. He got the occasional odd look as they wandered through the less populated streets of New York, and he bristled at the attention, shooting a glare towards the individuals until they looked away. Whether the stares were from his long, darker attire in the May heat, or from his close proximity to Stark Industry's CEO, he wasn't quite sure.
Pepper led the way through the clusters of people with the confidence of someone that knew the area far too well, and that, backed with her notoriety to the media, made the crowd part around the two of them like they had a shield around them. The teenager wasn't sure if his current guardian was doing it on purpose or not, but the former asset was immensely grateful the strangers kept their distance. It made the sights and sounds marginally easier to cope with.
The ice had long since infected his chest, constricting his lungs and heart with frost that stung at the back of his throat and trickled down his veins. Every wayward look sent another flurry down his spine and turned his gaze icy. The more he watched the people of New York go about their day, most without a care in the world, the cold clawed at his neck and whispered at the edges of his thoughts. Look at all these people, blind to the strife of the world, it drawled. Doesn't it seem so unfair that they can go about their day, unimpeded by life's cruelty?
The thought was quickly snuffed out by an entirely unamused Weaver, who replied, Seems like an irrational assumption, since we don't know what their struggles are.
Pepper, oblivious to her ward's internal struggle, continued gently leading the assassin through the many stores littered across the city. The stores blurred to Peter, and he struggled to pay attention to where the woman was leading him, since most of this was foreign. She didn't seem to mind his lack of contribution, though her growing worry at his distanced silence grew more palpable as the hours crawled by.
Five hours passed, and the duo still remained empty-handed. Foot traffic had picked up as 4:34 rolled around, and at this point, Peter's senses were starting to slide from his control, latching onto the new assortment of stimuli as if everything were a threat. That, combined with the frozen feeling coating his insides, left the assassin disoriented. It felt like the buildings were closing in on him, the glimpses from the stray passerby piercing his senses like a dagger. Dully, he recognized the feeling of the oncoming sensory over stimulation, but the chill brushing its way out of his lungs numbed the normal alarm that would come with such a realization. It was thanks to the all-encompassing cold that his sixth sense, generally ignored thanks to its jumpy nature at anything even mildly dangerous, was smothered, with the warning falling on deaf ears.
"Well, that was an interesting shopping trip," Pepper quipped in an effort to fill the persistent silence between her and her ward. It had been bugging her all day, but thanks to the events of the morning, she didn't feel like pressing the matter. She didn't want to lose what frail trust the boy had placed in her by pressing too far into his comfort zone, so instead, she let his silence lapse on. "Granted, we didn't really shop, but it was a nice change of pace. Don't you think so, Peter?"
When the prompt was met by further quiet, she turned to glance behind her and noticed with a frown that she was a good ten feet ahead of the mutant. When had that happened? The boy's face was hard to read, but something about his rigid posture felt off to Pepper. Something twisted in her stomach, and a feeling of dread crept up on her. Something was wrong.
She moved closer to the former asset, going to voice her concerns, when pain interrupted her train of thought as it blossomed out from her right shoulder. A swift glance over to the offending discomfort revealed a tranquilizer dart sticking out of her casual dress. The sedative wormed its way under her skin quickly, and Pepper's vision began to darken. She heard shuffling, and a loud grunt of pain, before consciousness slipped from her fingers.
Breathe in.
His eyes fluttered open, breaking free of the thick darkness that had priorly obscured his senses. His nose scrunched as light flickered against his retinas. The hum of the car engine rumbled around him, occasionally jolting the mutant as the wheels collided with a pothole.
Breathe out.
Fragmented memories began flooding back, slowly at first. But as his awareness returned, so too did his realization on what was going on.
The warning had come too late, and he was snapped out of the frozen reverie by a loud shriek from his sixth sense, accompanied a moment later by a sharp pinch to the back of the neck. His gaze wandered up to shakily fixate on three men leaping out of the back of a van, two roughly snagging Pepper before she hit the ground. Peter's breath hitched as the gravity of the situation hit him, a burning anger melting the persistent chill. The tranquilizer dart wasn't nearly as powerful as the one HYDRA made for him (the thought made him flinch at the mention of his former captors), but it was the memories that kept him rooted as the third guy picked his far too light body up by the back of his jacket and threw him into the van.
