A/N: Hiya! This chapter is kind of weird… I wrote Peter's perspective really different then what I have done before, so if it's confusing, that's why. He's supposed to also be confused.

Thank you so much for all the follows/favorites and reviews! I love reading your input and thoughts. Seriously, it makes my day.

Anyway, I'll stop talking and let you read. Make sure to leave any comments/suggestions in the reviews and enjoy today's chapter!

Warnings: Mild descriptions of blood, death, and guns.

October 4, 2011

12:30am

"If you don't give me that formula, I'll-"

"You'll what? Kill Richard? Kill Peter? Then I'm less inclined to give you anything!" Mary spat at his feet. "If I did have it, I would never tell scum like you."

Angela cringed. She shouldn't have said that. Mark had a quick temper…

The gunshot came suddenly, and if you blinked you might have missed it. You might have missed Mary choking for her last breath or Angela yelping in shock. Her friend… her friend… she didn't think they would kill her… her friend…

A flood of memories washed over Angela as she watched blood ooze from Mary's still form. They played together in the backyard… Mary handed her tissues and said "I never liked him anyway" during Angela's first break-up… college parties and late-night study sessions… Mary waved at the airport when she left for boot camp… their quick and clipped embrace when she returned, scarred and angry… Mary asked her to be the maid of honor, despite their growing distance… Peter being born… her best friend. He killed her best friend…

This was it, she decided. There was no going back now. Mary was gone… dead. She wasn't ever returning. They had to get the formula… or she would've killed her best friend for no reason. No reason…

"Angela," Mark said, pushing back sweaty hair from his forehead. "Get rid of the body. I have a drop spot in West Queens. They won't find her for another couple hours at least."

"But, sir, I-"

He glared at her, fingers tightening around the gun. "Would you like to join her?"

Angela wished she was braver… but Mary was the brave one. She was the one that stood up to Mark and presented her own opinions and ideas… she was the one who died for it. Despite her initial sadness, Angela could not pretend she didn't want that research… that she didn't want the power, and most of all, she couldn't pretend that she didn't want to live.

Pursing her lips and gritting her teeth, she walked over to the body. Everything has changed. She has changed.

Monday, October 14

7:15pm

"Jails are not actually how they are portrayed in movies. In the movies, you have a singular cell with rusty iron bars and a metal toilet in the corner. In the movies, you're alone to stare dramatically out the tiny window at the life you've chosen to leave behind. In the movies, there's a group of mean guys that go around in a circle saying who they've killed or what they robbed.

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but it isn't like that.

"Jail is really a 6x8ft room that crams you and your prison buddies in a three-person bunk bed. Yes, there's a silver toilet in the corner, but it is only used when needed, as it makes the whole place smell terrible. Jail doesn't have a tiny window to stare dramatically out of, it has a relatively large, dingy plexiglass window for gloomy sunlight to filter in. And, right again, there are groups of mean-looking guys, but they don't share stories with everybody. They're just mean."

Peter was thinking all of this because in his "Real World" project for history, this was the intro paragraph. He remembered vaguely that the project was due soon. The reason it came to his attention at this particular moment was because he felt like he was in Movie Prison, as it was described in the first couple sentences.

It was dark, and he was alone.

Even though he could see and feel that his body was moving and fighting and talking… there wasn't any sort of control. Peter was just a helpless spectator, bound by fear and pain and forced to stare dramatically out of a small window.

Then, there was a voice… a voice that he recognized… a voice that broke through the outer shell of armor. It was female…

She said, "Fight it, Peter! Fight it! Remember Tony? May? Your friends? Fight it for them!"

Tony… May… my friends. It all sounded so far away, and he didn't want to fight anymore. He didn't want to because he knew what it would bring… it would bring pain and suffering and hours of torture. Tony… May… my friends. He hadn't asked MJ out yet… he hadn't built the Lego Death Star with Ned… he hadn't told May or-or Tony what they meant to him...

Fight it. Fight it. Fight it.

