Chapter 17: Everett Ross II
Everett sat around a table, talking among colleagues about the World Cup. Bets were placed around the table, but Everett didn't participate in such gambling endeavors. He joined in the discussion, admitting he was rooting for Iceland, but he had no desire to lay money on the line. His colleagues joked that he was too "suit" to participate, but Everett smiled in good humor. No, he just needed the money to keep paying the rising health insurance.
The waiter returned, passing out their drink orders. Mark Clasey picked Le Diplomate as the restaurant to have the business dinner. Although, it was becoming less of a business dinner and more of a friends' gathering as they had yet to even discuss business. Everett knew Mark way back in the day of basic training. Both rose up in their ranks respectively, but in different intelligence communities. Mark worked in NSA. Everett worked in the CIA... alongside the Avengers. The other two, Frank Galvin and Austin Chen, were former co-workers before they splintered into different sections as well. But, they gathered together after a long day of meetings and interviews, especially Everett. His association with the New York Accords left him dead on his feet. But, he managed to make time for dinner with friends, which found him sitting underneath a painstakingly built structure that evoked the spirit of a Parisian brasserie.
"Everett," Mark said after he had his first sip of beer of the night. "What have you been up to lately?"
Everett answered taking a swing of his beer. "Oh. Just... you know. Espionage and political overthrows. Normal stuff."
"I say! I heard the rumors about how you overthrew your old boss out of his job," poked Frank. "Didn't believe it. Not Everett Kenneth Ross!"
"Good."
"Until we saw you at the UN a few weeks ago," Austin added. "Suddenly, you're top dog. Gotta tell us how you did it. What did you do knock that old megalomaniac off his high horse?"
Everett sighed. He didn't care to go into great lengths to explain his sudden promotion. Nor did he want to detail a lie he would be telling them to protect his biggest secret. "I did my job. That's it."
Mark laughed. "You're job? Dude—we all do our jobs, but you don't see us buddying up to Tony Stark or the King of Wakanda!"
"Well, I am a... somewhat ambassador for Wakanda," Everett replied. "As for Stark, we're not friends. In fact, he's a pain in the ass."
"That's a given," Mark said, "but the fact is he tolerates you enough to call you 'Big E'."
Everett cursed, derisorily. "Jesus Christ—"
"We work in intelligence, Everett," Frank reminded him. "What did you expect? That we wouldn't go digging?"
He should have known better. Everett flickered glances to each of his old friends. "I thought my friends would expect my privacy or at least be too busy with their own lives to worry about mine."
His three friends looked at one another, before erupting in laughter that drew a few heads their way.
"Oh, come on Everett," Mark clapped Everett on the shoulder. "Look, it's not every day these things happen. And for one of our friends to be right there in the middle of it too.
"So, you gotta tell us," Mark pressed on, "How big of a dick does Tony Stark have? Has to be huge with his inflated head."
That earned another rupture of outrageous laughter that Everett found to be abhorrent. The conversation even more so. Everett wished to redirect the dinner to the more business appropriate discussion that he original thought it was going to be. His friends and former colleagues kept teasing him when his phone pinged.
Everett pulled his phone out and checked. To his bitter rejection, it was Tony Stark calling him.
Austin leaned over in his seat. "Speaking of the devil," he slyly jested, "Iron Man himself is calling."
That got Mark and Frank to scoot closer, but Everett pulled the phone closer to his chest. The phone kept ringing against his ribcage.
"Aren't you going to get that," Mark gestured to the ringing phone.
"Nope," Everett decided and cancelled the call. "Probably calling to insult me."
"So he is a huge dick, eh?" Austin commented with a wry side grin. That got another rupture of laughter.
The phone went off again. Everett reached for it with plans to shut it off when he saw it wasn't Tony calling. "Excuse me," he abruptly got up from his seat and hurried off outside into the chilled air without his coat. He answered the call. "May? Hey. Is everything—"
"…E-Everett?"
May's voice sounded choked, strained. Almost like she couldn't breathe.
"May? Are you hurt?" Everett fretted, pacing right outside the doors of the restaurant. He heard the rawness in her choked breaths, struggling to speak. "May—what's wrong?"
A loud snivel was heard in the background. "It's P-Peter," she blubbered. "…He's missing."
Everett halted. Peter is missing. Thoughts accelerated inside his head. Heart hammered at an unspeakable rate that Everett's breath hitched. Peter is missing.
May's broken voice blubbered on. "He didn't come home. I can't… I can't get a hold of him. Ned said he left, but… he's not home! He's not here! I-I can't find him… Everett, I can't find him!"
Her sob left Everett's blood cold. Ruffling sounds replaced May's cries and Everett heard the familiar, sharp-tongued Tony Stark. "About damn time you picked up," Tony blasted him. "We have a Code 135 situation at hand."
"What's going on?" Everett asked in a quiet voice. Onlookers may think he was collective and cool in his response, but it was a lie.
"The kid was supposed to be back around ten tonight," Stark began the summary. "An hour passed and no Peter. We tried calling, but went straight to voicemail. Called his friend, but he claimed Peter left in the car that picked him up. Tried calling the man on duty, but no answer either."
"What about the plates?" Everett asked. "Have you tracked the car's plates?"
"Don't know the plates," Stark answered. "It's a rental. Got it from some private security corporation. Happy is on it. Waking up every employee to get the plates."
"Who was the driver? What's his name?"
"Simmons. Jatan Simmons."
"The car's model? Do you have that? What about color?"
"It was black. A SUV of some sort. I don't know. I wasn't there when it was rented," Stark said, rattled. "Look, we already did a fully background check on him. No affiliation to any terrorist group or enemies of ours. That's all we have at the moment. Cap and Wilson are already on their way to the Ned's neighborhood to investigate. Vision is downloading… I don't know what exactly, but he and Wanda are working on it together."
Everett nodded along. "Okay, okay," he muttered as he thought over his own plans. "I'll make contact with the police in the area to see if anyone reported anything. Call once you get the plates or any other updates."
He almost ended the call, but quickly put it back to his ear. "And tell May we'll find Peter."
Everett hung up. He went to the street to hail a cab when he remembered his wallet was inside the restaurant with his coat. He rushed back to the table, his friends merrily laughing and swapping stories or jokes. Everett didn't know nor care at the moment.
Mark saw him approach. "Hey! We ordered without you," he said. "I can get the waiter—"
"Sorry," Everett interrupted, yanking his coat off the chair. "Business. I'll venmo you for the drink." And without another word, he strode out of the restaurant and hailed a cab.
The cabbie drove him to around the Capital, heading in the direction to his office. Everett started making phone calls to his trusted agents. So, by the time he arrived at the office, Agent Sharon Carter and a few others were there, dressed in less than work-ideal clothes, but Everett didn't care. Emergency meetings didn't require professional attire. Casual was fine.