Reality began to twist and fade as the warm May day became interjected with memories of the cold November evening, and New York's modern commodities faded to dated Queens buildings. The clean gray velvet of the van's interior was intermixed with Uncle Ben's truck, the tan leather stained with crimson. The jerk as the vehicle took off was echoed by the sudden halt of the pick-up in his memories, and the flash of the sun between the buildings blended with the spark of a lit gun muzzle. Peter curled up on himself as best he could, ignorant to the buzz of his senses prickling as their captors fixed their arms and legs with zip ties behind them. His awareness slipped between his fingers as he was consumed by the memory.
Weaver's nose scrunched, and the mask shifted on his side to move out of the fetal position. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the cramped interior pretty quickly, and he stared at their conditions with barely constrained disgust. There were no windows, and the doors in the back of the van had no handles on the inside. There was a windowless divider pressing against his back that presumably separated the front from the back. Grunting softly, he propped himself up, straining his hearing to reach beyond the rumble of the engine to see if his captors heard him awaken.
What he did manage to catch made his blood run cold. The words were clipped and there were glaring gaps between them, but Weaver caught the gist. They had been after Pepper and just so happened to take him, too. They were rambling on and on about how 'Stark would do anything for his mistress' with a laugh, before blathering on about what they would use the ransom money for. The callous care for the two lives they had in the back of the van made the mutant's flesh crawl.
What sleazeballs, Rose muttered, folding her arms. Disgusting.
Weaver blinked at that, then frowned. Oh, you guys are still here. Great.
I'm touched you missed us, Rose drawled, rolling her eyes. Truly, your care is astounding.
The mask decided to ignore that, before he noticed something amiss. Furrowing his brow, he queried, Where's Peter? Why am I in control?
This question was met with silence, before Araneae quietly remarked, He ended up in here when he passed out, we think.
We think, or we know? Weaver asked.
Our mind shut off. None of us knew what was happening until you woke, Rose replied, though concern was evident in her voice. He's off to the side and won't respond.
Won't respond? The mask was becoming increasingly worried. Why? Is he in shock?
If I may contribute, came Mayflower's quiet tap. The... situation probably didn't sit too well with him, since, he, well... was the only one of us that directly experienced it. I don't think he consciously did it. He's probably not even aware of what's going on at the moment.
The silence at that tapped statement was tense as they came to the collective realization that this was yet another thing that was new. Peter had almost always been in control, had his hands on the metaphorical steering wheel through everything. The knowledge that he could just abandon that at any moment, against or for his will, was concerning. Weaver bit his lip, but decided to table that for later. What took priority was getting them away from the situation that was clearly hurting his Peter. That's what he believed his whole purpose was for, anyways.
Sitting up to the best of his ability, he jerked his arms and legs. The zip ties tore easily to his enhanced strength, and he set the plastic strips to the side, eyeing where they had bitten into his flesh. The pain of a light wound ached at his nerve ends, but Weaver ignored it. They'd heal soon enough, anyways. Instead, he carefully inched his way over to the still unconscious Pepper. Seeing her lie on the ground limply, barely a rise of the chest, sent a pinprick of worry through his system that made the normally touch weary mask press a shaking finger to his guardian's neck. The steady thump, thump, thump that sounded at the mutant's sharpened hearing pulsed in time with the pulse point his finger rested on, and Weaver let out a sigh of relief, before frowning contemplatively. When had he started caring for someone else's well being outside of Peter's?
And you're so hellbent on saying you don't care, Rose teased, though the jibe was lighter than usual. Probably because she knew the situation was bad and was just as unnerved as Weaver was about Peter's silence.
Dismissing those thoughts, Weaver shook Pepper's shoulder until she grasped consciousness once more. When her eyes focused on him, annoyingly slow thanks to the active sedative in her human body (Referring to yourself as inhuman, huh Weaver? That's my thing, Araneae remarked with strained amusement at the thought), alarm at the situation, mixed with notable concern, plagued her features. Before she could get a word out, he held a hand up placatingly, before tapping against the back of her hand, 'Be quiet. I don't know how well they're paying attention to us thanks to the stupidly loud engine, but we shouldn't risk it.'
Again, it took a bit for Pepper to process his message, but she gave him a nod. After a pause, she signed back, sloppily, 'Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need help? This situation can't be good for you.'
Weaver blinked, taken aback by the businesswoman's care. The situation definitely wasn't good, especially since it was hurting Peter so much. Weaver, of course, wasn't going to admit that; it was a sign of weakness he was loathe to expose. She would also probably find it odd that he didn't see himself as 'Peter', since he, theoretically, should've been the only one there. It was the sympathy, however, that brought back that biting chill that had been encompassing Peter earlier. The sudden frost caught the mask off-guard as his lungs seized against the strong emotion. His brow furrowed as he shoved the feeling down like usual, and tapped back, 'I'll be better once we get out of here.'