Everything rushed back to him. He pushed away whatever force was holding him and dropped the guns that he hadn't realized were in his hands. Wait- that was Natasha! Black Widow was here! And Bucky… she had brought Bucky! They could help him, he was sure they could help him.

"I-" Bang. It wasn't a bang, really, but it was comparable to one in Peter's ears. He could feel it slipping. Desperately he yelled to her, "No! Help...me…" But it was too late The control he had just gained was ripped away when the noise grew louder. It was deafening and final, flowing over him until he was shoved back in the cell. Alone.

Peter knew he was at the lab again… that's where he'd been all day, and that's probably where he would be for awhile. At one point, he recalled feeling hope. Hope that Mr. Stark would come for him… hope that Angela would stop them. But neither of them ever did.

One thing that never changed as he sat in his prison, was the feeling. He could still feel the sensations that any normal person could, which unfortunately included pain. They reprimanded him for disobedience. He had broken from compliance… and since compliance was rewarded, the opposite was punished.

When they were done, the cell Peter was stuck in was smaller. He could feel his normal thoughts and emotions sliding through the iron bars, far from his reach.

For a moment he pounded weakly on the metal, desperate for his own mind back. But, they did not yield. Peter fell onto his back, staring blankly at the darkness surrounding him. Everything has changed. He has changed.

No one would come for him.

Monday, October 14

9:00pm

"Thank you for coming," Pepper said, leading May, MJ, and Ned inside the tower and up to the penthouse. "Can I get you anything? Food? Water?"

"No, thank you," MJ responded. "Not really hungry." She was wringing her hands in front of her.

"Me either," Ned said. May remained quiet, offering the silence as her answer.

The elevator ride would have been awkward if they weren't all so worried.

Mr. Stark was a mess. His suit jacket was wrinkled, and his hair was mussed and sweaty; it stuck up at odd angles. There were worry lines around his eyes and mouth… he looked so much older. When Tony saw them, he straightened up and tried to smile. It came out more like a grimace.

"Tony," May said softly.

He approached her, shame evident on his worn face. "I'm so sorry, May. I should have done-"

She interrupted him by grabbing his shoulders and giving him a short hug. "We all should have," she whispered, pulling away. "Now let's fix it."

He nodded grimly and swallowed. "Right. But, uh… first things first… there are some things you need to know about Peter."

When Tony told them that Peter was Spider-Man, Ned looked like he was going to explode with excitement, but somehow managed to sit still. As he shakily informed them of HYDRA and RayTech, MJ clutched May's hands tightly. He finished with retelling Nat and Bucky's encounter. They stood to his side, unspeaking, with solemn expressions.

"So," MJ said quietly when he was finished. "What do you need us for?"

Natasha stepped forward. "When we saw him, he wasn't all the way gone. Peter was still in there, somewhere. I talked to him about you guys, told him to fight. They don't have complete control yet… so that means we're not too late." She pulled a small device from her pocket. "I've bugged him with a device that records 24/7. If we can get proof that they are… using HYDRA's techniques, we have liable, and legal, cause to storm the place and arrest that slimeball Mark Raylen.

"We need you guys there to help us reach him… he won't listen to me or Bucky, and Tony can't do it alone. We can protect you, don't worry; all you have to do is stay behind us, and talk to him. Do you think you can do that?"

"Of course!" Ned stood. "He's our best friend!

MJ joined him. "We can't lose him. Not after all we've been through together."

May nodded in agreement. "I'll do what I can… for Peter."

Wednesday, July 18 2012

10:00pm

"Peter? This is for Peter!" Angela's voice had taken on a shrill undertone and was beginning to sound like a shriek.

"That's not true, and you know it! You just wanted him for your stupid project! Mary warned me about you… I should have listened." Richard shoved his jacket into a back, gathering some things from the table as well.

"I love Peter, I promise I do!" She grabbed his bag. He stopped and glared at her for a moment, tearing the object back into his own hands.

"That isn't love," he snarled. "He's just a child. An innocent child. We're going to my brother's house."