"What we got?" Everett asked first thing.
"Police reports in the last three hours," Sharon passed a folder to him. She started to debrief him as she followed him around the office in her sneakers and work-out outfit. "Multiple reports around the vicinity of the Leed's home stated drunk driving, vandalism, destructive of property and shootings. Callers who reported drunk driving all described the same car."
"Black Honda, SUV," Everett said, flipping through the reports. A similar match to the car Stark described. "Do we have plates yet?"
"No one was able to get the plates," Sharon answered. "What about Stark?"
"It belongs to a private security corporation," Everett said. "Stark doesn't own the car; therefore, he doesn't know the plates. He's working with the corporation to get the plates."
"When does Stark hire cars?"
"When he doesn't want to wreck his million dollar vehicles," Everett said, arriving at his private office. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights. "Which direction was the car heading?"
"North," Sharon answered, standing at attention in front of his desk. "My guess is that someone hijacked it before Parker left his friend's house."
"That's one working theory," Everett responded, scanning the police records. "What about the security cameras? Where are we on those?"
"Jody is on it," Sharon said. "She's searching for the SUV."
Everett massaged his temples with his forefinger and thumb. "Keep me updated," he ordered. "I have to make another call."
Sharon took the hint and departed the office, closing it shut behind her. Everett dialed and waited.
"Anything?" came Stark's voice.
"Police have reports of a black SUV on a suspicion of drunk driving," Everett said. "I have one of my agents checking surveillance to see if they can follow it. Anything on the plates?"
"That and more," Stark answered. "I already sent you the full rental contract. Has the plates and everything. Plus, Cap found Simmons."
Everett sat up in his chair. "Great! Where?"
"On the road outside of Ned's house. Kicked underneath some other parked vehicle," Stark said. "Dead. Killed by some kind of injection."
"Shit," uttered Everett. Sharon was right. He hoped she was wrong. "I gotta call you back."
He ended the call. He went to his secured email and brought up the rental agreement Stark sent, passing the plates identity onward to Jody.
In the meantime, Everett checked with old police records. Any reports of lurkers, disorderly individuals and/or suspicious incidents that occurred in the neighborhood. Only a few reports were filed in regards to disorderly conduct in public and even fewer on suspicious individuals or objects.
A knock at his door pulled him away from his screen. "Yeah? Come in," he called and the door opened. Jody, a woman in her forties with thick, bobbed hair and square glasses wobbled into the office.
She carried a stack of black and white photographs. "I have my findings in regards to the SUV," she said in her soft voice that almost sounded childish.
"Great," Everett reached across his desk and took the photographs from Jody's hand. "What do we have?"
"You won't believe until you see it, sir."
Everett piped up a brow at the vague response. He shuffled through the photographs, quickly glancing at the pixelated images of a car driving recklessly on the streets of Queens. As Everett wondered what was so shocking about a reckless driver, his muscles froze up at the last photograph.
"Oh… shit."
Everett sucked in a big breath. The photograph was of an individual, dressed from head to toe in one, full-body spandex suit, hanging onto the steering wheel as he laid across the hood of the car.
His eyes flickered up to Jody, who nodded dramatically. "Yeah. It gets better."
Everett looked at the next photo. The costumed man now stood on the hood. Shit. This was not good.
He sighed, wearied. "Thanks Jody," he said, giving her permission to leave. Once he was alone in his office again, Everett called up Stark.
Stark answered in one ring. "What do you got for me, Big E? And it better be good or I'm going to hang-up on you this time."
He must have been too silent for too long as Stark's voice shouted on his eardrum. "Hey!" he blared. "You there? This better not be a butt dial."
Everett breathed. "Stark, I found our culprit."
"Great!" Tony sounded relieved. "Where? Is Peter with him? Is he okay?"
"No… no, Stark, it's not," Everett started again. "Tony… it's Deadpool. He kidnapped Peter."
Nothing. Nothing for seconds. Then a signal of beeps followed, alerting to Everett that the other line cut off. Stark hung up on him.
Everett sighed, spreading the photographs out on the table. He examined each photograph, eyes lingering on the red suited mercenary. "What did you do with Peter?" he muttered to himself
Another knock at his door and Sharon returned. "Scanned the license plate. Checking all tolls for any signs of the vehicle. Do you want to alert authorities in the area?"
He thought. It wouldn't be safe for Peter if it became known across the world that he was kidnapped. Nor would it be wise nor safe to let local law enforcement go up against Deadpool. He scratched his chin and thought. "Put out an APB on the vehicle," he decided. "Say it's in regards to human trafficking. Highly dangerous and may be in custody of a kidnapped individual. Alert FBI first. Do not approach alone."
Sharon hesitated. "What about the press, boss?" she asked. "If they wind of this—"
"They won't," Everett avowed. "Not on my watch. Keep details minimum. Don't specify it's Peter. Play it out as a wanted human trafficker who was last seen in the area. Taken an individual. I would issue an Amber Alert, but that would require a kid's description. And press always want photographs of the missing child, so label it as a human trafficker."
Sharon nodded along. "Got it," she said and vanished from the office to make the report.
Everett logged into his computer and pulled up the surrounding toll bridges around Manhattan. Pictures were always guaranteed and license plates scanned as well. Everett typed in the license plate number. No record.
Might mean Deadpool didn't drive them back into Manhattan. Time to expand the search. Everett worked around the clock, digging further into information he found in regards to Deadpool and having some of his employees in New York to investigate Deadpool's favorite drinking holes and hoods. They went and called with no signs of Deadpool and others claiming to not have ever seen a man like Deadpool. Everett, of course, doubted their supposedly "honest" truth.
Additionally, Everett had to spend time coaxing Stark from assaulting Norman Osborn. Despite the evidence that pointed Deadpool had no connection with Osborn, Stark believed Deadpool is associated with Osborn and working on his pretty dime. Everett nearly thought he would have to recall Rhodey from Texas to restrain his friend. Luckily, Pepper spoke to Everett and promised to him that she will reign Tony from doing anything stupid.
So far, Everett had yet to receive any complaints or police reports about Iron Man attacking Norman Osborn in New York.
He received a call from Captain America. They left the crime scene in front of the Leed's house. It was determined that Simmons was murdered. Poisoned by mercury. Not a good way to go. Captain America also informed Everett that they combed over the route the car taken based off Everett's team's findings.
"From what we can tell, it seems Peter put up a good fight," Captain America said. "Glass scattered here and there on the streets."
It didn't surprise Everett that Peter fought back. He wasn't one to idly accept dire circumstances if he thought he could prevent it. It was only unfortunate that he went up against Deadpool.