Pepper squinted as she surveyed their surroundings, no doubt having a difficult time perceiving the van's interior with her unenhanced eyesight. She messily replied, 'How do you suggest we do so?'
She was asking him advice for how to escape a kidnapping situation? Weaver almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it. He bit back the desire to retort that if he was such an expert, he would've been free much sooner from his former captors, and turned his attention to the divider. It wasn't the most solid thing; just a sliding plate of metal that would be held in place by hinges. Easy enough to move, even if there was a lock on the other side. What stopped that from being a logical escape, however, was the lack of knowledge on his opponents. They obviously had some form of gun, if the tranquilizer darts were any indicator, but Weaver lacked knowledge on the amount or the contents of said weapons. As much as he'd love to give them a piece of his mind, getting them killed by a barrage of bullets wasn't the most appealing option. Letting their antagonizers take them to wherever their preferred destination was was also out of the question. There they would have the knowledge on the location and experience moving in it. Weaver was more than confident in his skills as both a fighter and an assassin, but his best skills relied on the element of surprise. It was too risky.
So that left one of the least desirable options, in Weaver's humble opinion. With a barely repressed sigh, he tapped, 'Climb on my back. I'm going to bust the back door open and we're going to jump.'
Pepper's eyebrows raised in alarm. She quickly signed back, 'Isn't that dangerous? We don't know where we are or how fast we're going!'
'Anything we do will be dangerous, Pepper,' Weaver tapped, clenching his jaw. 'We're going to get hurt no matter what we do. I'd at least rather get hurt of my own volition trying to escape than by the hands of our...' His tapping paused as he barely refrained himself from the word kidnappers. Just thinking of the word had ink crawling in the pit of his stomach. So, he closed with, '...captors. We... don't have a lot of options.'
The businesswoman noted the pause, and lifted her hands, seemingly contemplating on what to say. Instead, she just gave a nod, and crawled over to the small male, draping her much taller form over the arachnid. It would've seemed almost comical given the circumstances. Weaver wrapped his flesh arm over his shoulder, pressing his hand solidly to his guardian's right shoulder so the stickiness could help keep them together. Then, he inched forward until his feet were stretched ahead of him, pressed against the doors. Weaver took a deep breath, before extending his pointer finger, thumb, and pinky finger, middle finger and ring finger curled instinctively towards his palm.
He thrust his legs forward, making solid contact with the metal. He could feel the ringing of his prosthetic colliding with the door through his bones and clenched his teeth, frowning as the door, badly damaged, still held on. Weaver's sharpened hearing picked up on movement behind the divider, and his sixth sense screamed of the impending approach of the drivers. It was now or never.
With one last sharp kick, the doors caved, breaking open and revealing the May sunset. They were no longer in the main parts of New York; in fact, it looked similar to the area surrounding the Compound, thanks to the large expanses of nature and the presence of dispersed warehouses. Northern Manhattan, maybe? He didn't have time to think about it. He pressed his fingers to his palm and shot a web at a nearby tree, bunched his legs, then pressed down against the van as he leapt. The van buckled against the jump but continued forward. Pepper and Weaver hung in mid-air for a second as their velocity was abruptly cut off, and Weaver quickly tugged the web line off so they were no longer attached to the tree. With the residual momentum, Weaver braced himself and skidded against the biting, worn gravel of the road. The stones brushed against his flesh and bit in, drawing small rivulets of his dark purple blood. He grit his teeth as they came to a halt, and slowly straightened, ignoring the protest of his flesh limbs. He barely had time to glance over his shoulder to confirm Pepper was still hanging on when his sixth sense once more howled for his attention.
The van screeched to a loud halt, the tires biting hard into the black tar and leaving marks as the driver swerved into the grass. He cranked a hard left, and the van lurched as it adjusted to the new trajectory. The vehicle then gained speed as two of the disguised men pulled out hunting-grade guns. The world seemed to slow as Weaver assessed the situation. The chill from earlier returned in full force, and the usual embers of anger were smothered by the utter cold brought on by the resentment that had been festering all day. He stared into the barrels of the guns, into the lights of the van and the determined forms of the kidnappers.
The car approached, Weaver's body moved, the guns went off, and everything went black.
Pepper leaned against the tree as her adrenaline began wearing off, leaving the persistent shaking behind. The three cop cars framed the small rural street with their bright lights, though their sirens no longer echoed around the desolate, sparsely populated area. The shock blanket on her shoulders felt far heavier on her thin frame than the boy that rested in her arms. Peter's limp figure rested quietly in her grasp, and exhaustion clung to his lithe frame like a shadow.