"Richard please-"

"No, Angela! If I had any idea what was going on, I would've left a long time ago! We're done. This is the last straw. I'm taking Peter and I'm-"

Crash. A stocky man with a knit ski mask burst into the room, pointing a small gun at Richard's head. "Gimme all your cash and I won't shoot you where you stand!'

Attempting to negotiate, Richard raised his hands and began to speak. "Listen, buddy, you don't have to-"

"Do it," Angela confirmed. Her husband's final expression was aimed at her, just like the short barrell was aimed at him.. It was a mixture of fear, disappointment, and contempt. The shot knocked him backward onto the hardwood, and if he wasn't already dead, it would've hurt. Angela avoided looking at the body.

The man, Carlo, ripped off his mask and tucked the gun in his belt. "Okay, I killed the guy, now pay up."

Angela handed him a stack of bills. "Job well done. Now, get out of here and tell no one. I have to call the cops." She smirked. "My husband's just been shot."

To her annoyance, the idiot dropped his mask and ran out the door, riffling through his cash. She groaned and picked it up, running into Peter's room to call 911. It would be difficult to act 'in shock', but so was pretending to love someone for almost a year.

Grabbing a surprised Peter, she dragged him into the closet. Angela called the police quickly, then texted Mark.

Angela (10:17pm): It's done. Gave the guy 3k to keep quiet.

Mark (10:18pm): Good. And the child?

Angela (10:18pm): Project Sinoper can finally begin.

Wednesday, October 14

11:58pm

Sinoper's gloved hand shook. Sinoper, Peter thought. That's what they call me now. As if they haven't already taken enough… they steal my identity. Not like he could do anything about it… he was forced to watch as Sinoper (or myself, I guess) raise the gun higher. It was smooth and cold beneath his fingers. That he could feel.

A realization occurred to Peter as he watched from his cell. This was a dangerous object; he could kill something or someone with one twitch of a muscle. One movement, and another person's world could go crashing down. Just like his did when someone pulled the trigger on his mom and dad. The Sinoper part of his mind marveled at the power he held at arm's length.

Peter reprimanded himself. He and "Sinoper" were the same person; there was no… split personality. But, this was the first time he had felt like two different people… No. He was just Peter. Just Peter… and yet… If he was only Peter, then why couldn't he do anything? Why was he condemned to sitting here? Why was he powerless to his own hands? He wondered if Bucky considered the Winter Soldier a separate person.

Peter thought, "Don't shoot" at the same time as he thought "Do it". That was weird. You shouldn't be able to think two different things at once, right?

His hand continued to shake, the confliction of motivations preventing the finger from pulling.

"I need to do it," Sinoper (me… it's me) said out loud.

"No… no. I don't want to," Peter replied. Was he talking to himself?

"Sit back, Parker. You're not the driver anymore." That could not have been Peter. He wouldn't say that to himself. Or maybe he would… I mean, obviously he did. So yes, he would say that to himself. No, he would say that. Not to himself… this couldn't be happening.

"We're the same. We're the same. I'm not killing anything, and neither are you, because we are the same person."

"Not anymore," the words came from his mouth. His mouth.

Peter lost consciousness, succumbing to the black that was already surrounding him.

A/N: Just a note: I'm not trying to write Peter with Split Personality Disorder, but rather he is like Bucky. Meaning, most of the time he doesn't remember his time as the Winter Soldier.

REVIEWS:

Thebookworm33: You're too kind! I hope you liked this chapter. :)

vampgirliegirl: I'm on it! Thank you.

xSapphirexRosesxFanx: I know! Sorry Pete…

Belbelanne: I personally would love to write a scene where Bucky and Nat beat the crap out of Angela and Mark, but I guess I'll have to see how the story plays out. I make outlines and stuff, but I always end up re-writing everything, haha. I hope future chapters don't disappoint! Always fun to hear from you :)

Hawkeyes Gal: I hope I'm not too bad of a person for being so mean to Peter XD. But, don't worry, he'll get justice.

MpeachlinS: Me too!

UntamableWyldeRaptor: Sorry! (well, maybe not. :D)

My Hero XIII: This made me laugh XD Thanks for reviewing!

See you next time!

-katilange