His office hummed, a splint of light changing the color of his walls. Everett looked outside. It neared sunrise. Already, a faint, gold line of light shined out on the horizon, freshening the sky. No chirps yet. Give the birds another five minutes and Everett expected to walk out the door to a rising chorus.
And yet, no sign of Peter Parker. Nothing.
The license plates came up as a dead end. Deadpool must have dismantled and replaced the plates to avoid detection. They scoured surveillance cameras all over the five New York boroughs, but nothing. It was like the car vanished, along with the psychopath and the kid.
Drinking from his fourth cup of coffee, his cellphone rang again for the fiftieth time that day. Everett pulled away from this computer screen to glance at his phone. It was a text message. From Stark. He tapped his smartphone and inputted his passcode. The screen lit up and Everett opened the encoded text message.
6423 Morning Time Lane, Clarksville, Maryland 21029.
Morning Time Lane? Maryland? What the hell did Stark send him? It only took Everett a few seconds for the address to register in his mind. "Shit," Everett cursed and scrambled out of his chair, barking for Sharon.
Sharon sprinted into the office, cheeks rosy. "What is it, boss?"
"Grab your gun," Everett ordered as he threw his coat on. "We got a lead."
"Are you sure about this, boss?" Sharon asked for the third time within the hour.
Yes. And no. Stark messaged him the address with no note. But, Everett interpreted it as Peter's location. Curious, though, as to how Stark obtained this particular address, considering it was supposed to be an unknown location as far as the public was aware. All former CIA directors' addresses and phone numbers were unattainable. And yet, Stark managed to prove their department that his intellect was above their own technological designs.
Everett sighed, staring straight ahead at 6423 Morning Time Lane. It was not a remarkable house by any means. Half brick and half siding, the front door was cover by a tall arch and it had a bay window, half shrouded by a massive bush. The lawn was neatly cut, groomed and pedicured, most likely by a professional. The double garage door was sealed and quiet. Just like the rest of the house.
Anyone walking by wouldn't have taken even a second glance at the typical house structure. But the fact remained that this house was home to an important individual. This was the address of Thaddeus Ross, disgraced Secretary of State.
"Boss?" Sharon called to him again. "You want me to send in the cavalry?"
They already ordered a SWAT team to surround the house. All of them were ready to storm the house of their former boss. Some more reluctantly than others.
Everett took a deep breath and pulled out his gun. "On my call."
He moved up the sidewalk, his feet stealthily making the way to the front door. It was closed and the blinds drawn over the windows to give Everett any advantage. It was now or never. If Peter was inside, he was in grave danger. Everett had to act and act fast.
He gave the signal. He backed away from the door and gave a hard kick. The door surrendered, breaking off its hinges as wood splintered off the doorframe. Everett stormed into the foyer, gun raised as he surveyed his surroundings. The house was dark. Quiet. Not in a good way.
Everett kept his gun trained and ready to fire. He slid across the wood floor. The beige colored walls were decorated with frames of Thaddeus' past. Pictures of his late wife, absentee daughter and his military buddies when he was a younger lad with the same inflated ego. Shoes were placed in a small cubby beside the door and a stack of mail rested on an end table right below the stairs. Again, nothing strange. It almost made Everett reconsider the whole operation.
That was until he saw a shattered pottery with water staining the wood floor and flowers' petals smashed and grinded by what Everett imagined was a boot. And if that wasn't a sign, the droplets of blood that trailed down the hallway confirmed Everett's fear.
"I got blood," Everett whispered over his shoulder as he shined his flashlight on the blood. "Keep up your guard. First and foremost—find Peter."
He didn't wait for any confirmation on his commands. He followed the blood trail to the back of the house. The further Everett entered the house, the faster his heart hammered. Quietly stepping one foot in front of the other, he listened. Intensively. Praying to hear Peter's voice. To at least confirm that the kid was alive. At this point, Everett would take any voice. The stillness and eerie quietness of the house chilled his spine and plagued his mind with dire images that he wished to never see in reality.
Everett got to the back end of the house and flashed his light into the small sitting room. It was a wreck. Furniture in disarray, shelves broken and books toppled to the floor, and a coffee table stood only on two legs, its contents spilling out all over the carpet. Everett moved his flashlight around the room, taking in what appeared to be the scene of a big fight. As he stepped further into the room, his light flashed on a face, squinting and bleeding.
Everett nearly jumped back upon sight. Thaddeus Ross sat in a chair, arms forced behind him that kept him secured in his place. His eyes were both swollen over. Bloody spit drooled from his slacked, jaw where bruises formed over his cheekbones. In fact, Thaddeus looked more purple than white. His face was smeared with congealed blood along with his pajamas that were an utter mess. Both kneecaps looked more like red caps, blasted away by a single, close-ranged bullet. If Everett wasn't standing in Thaddeus' house, he would never have recognized the bloody pulp as his former supervisor.
Thaddeus rolled his head around his shoulder, but his body remained limp against the restraints. He tried to speak. To say something to him, but his busted lips failed at the first syllable. Only more drooling blood dripped from his mouth.
Everett moved into the room to assist when he spotted another figure in the room. He halted. Over on the couch, laid a body as still as a brick. Everett edged closer and his heart plummeted. Thaddeus was long forgotten as Everett nearly jumped the coffee table to get to the couch where Peter Parker laid.
Everett crouched next to the couch. "Peter?"
At first glance, Peter looked lifeless. Too still for Everett to trust sight alone, even if there was a slight rise and fall of his chest. Purple welts, similar to Thaddeus's mark-up, lined his eyebrows and carved up his cheekbone. His nose was crooked, broken by the look of it.
Everett placed two fingers on the boy's neck, digging into the kid's neck until he felt a pulse. His muscles slushed, knees collapsing to the floor as he blew out an air of relief. Peter wasn't dead. Badly injured, but not dead. He simply slept underneath a blanket, a feathered pillow cushioning his head. A little bear was squeeze underneath his arm, almost like he was a child rather than a teenager.
Everett paused. He took in Peter's full appearance. Despite the battered scars on his face, Peter looked… well, he looked well-cared. Tucked in, teddy bear, and a small bandage on his hand, someone took time to make him comfortable.
"Y-You…"
Everett turned to the throaty voice. Through his swollen eyes, Thaddeus glared at Everett, a frown twisting his face as he watched him care for Peter. "T-T… t-traitor!"
Everett didn't say anything. He pressed his lips tight, matching Thaddeus' own stare with his own. He only had time to focus on one person and Everett already showed his preference. Sharon and others arrived in the back, taking a look at the scene before them. She directed two agents to Thaddeus as she approached Everett.
"Medic is outside," she said. "You want me to call them in?"
"Call them in for him," Everett nudged his head in Thaddeus's direction. He then bent down and, carefully, scooped Peter up in his arms. "I'm taking Peter."