The situation felt surreal to Pepper. One moment she was holding onto Peter's shoulders, and the next she was on the ground, staring up in alarm as the mutant rushed forward. The gun shots were loud, releasing two more tranquilizer darts; one aimed at herself and the other aimed at Peter. Both hit the latter, sticking out of his right jacket sleeve, barely impeding the assassin. The van bore down on the mutant, and the events flew by too quickly for Pepper to truly process. It was only after it was over that her mind caught up on what happened. Peter had confronted the van head-on, slamming his fists into the vehicle's front. The mutant hadn't managed to get out of the way, and took the full brunt of the car's momentum as it collided with him. He went flying and hit the very tree she was now sitting against, then crumpled limply to the ground. The van, now tipped into the air, flipped, rolled, and came to an unceremonious stop fifteen feet away on the other side of the road, upside down.
As soon as she could grasp the situation at hand, Pepper immediately called the police, careful to make sure it was the emergency line. After explaining it to the best she could (omitting, of course, the unnecessary details about her ward's circumstances), she was assured they would be there within three minutes. Pepper ended the call, then, with a shaky hand, opened FRIDAY's features on her phone and alerted the AI to what had gone down. FRIDAY immediately sent the information off to the emergency alert system the Avengers all had, and not even a minute later, Tony called. She picked up and rambled about what had gone down to her boyfriend, still frazzled, even while the police pulled up. Tony assured her they would be there within fifteen minutes, before ending the call to head out.
When that was done, she had walked over to the too still form of her ward, immensely worried. She was thankful he was breathing and just happened to be unconscious, and sat down with the boy in her grasp. The police wandered over a moment later, obviously confused by the situation and not believing what had occurred, to both them and the van. The dazed kidnappers, while being placed into the waiting cars, were evidently freaked out by Peter's stunt. Pepper was glad the assassin wasn't awake to hear them.
"I swear that kid is a freak!" One of them shouted, wrestling against the cop's restraints. "There's no way he's human! He flipped our car!"
"We was goin' fourty! That kid shoulda been blood spatter on the windshield!" Another added, clearly just as rattled.
"Ya should be apprehendin' that dirty enhanced too!" The third chimed in.
The fourth was oddly silent, and instead settled on staring between the cops, herself, and Peter. As he was getting put into the car, though, he called out, "You're one lucky bastard, having that creature protecting you. I'll be the one laughin' when it turns on you, too!"
Pepper's hands had clenched at that, and she surreptitiously checked on Peter to make sure he was out cold. She knew some people were horrendously racist against enhanced, but she never ever wanted Peter to hear those slanders. Especially after his prior treatment at the hands of HYDRA's human elitist attitude.
Returning to the present day, she refused an ambulance for herself and Peter when the cops asked, and wouldn't disclose why. Knowing they couldn't do anything else, the cops returned to their vehicles with Pepper's assurance the Avengers were on their way, and drove off with the kidnappers in tow. Breathing out a quiet sigh now that the police were gone, the businesswoman could now focus on the unconscious assassin in her lap.
She frowned at the burn marks visible through the poorly wrapped shock blanket that had been placed around his shoulders. Taking the covering off, she winced at the marks that stained the front of his shirt from where the hot metal of the van had made contact. From her own first aid classes, she knew taking cloth off of fresh burns was potentially risky; it could rip off sealed skin and open the wound to infection. However, she really didn't want the mutant's enhanced healing to stick the cloth to his skin once it was finished healing. With that in mind, she carefully took off his jacket, before hesitantly removing his shirt.
Pepper quietly set the shirt by the jacket as she stared, appalled, at the plethora of scars that marked his flesh like a macabre painting. She'd caught a small glimpse of the marks of his abuse and torture before, the day they first met, but this was the first time she was seeing it up close. A sick feeling reared its head as she pondered what on Earth HYDRA had done to elicit such marks; a feeling that only grew worse with horror as she noted the fresh wounds from his latest brush with death were already healing with no signs of lasting damage. What did those bastards do to where his enhanced healing couldn't avoid the scarring?
She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
The CEO carefully placed Peter's shirt back on, along with the jacket, now that she was sure it wouldn't stick to his flesh. Then she shrugged off her own shock blanket and wrapped it around the arachnid, along with her own, when she noted the boy shivered. Was he cold? How fast did he get cold? Did his mutated spider physiology mean he was somewhat coldblooded? The realization crossed Pepper's mind that they really didn't know everything about how Peter's body was supposed to function thanks to his unique DNA. Maybe when the others found a doctor, they could do a proper investigation into his biology with scans. While they're at it, they could get Peter's mental health checked out, too.