Peter was surprisingly light in his arms. He kept the blanket wrapped around Peter's body and supported the kid's neck, while also shadowing the face to keep it unrecognizable from any onlookers. The teddy bear slipped out of Peter's grip, falling to the floor next to the couch.
Everett turned back to Sharon. "Keep this under wraps. I want nothing to reach the press. Got it?"
Sharon nodded. "Yes, boss," she paused, eyes flickering down to Peter. "Is he okay?"
"I think so," Everett observed Peter again. "Roughed up, but all right I think. Going to get him checked by the medic outside."
He left crime scene, carrying an unconscious Peter with him. He moved through the team of agents that swarmed the inside of the house, parting aside to let their new boss through the crowd. Everett kept Peter close to his chest and when he got outside, double-checked to ensure Peter's identity was hidden from view. No need for the press to get word that Peter was found inside Thaddeus Ross's house.
As he made his way across the lawn to the parked ambulance, Everett felt a stir in his arms. He glanced down to find Peter rolling his head up, a slither of brown peeking out of those half-hooded eyes. The kid's face scrunched up in bafflement.
"A-Agent… Ross?" croaked Peter.
"Yeah, hang in there, kid," Everett murmured. "I got you. You're safe."
He didn't know if Peter understood what he said. The kid slowly blinked before his eyes rolled back and he went limp again in his arms. Peter most likely suffered from a concussion.
The EMT doctors jumped out of the back of the ambulance. Dressed in complete scrubs and rushing around like they do in the films, they took Peter from Everett's arms and laid him on the gurney. They were strapping him in, checking his vitals as they stripped away the blanket as they loaded him into the ambulance.
Everett hopped into the ambulance, sidling on the bench next to Peter's gurney. As the medics worked on setting up an IV and determining what to do about his broken nose, Everett took out his phone.
He dialed. It only took a few rings when a strained, wrecked voice answered. "Did you find him?" May's voice came in like a broken violin. "Please tell me you found him. Everett—please…"
"I found him," Everett stated. "I'm taking him to the hospital."
Everett passed Peter a plastic cup of water. "There you go," he said as Peter took the water and drank. "Feel better?"
Peter lowered the now empty cup of water and sighed back into his cushioned hospital cot. "Yeah, a lot better," he sighed in relief. "Thanks."
"Anytime."
Peter came to fifteen minutes ago. Peter's old, raggedy clothes were replaced with a hospital gown. His nose had a splint and bandage to keep in situated. An IV latched in Peter's veins, pumping him with saline. Most of his bruises were already beginning to fade, the hue of his skin turned yellow along the edges of the purple welts. The real matter of concern, according to the doctors, was the bullet wound that someone stitched up with household thread and needle. They reopened the wound, examining and cleaning it before they stitched it back up. Still, they weren't quite sure how infected it got, and recommended an overnight stay.
Peter put the cup on his tray. "How long was I out?"
"I'm not sure," Everett answered. "Found you about hour ago. Head still okay?"
Peter nodded. "Yeah," he went silent for a minute. "Um, what about... is General Ross… is he okay? He isn't—"
"He's not dead. Injured, but not dead."
And that released all the tension built up in Peter's shoulders. They fell in one swoop as Peter deeply sighed. "Thank god," he uttered, his skin smoothing on his forehead. "I was worried. I thought..."
Peter fell into ruminating silence, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. He steadied his breathing. "It's been a long night."
A terribly long night, Everett silently agreed. He looked to the clock. It was near seven in the morning now. The others should arrive soon.
Peter's muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his eye. His lips molded into a strained grimace. His eyes kept flicking to the door, each squeak making Peter flinch his head up. When the next batch of voices moved pass down the hallway, Peter dropped his head back on the pillow.
"My aunt is going to freak."
That and more, Everett thought. "She'll be more relieved you're alive and safe."
Peter picked the ends of the blanket. "Yeah, but… I promised to not do that again," he murmured. "Disappearing like that. I don't… I don't want to cause her anymore problems."
"You didn't," Everett assured him. "And you're not a problem, Peter."
"I know."
Everett doubted Peter's assertion. There was no conviction in the kid's statement. Only a sense of weariness as he scrunched up in his cot. A few hours ago, the boy suffered through a traumatic experience of horror that children should never witness. And yet, the kid acted if he was to blame for all the tragedies that occurred.
The poor kid took too much to heart.
Everett wanted to say more to Peter, but his chance ended when a fluttered of excitement sounded down the hallway from the room. Everett jumped to his feet. Sounded like a lot of people. More than necessary.
He gestured for Peter to stay down. The kid had rose up, sitting straight upon hearing the noise. "That's Aunt May!"
Everett didn't know how Peter could tell it was Aunt May. He barely distinguished any of the voices. It sounded like one, loud voice all together. Peter moved, brushing the blanket away from him.
"No—don't get up," Everett ordered. "Stay."
"But—"
He gave a sharp look to Peter. It was the same expression back in Europe whenever Peter contradicted his orders. For a moment, he thought Peter was going to disobey him anyway, but Peter followed his commands and sunk back to his cot, pulling the blanket back over him.
Everett inched to the door. He hoped Peter was correct and that it was Aunt May. However, those loud sounds are also found in press conferences. If reporters discovered their whereabouts, it would be harder to shield Peter's privacy from them at this location. Too many openings for the press to sneak in for a photo-op. He stood guard by the door, praying that the gaggle of people would continue on without even a glance to their door.
It grew louder. The commotion; right outside the door. Everett reached for his badge, ready to hold it up and block anyone's attempt to get inside the room.
The doorknob turned. Everett strode over to slam it close when it burst open. A brilliant scarlet stood over the threshold. "Peter!"
May Parker rushed to Peter, enveloping her nephew with her arms. Her long, red hair curtained over Peter's face as she held him. Her eyes, beautiful, haunting and glossy as she openly wept with joy, the tears rolling down her cheeks and into Peter's hair. A flutter of murmured words followed in that moment of reunion.
"Oh thank god! Thank god! Peter!" May breathed, somewhat shaky and wetly. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?"
"I'm fine, Aunt May," Peter reassured his aunt, his voice a bit muffled through the embrace. "Really."
Naturally, May didn't believe him. She pulled away, brushing her hair back to get a better look at her nephew. It took less than a second to hear her sharply inhale at the sight of Peter's battered face. "Oh god! You're hurt! Your nose," she gasped. "He broke your nose?"
Peter repentantly shrugged. "He got in a few good punches," he muttered. "But, really, Aunt May. I'm fine. I looked a lot worse earlier."
Everett groaned inward. That was not what any parent wanted to hear. Including May.
Her face fixed in a taut expression. She huffed, fingers digging into her own arms as bridled in her frustration. "I'm going to hunt down that asshole and kill him myself for even laying a hand on you," she avowed. "To hurt a kid! My kid! Oh no. No, no, no."
"Aunt May… don't," Peter desperately pleaded to his aunt. Probably not wanting her to ever confront Deadpool. "Look—I'm fine. The doctors here assured me that I'm going to live and my healing power is really speeding up my process. You see… look!"
Everett checked where Peter pointed. Sure enough, the small bruise around his elbow was almost entirely gone. "See?" Peter said to his aunt. "I'm fine. I'm okay. I promise."
May's eyes flipped from Peter's elbow to Everett's face, searching for confirmation from him. Everett communicated his thought with a tight smile and half-shrug. May nodded once, understanding the silent communication.
She turned back to Peter, brushing back his hair from his forehead. "Peter Benjamin Parker—you're one lucky boy," she said, brushing some gunk away from her eyes. "I was so scared. I thought I lost you again."
"You didn't," Peter said. "I'm right here."
They embraced each other again and Everett began to make his way to the door. He already intruded enough on their private reunion. No need to linger. As he headed to the door, it opened again. Captain America's tall frame ducked into the room. He gave a small smile in Peter's and May's direction before walking further into the room to let the rest of the team entry. Sam followed Captain America, then Wanda and Vision, and last, Black Widow. Unlike the others, who chose to stay up against the wall to give May and Peter some sense of privacy, Black Widow joined May next to the hospital bed.
"Hey, sport," Black Widow addressed Peter. "How you feeling?"
"Okay," Peter claimed. "My healing is kicking in, so it's only a dull ache."
Black Widow smiled, but Everett noticed the manner in which her eyes studied Peter's face and body language. "You got us all in quite a fright," she said. "Never seen a bunch of grown-up men running around screaming their heads off."
That got her a snort from Peter. "Yeah, well, I have that effect on people."
"Looks like you took quite a beating, son," Captain America noted, observing the kid from his place near the wall.
"You should see the other guy."
Captain America quietly winced. "I don't think I want to."
Peter's eyes roamed around the room, taking a view of all his visitors. "I can't believe you guys all came," he said, surprised. "You do know I'm not dying, right?"
"You got us worried," Black Widow responded on their behalf. "Not every day does one of our own not make it back home. Had to come find you. All of us."
Peter rolled his lips in, eyes cast downward in guilt. "Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to freak you guys out or anything…"
May rubbed Peter's back in a comforting circle. "We know, Peter," she said. "We're just glad you're back with us."
The kid nodded, a little smile lifting his spirits at seeing all the support. But, this his eyebrows fell into a puzzling stare. "How did you guys find me, anyway?"
A question that Everett was curious to learn the answer as well. He looked to May first, but she merely glanced to the others in the room. It appeared even she didn't know how they located her nephew.
Vision hummed, floating a bit close the ceiling as he moved closer to the hospital cot. "We were not the ones responsible in locating you," he confessed. "It was another."
"Clint found you," Black Widow interpreted Vision's vague answer. "He called Stark and told him the address. He found you. As to how, we aren't quite sure."
Peter scrunched his face in a perplexed manner. "Hawkeye?" he uttered, craning his head to see if the famous archer was in the room. He was not present. "Where is he?"
"Back home," Black Widow said. "He already knows that we found you."
Peter tried to look happy through his crestfallen fatigue. "Oh… what about—"
His question was interrupted by a knock at the door. A second later, a doctor popped into the room. Dressed in white lab coat, scrubs and ready with a tablet, she entered the room and went directly to May, squeezing Black Widow out of the way.
"You must be Peter's guardian," the doctor shook May's hand. "I'm Dr. Ellis. I was the attending on duty for Mr. Parker."
"Oh—hi! Great, thank you so much for treating him," May said, pulling Peter to her side. "What can you tell me? Is he gonna be fine?"
The doctor hesitated as she conspicuously glanced to the Avengers in the room. Plus Everett. "Um, I'll be happy to speak to you about Peter's diagnosis in a more… private setting."
May waved off the invitation. "No, it's okay. They're basically family now," she encouraged the doctor to speak. "So—how's he doing? Will he be able to come home today?"
Dr. Ellis looked down at her screen, scanning the notes inputted on the tablet. "He's doing well, all things considered," she started. "His healing capabilities are working wonders for him. Overall, Mr. Parker suffered from a minor concussion, so it is highly suggested he be monitored the next twenty-four hours. A bit dehydrated, but hopefully the saline is clearing that up. Some bruising. Broken nose. Oh—and we reopened the bullet wound—"
"Bullet wound!" May shrieked, spinning to look right at Peter. "You said you were fine!"
"I am!" Peter insisted, flustered that his secret was revealed. "It's already healing. I don't even feel a thing."
Everyone in the room suddenly went from relaxed to alert in seconds. Captain America, Sam Wilson, Vision and Wanda all scuttled closer to the bed, eyes searching a bleeding wound over the boy. Faces paling and lips all pressed in a firm line to keep the distraught at bay.
Black Widow came back to the bedside. "Where's the wound?" she asked.
"It's fine, Nat," Peter swore. "Really. It's no big deal."
"No big deal?" May dangerously repeated, brows steeped over her livid eyes. "Peter Benjamin Parker! I don't care! You got shot! I want to know if my kid got shot." She sucked in a breath. "Where? Where did he shoot you?"
Peter gestured to his injured side. "But I'm fine, Aunt May—"
"Better quit saying that, squirt," Sam Wilson spoke up, arms crossed as he shook his head. "It's not helping you."
May looked back to the doctor. "How bad is it? Will he heal all right? I mean, I know he has healing powers, but a bullet..."
Dr. Ellis stared blankly. She had no idea. That was obvious. Then again, Everett couldn't say he knew either. How fast was Peter's healing factor when it came to serious injuries like a bullet wound?
"Oh, um, I'm not… we don't deal with a lot of, um," Dr. Ellis nervously looked at all the Avengers in the room, "with their kind at this hospital, so we can't give an exact answer. But, we will do our best to ensure he receives all the require medicines and procedures to get him back on his feet while he stays here under our care."
"That's not necessary."
No one heard the door open. It was almost as if Tony Stark appeared out of thin air. He hung by the door, hands deep in his trouser pockets. He looked hardly better than anyone else in the room with baggy eyes, rumpled clothes and hair tousled like fingers have gripped them constantly. Next to him was a Korean woman, sleek black hair tied in a bun and compassionate, yet focused mien that took in Peter's full appearance.
Tony tilted his head in her direction. "Doctor Cho will take it from here."
Peter perked up at seeing Stark in the room. "Hey! Mr. Stark."
While Peter was happy, Dr. Ellis looked annoyed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," she said, tone clipped. "This isn't Stark Industries. You don't give orders around here. You don't, nor does your doctor friend here, have any authorization to touch my patient."