It was no secret Pepper was concerned about her ward's stability, given his circumstances. He was obviously not okay- that was clear for anyone to see- but with only the biased, impartial files to go off of, she didn't actually know how HYDRA's treatment personally affected the assassin. The other night, Tony had brought up that Peter had said he'd had an internal conversation while they were visiting the Leeds, and that he'd sat out of the main conversation because of it. She also recalled the slip-up of "we" instead of "I", and wondered what that was about. The only people he actively knew were the Avengers and the Leeds, so he couldn't have been referring to them.
The businesswoman idly carded her fingers through Peter's hair as she contemplated the far too light boy in her presence. The boy was definitely malnourished and underweight- she was able to count his ribs- and he seemed a bit... small for a fourteen year old boy. She hadn't given much thought to it until she was draped over his back and they were preparing to leave the van. He was undeniably strong, but... she was 5'9", and generally dwarved by the younger SI interns. He couldn't be taller than 5'5" and 90 pounds at the moment. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he was at least twelve.
As she sat with Peter in the grass, the sunset glowing gently against their surroundings, she couldn't help but worry about the teen- the child- resting in her grasp. Logically, Pepper knew from the moment she was informed of his situation that it was going to be an uphill battle. But today only proved to her that it was going to be harder than they thought to break those killing instincts, just like Natasha had warned. Peter had been more than willing to risk his own life just to take on their kidnappers, and that, more than anything, shot fear through her. It reminded her of just how deeply ingrained HYDRA had implanted that programming, and how it must be an absolute struggle to work around.
It was then a thought occurred to Pepper. He'd readily protected her throughout the entire ordeal, without hesitation and without a thought otherwise. Was this sudden protective drive because he genuinely cared for her well being, or... was it something more? She recalled glancing over the programming file and noting the defensive measures placed to ensure their own assassin wouldn't misidentify them as a target. In the moment, did Peter protect her because he saw her as a 'higher-up', a 'keeper', someone with higher authority than he to defend against a 'target'? The thought knotted her stomach, so Pepper quickly dismissed it. That wasn't the case; she'd convince herself it wasn't, and hope deep down it was the truth.
The CEO pursed her lips at his behavior in the van. Rigid, dismissive, neglecting his own health over the priority of escaping. He was clearly shaken and was just hiding it incredibly well. How many triggers did the poor kid have thanks to his prior circumstances? Would he even be capable of functioning as a member of society like normal? It was a possibility Pepper had looked into when she decided his mental health took high priority and began researching in-depth on all forms of trauma. She'd even talked to Sam about the possibility of therapy for Peter, and if his connections with the Department of Veterans Affairs could help him find something that would work for Peter. Sam was willing to help, though was all too amused at her request. "Who am I to deny a mother her child's well being?" He'd remarked sarcastically, before pulling up the department's number and walking off with the call.
Pepper wasn't sure what to think about that remark, though she couldn't stop the warmth that blossomed in her chest at such a kind notion.
She heard a rustling nearby and startled, though quickly calmed when she realized it was just a rabbit, settling into the nearby grass. Pepper watched it for a moment, before staring contemplatively down at Peter. Would he benefit with a service animal? It was a possibility she had looked into early into the research upon seeing one of her employee's had a service dog. Afterwards, she'd perused the internet for anything she could look up regarding service animals; what animals were trained, what they were and could be trained for and to assist with, the different kinds of service animals, both the major and the minor, and how to go about obtaining one. Her only hesitance from suggesting it, outside of thinking it would make Peter feel belittled to need an animal to help function, was that Pepper wasn't entirely sure everything the mutant would need help with. Getting a general service animal would help some, but it would be much more effective to acquire an assistant that was closely directed to his actual issues.
Pepper hoped they were successful in finding someone to help with the chips, and had maybe even run into that magic surgeon guy. She wondered if he'd know enough to provide a good diagnosis on Peter's mental health so he could get the help he needed to work past the bad hand life dealt him. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she couldn't help but reminisce on how absurd the whole thing was. She was sitting in the middle of northern Manhattan after a kidnapping attempt with a mutant, arachnid child in her lap that had tried to kill them a month prior. It nearly felt fictional. Who knew being Tony Stark's assistant would lead to such an interesting life?
She wouldn't trade it for anything.