Tony nudged Dr. Cho, who handed Dr. Ellis a slip of paper. "This a confirmation of transfer of care, approved and signed by your supervisor Dr. Kowinski," she said in a politer manner than Stark. "We also received permission to confiscate all of his medical files to preserve Mr. Parker's privacy."
Dr. Ellis balked at being jumped over her head. But, in matters of the law and legal documentation, she had no authority to deny them. Not that Peter would object to the transfer. He would probably feel better being at the Avengers compound than at the local hospital.
Dr. Ellis exchanged with Dr. Cho, who once again, showed her polite demeanor and thanked the other doctor for her services. But, it only irritated Dr. Ellis.
When Dr. Ellis left, downtrodden and muttering, Dr. Cho moved over to Peter with her own equipment. She spoke with Peter, asking him questions and doing a quick check-up that didn't result in embarrassment. She even lifted a part of his gown to check on the bullet wound.
"They did fine stitch work," Dr. Cho noted. "And already your body is healing. There might be a scar. When we get back to the compound, I can ensure that it heals without leaving one." She straightened her back, examining his face. "Let me take off that splint. I don't think you need it."
She removed the splint on Peter's nose. She carefully undid the bindings and slid the metal contraption off his face. Peter's nose looked slightly red, but it was back to its normal structure and size.
"I think that healed nicely," Dr. Cho noted. "You'll probably still need to ice it. Make sure the swelling is down." She threw the splint and bandages in the nearby trashcan. "Mr. Stark? I'm going to need to make a call to my team in New York. Have it ready for when Mr. Parker returns to the compound.
Stark obliged and Dr. Cho left the room without another explanation.
Peter's eyes followed her, before darting back to Stark with hope. "Does that mean we're leaving now?"
"Happy is making the arrangements," Stark informed him. "Should be ready to go soon."
Stark's half-hooded eyes gravitated toward Peter, but then abruptly turned in another direction. He sauntered over to Everett and clasped his hand in a strong shake. "You did good," he quipped. "Better than I expected."
"Huh-uh," Everett said, half-listening to Stark. He watched May dote on Peter, gently handling his chin to tilt his head to get better lightning on his fading bruises. "Job's not done though. Still haven't found him yet."
"We will," Stark assured. "I won't stop until that son of a bitch is rotting in the Raft."
"Tony," Captain America reprimanded, jerking his head toward Peter, who turned his gaze upon them. "Language."
"You guys are talking about Deadpool, aren't you?" Peter said, glancing between him and Stark.
Stark stumbled in his speech, switching back and forth on what to tell the kid. Black Widow beat him to the punch. "Don't worry about Deadpool," she told him. "He won't bother you anymore."
"I don't know about that," Peter said, his hand sliding over his wound like it reopened. "To be honest, I think he's a bit obsessed with me."
That got heads turning. They all expressed uncomfortable concern about the revelation. Stark, who avoided making long eye-contact with Peter, stared straight at the kid. "Why do you say that?"
Peter shrugged. "Because he kidnapped me to hang-out with him."
"And shot you to stop you from leaving?" Sam guessed as he gestured to where Peter's hand rested over the wound.
Peter moved his hand to his lap. "He didn't shoot me," he said. "That was the first kidnapper."
For a split second, all of their confusion and worries were suspended. The shock of the latest news protected them until it shattered into tiny shards, picking them one by one. May was the first to react. With her brows moving high up her forehead, glasses sliding down her nose, she spoke in a quiet, but heavy voice.
"Did you say first kidnapper?" May asked for clarification.
Peter nodded. "Yeah… he hijacked the car first and then Deadpool got involved," he looked to the others around the room, perplexed at their dumbfounded expressions. "You guys didn't know about this?"
They all gave their respective 'no' responses to his question.
"We thought only Deadpool was involved," Wanda said, speaking for the first time in her heavy accent.
Everett walked back to the other side of Peter's hospital bed. With another individual thrown into the mix, it was pertinent that Everett knew everything. "Peter—I want you to think carefully. Try to remember the best you can," he said to the kid. "Who was the other kidnapper? Did you happen to see his face or how he spoke?"
Peter shook his head. "No, I-I didn't see his face that well and he didn't talk. Deadpool did most of the talking."
Naturally. "Okay, is there anything else you may remember, then?" Everett asked. "A smell? Accent?"
"Yeah, kid," Stark said, siding up next to Everett. "Do you remember anything?"
Peter dropped his chin, lips pursed in thought. "I think his name was Lenny… or maybe Lester. Something with an 'L'," he said. "But he went by the name of Bull's Eye. That I definitely remember."
"Bull's Eye?" Everett repeated to make sure he heard correctly.
Peter nodded. "Yeah, it's his made-up name," he said. "Deadpool said he was a merc."
"Deadpool said this?" Stark asked for confirmation.
Peter nodded again.
Everett sighed. He was completely at a loss of what occurred in Peter's life the past twelve hours. These new surprises spun his head around too many times for him to be comfortable. "Okay, why don't you tell us the whole story?" he suggested to Peter. He took out his cellphone, opening the record app. "From the beginning."
So, Peter told them his riveting tale of what happened last night to now. He detailed Deadpool's rescue, his battle with Bull's Eye and how Bull's Eye was the one who fired the bullet into Peter's chest. Peter, however, was certain that the mercenary didn't mean too ("He was trying to kill Deadpool and I was trying to stop someone from being killed."). He explained how Deadpool saved his life by getting the bullet out and stitching him back up. Peter went on how Deadpool promised to take him back to the compound, but lied. Instead, they ended up at Ross's home with Deadpool explaining that Ross was the real culprit, the man who sent Bull's Eye after him.
"And then I tried to stop Deadpool from killing him," Peter concluded his story. "We got into a fistfight and… to be honest, I don't think that guy feels any pain. I broke both his hands, an ankle and slammed into a table, but he laughed it all off. Like all we were doing was playing around."
Everett thought back to the time Deadpool ripped his hands right out of the handcuffs. Perhaps the kid had a point in regards to Deadpool's pain tolerance. But, overall, Peter's adventure sounded stressful and frightening. Everett admired the kid's stoic and heroic mien he showed to everyone, but he wondered if the kid wasn't the least bit scared and broken over the whole incident. He was kidnapped, involved in a hijack, drugged, beaten and shot. No one really comes out unscathed or unbothered by such an experience. Yet, despite the battered face to prove his ordeal, Peter looked completely content. Maybe because he was safe with his family.
He could not say the same for everyone else. May's eyes enlarged, fixed on Peter. Her teeth sank deeper into her lower lip, hand squeezing Peter's hand a bit tighter. Black Widow's expression was stoic. Nothing. The warmth gone. Just a cold stare, but not directed at anyone in particular. Captain American and Sam Wilson shared bothered looks. Disgruntled and remorseful, as if it was their fault that everything that happened to Peter was their fault. Wanda looked on at Peter with pity and sympathy, as if she too understood the experience. Vision nodded along to the tale, but his lack of emotion didn't mean he had no care. Just that he was trying to decipher the meaning of everything into a more logical explanation. At least, that was what Everett thought the AI was doing. He wasn't certain how Vision worked entirely.
Tony Stark was the only person in the room that didn't even look at Peter. His gaze was drawn to the floor, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Peter with a few hums and grunts. His expression was unreadable. A man who showed nothing. Not even a hint of compassion. When Peter ended his story, Tony spoke up first. "Sounded like you put up a hell of a fight, kid," he complimented and he looked to Everett. "We need to locate this Bull's Eye."
"Did you not hear him?" Sam called from the back. "This Bull's Eye guy is dead."
"Still gotta find out his MO for kidnapping Peter," Stark argued. "And to see if he really was working for Thaddeus Ross."
"I already know why," Peter said to him. "Deadpool told me."
Everyone stiffened, drawing in a small breath. If Deadpool truly confessed to Peter about Osborn's involvement, then they had a long talk ahead of them.
"Peter—what you need to know is that…" May started off, but Peter cut her short.
"It's okay, Aunt May. I get it."
May looked baffled. "You do?"
"Of course," Peter said. "I mean, I should have realized that there will be people after me. People who think I'll be useful to their cause, or think I'm dangerous and should be stopped, or in the case with Bull's Eye, just want to ransom me off." He exhaled deeply, scratching his arm. "Anyway, that's why Bull's Eye was after me. He wanted Mr. Stark to pay off my ransom. Figured I was prime for the taking since I didn't have any other Avengers around me."
Everett thought he heard a collective sigh. He too was relieved that Deadpool didn't confess to Peter about Osborn's involvement with the kid's past and abilities. That would have been a sticky subject not yet to be discussed at a time like this.
"Well, from now on, we won't make that mistake ever again," Stark reassured Peter. "For starters, I don't think I have the money to pay off such a high ransom."
Peter stared quizzically at Stark's attempt to joke on the serious matter.
"What about Bull's Eye association with Ross?" Black Widow questioned, redirecting Peter's attention to her. "Deadpool told you Thaddeus hired him."
"That's what Deadpool said, but he could have been lying," Peter guessed. "He wasn't exactly right in his head all the time. Anyway, Secretary Ross looked surprised when we showed up at his door. I don't think he was expecting me at all. Besides, what would Secretary Ross kidnap me for?"
They were saved from an explanation when a light tap hit the door. Captain America grabbed the handle, cracked it open to take a peak. He must have trusted the other person, because he relaxed and opened the door fully. Agent Sharon Carter slipped into the room, still dressed in her bulletproof vest that she wore when entering Thaddeus' home. She carried a full plastic grocery bag. She scanned the room, eyes lingering a little longer on Captain America, before finding him.
"Hey, boss," Sharon approached Everett. "I got what you requested." She pulled out a pair of pants, shirt and sweater. She looked over to Peter. "You think you can fit into these?"
She handed them to Peter, who looked them over. "Yeah, I think so," Peter said. "Around my size."
Sharon smiled. "Good," she dropped the plastic bag on the side table. "I also brought you some food too. Thought you might be hungry."
Peter lurched to the plastic bag, pulling it into his lap as he opened the contents of a container of Pringles. "Thank you!" he said, munching on the Pringles. "The last thing I ate was a Milky Way bar." He dug further into the bag, pulling out a bag of almonds, Pop-Tarts and a Gatorade. His brows wrinkled in disgust at the Gatorade, tossing it to the side.
"What? You don't like Gatorade?" teased Captain America.
Peter shook his head. "Not at the moment."
Stark's phone went off and he snapped it to his ear. He mumbled a few affirmative before hanging up. "That was Happy," he told everyone. "Cars are waiting out back. Dr. Cho is with him too." He slid the phone back into his pocket. "Kid? You better change into some clothes if you don't want to walk out wearing that gown."
"What about the people outside?" Wanda asked Stark, nervous. "People will notice."
"Not to worry. I already took care of that."
Everett's brows furrowed. He looked back to the door and listened. He heard no sound. Nothing. Not even the soft scuffs of nurses' shoes walking down the hall.
Stark certainly had his way of getting people to follow him.
Anyway, it was time for Everett to part from the group. He had another room to visit. "Agent Carter and I should go," he said. "Let you guys get ready to head back to upstate New York."
May picked her head up. "Wait… you're not coming with us?"
Everett shook his head. "I have, um, another visitor I must see," he explained, "and a few other things. But I'll be back in New York soon enough. I think."
May was an intelligent woman. She subtly nodded her head, demonstrating that she understood who he was about to visit. "Give him hell for me," she said, to which Everett could only tease a smile in response.
Everett dipped his gaze to Peter. He gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze to Peter's shoulder. The kid looked up to Everett, an appreciative smile appearing on his face. "Thank you, Agent Ross," Peter said. "For getting me out of there and everything."
"Seems like that's what I always do when you're around," Everett joked and Peter's eyes crinkled in humor at the memories of their month together. "But, you're welcome. Now, you take it easy. Relax and heal. Stay out of trouble."
"Will do."
Everett said his goodbyes and waited on Sharon, who spoke a little to Captain America before joining him out in the empty hallway with the exception of two security men patrolling the corridor. Everett walked away, looking back at the door for a second before Sharon divulged right into a quick debrief as they made their way to their next visitor.
Everett entered the guarded room. It's been a long time since he'd seen his former boss. Not counting from earlier that morning. It had been a few months ago when he helped push Secretary Ross out of power and watched the man be humiliated outside his own building. It was also when Everett showed his cards, somewhat. In either case, the firing of Secretary Ross and the promotion of Everett Ross didn't end with amicable terms between them. So, Everett wasn't surprised by the ugly glower or sneers at his direction. Not that Secretary Ross looked intimidating at the moment.
His face looked like a mashed grape and his body took on the appearance of a mummy with all the white linen casting on his arms, legs and chest. The former Secretary of State laid, incapacitated by his injuries on a lumpy cot in a dimly lit hospital room. The curtains were drawn, not trace of outside to be seen.
Everett took a seat at the end of the hospital bed. He had a notepad in his lap and a recorder in his hand. Basic materials for a brief interrogation.
Everett took a steady breath. He didn't want to be in the room. He wished another agent did the task of interviewing Thaddeus Ross, but it was his duty to do so. He didn't like it, but it needed to be done.
"Mr. Ross," Everett began, "I'm sure you are aware of the procedure when interviewing—"
His words were cut off by harsh chuckles. "That's it? You take my job and business as usual?"
Everett folded his hands together. "It is."
"How long have you been Stark's bitch?" Ross questioned. "Three months? Seven months? A year?"
"I'm no one's man," Everett stated. "I do my job."
"And it required you to betray your general?"
"It required me to uphold the laws and principles of this country," Everett countered. "Not one man."
Thaddeus Ross let out another throaty chuckle. "Funny. I said the same thing."
Everett believed he did believe that what he was doing was for the good of the country. "Every person says it," he said. "Only a few ever mean it."
He took the recorder and clicked the button. The tape began to move. "My name is Everett K. Ross, I'm with the CIA and head of the Enhanced Human Unit," he began, speaking clearly in the recorder. "Please give your name, address, description and occupation in a loud voice."
The former Secretary of State scoffed. "What is this? What are you trying to pull?" he growled. "I'm the victim here! I was attacked!"
"Sir, we are just trying to get a statement," Everett calmly replied. "There's no need to be agitated. We have yet to press any charges—"
"I'll be pressing charges!" Thaddeus snarled. "On both of them! The lunatic and Spider-man! I want them arrested! They attacked me! They barged right into my house and attacked me!'
Everett sucked in a deep breath. He could do this. Just needed a single statement. "Sir? Please just state your name, address, description and occupation," he tried again. "Then you may give a full statement of what occurred in your house."
"Fuck you, Everett!" Thaddeus snapped at him. "What? You think I don't know what you're trying to do? You have been stabbing me in the back this whole time! Working against us. I saw how you treated that Spider-kid. You care for him.
"Let me guess… your trip to Wakanda early this year had nothing to do with Wakanda, right?" Thaddeus grilled into Everett. "You were protecting him, weren't you? That kid? That… freak! That's what you were doing, wasn't it? And Agent Carter was helping you. Wasn't she? Yeah—I didn't trust that girl. I did trust you though. Should have guessed that one of my own would betray me."
Everett squeezed his pen a little too tight. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ross," he said through clenched teeth, trying his best to keep his tone leveled. "I am not at liberty to speak about work business with civilians. Please, state your name, address, descry—"
"Not at liberty?!" Thaddeus roared, his face turning dark. Almost to a crimson color. "I brought that division up with my bare hands! I made it the elite squad it is today! And you go off telling me that you're not at liberty to talk about the very thing I created? I sacrificed my entire life to this country and you—damn you, Everett! You and your comrades will bring this country to hell!
"Take that as my statement!" Thaddeus raged on. "Record that I know you and Iron Man and Captain America and, especially Spider-Man, will bring this country to ruin! This country could have been great! I could have made it great! So, you write that! And write that I'll being charging Spider-ass with a felony. Along with his pal too! Did you get all that, Everett?"
Thaddeus finished with a slurred sneer. Everett stared, shoulders drooped in exasperating disappointment. He should have expected that Thaddeus Ross would be uncooperative. Their quick interaction at his house already demonstrated Thaddeus' animosity of him. Still, Everett would have thought Thaddeus would cooperate with an investigation regarding himself. Apparently, the vengeance has yet to be gratified.
Everett stopped the recording. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ross," he said, getting up from his chair. "I'm sorry things turned out the way they are, but I have no regrets. I did my job to the full extent. I take my oath seriously. And while you and I have different thoughts on what it means to be patriotic, we both did what we had to do. Doesn't mean I don't respect you… well, at least, I used to respect you. Not anymore."
Everett marched to the hospital door, turning his back to the smoldering carcass of a former general. "Oh, before I forget," Everett turned once more back to Thaddeus, "this is a criminal investigation. You are not allowed to discuss what occurred with anyone other than the initial investigators. You may tell your attending doctor what caused your injuries, but nothing more. You are not to leave the county and you must be available at all times. You also have a right to attorney—"
Thaddeus Ross blinked, brows crinkling in disgruntlement. "Wait a minute… are you charging me with a crime?"
"Not yet," Everett replied. "But, you did have a kidnapped boy in your house. It's not looking too good for you right now. So… I figured I should warn you now before you make a regrettable mistake." Everett opened the door, a police guard stood at attention, saluting him. "Get well soon, Mr. Ross. I'm sure you would prefer not to be rolled into court."
Everett closed the door as Thaddeus threw accusations and slurs at him. Everett didn't hear a thing. He walked on, meeting up with Sharon at the end of the corridor.
Sharon, arms behind her back, rocked on her feet with anticipation. "How did it go?" she asked.
"As good as it could go, I guess," Everett said as they walked away from Thaddeus' guarded room. "Still mad."
"Figures," Sharon said, walking side-by-side with Everett. "You know, I never liked him anyway. He always tried to belittle me."
"It's mutual for him too," Everett remarked to which Sharon smiled, happy to learn she was a pain in the ass to Thaddeus too. "Did the agents find anything after I left the house?"
And Sharon's smile faltered. "I'm afraid not, boss," she admitted. "We searched the place, but came up empty handed. Nothing involving Peter Parker was found in his house, except Peter Parker himself."
Everett curled his nose in disbelief confusion. "But, then why did Deadpool bring Peter all the way out there? Peter said that Deadpool claimed Thaddeus was partners with Bull's Eye."
Sharon looked lost. "Bull's Eye, boss? Who's that?"
Then Everett remembered that Sharon missed Peter's statement. "It's a long story, but Peter partook in two kidnappings last night."
"What?"
"I know," Everett said as they reached the hospital doors that led them out to the parking lot. "Apparently, Thaddeus had some kind of involvement with the first kidnapper, but… I don't know. Peter said there was a chance Deadpool was lying," he said. "Apparently, he's not exactly sane."
"From what you told me about him," Sharon said, cringing at her ruminations of what Everett told her about Deadpool. "He probably isn't. So… what? Why would Deadpool bring Peter to Thaddeus if there was no link to the kidnapper? I… how did Deadpool even find Thaddeus' home address in the first place?"
"Exactly," Everett said, heading to the car Sharon unlocked. He stopped and looked across the hood to her. "There's something else happening. Some reason, Deadpool is one step ahead of us. He knows something."
"And we gotta figure out what that is."
Everett bobbed his head in agreement. "Let's go back to Thaddeus' house," he told her. "I want to take a look of the place myself."
"Really? But our team swept it."
"Not with my eyes," Everett said, tapping on the hood of the car. "Okay, let's go. There's gotta be something there. Something they missed."
Sharon obliged her boss and got into the car. She revved up the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of the crime scene. Everett gazed out the window, making a list of all the evidence he knows and trying to tie them all together. Deadpool probably had a million reasons why he took Peter to Thaddeus' house, but only one reason truly mattered. Deadpool didn't beat the crap out of Thaddeus for fun while Peter laid unconscious. Deadpool wanted something.
Perhaps he even got it?
Well then… shit.