Man Behind The Mask
True to his word, Clint had arrived back at the compound within the hour. He was sitting with the others when Stephen and Tony re-entered the R&D room, having a brief but quiet conversation with Pepper when he noticed them both entering.
“This the magician?” he asked, sharply — right down to business as he stood from the round table.
Natasha’s brief nod answered his question. The others didn’t move, too engrossed in reviewing the new information to be bothered.
Steve, in particular, seemed to be in deep thought; staring at the holographic screens in front of him with such intent focus on his face it was as if not even an earthquake could break his attention.
“Doctor Strange.” Stephen extended his arm, the two meeting in the middle to shake hands. “And please, do not refer to me as a magician.”
Clint quirked an eyebrow, high. “What should I refer to you as, then?”
Stephen let go of the handshake after three concise shakes. “Sorcerer is sufficient.”
Clint couldn’t keep himself from laughing. A few chuckles in and he realized Strange was serious — the man’s expression deadpanned and slightly insulted along the way.
“Sorcerer…are you for —" Clint released his grip on the handshake and looked to the others. "Is this a prank, you guys?”
Tony briskly walked by him, but not before giving him a firm pat on the shoulder.
“No hidden cameras today, Barton.” Tony made a beeline across the room before Clint could even respond. “Pepper!”
Rising from her seat at the table, Pepper immediately jogged over to meet Tony, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floors as she did.
“Tony, what is going on?” A pause stole her pace, and her forehead creased as she took in Stephen's appearance. “Who is this?”
Tony waved his hand dismissively. “Long story, no time to explain. I need your help.”
Pepper frowned. “With what?”
It didn’t take much for her to realize the severity of the situation. Tony, who had been drinking himself into oblivion most of the day, had quickly sobered up. There was a light in his eyes that she saw all too often, a sparkle of determination and purpose — but this time, it seemed almost frenzied.
Whatever he called for, it was important.
As if sensing her acknowledgement, Tony locked eyes with her. “I need you to comb through the employee database for anyone who may have quit, resigned, no-showed — anyone from Stark Industries who was assigned to the compound and who left the company in the past two weeks. I need their names. Now.”
“What — why?” Pepper knitted her brows, beyond confused at this point. “That’s something FRIDAY can do. That’s something anyone can do.”
Tony nodded.
“Yes.” He then shook his head. “But I don’t trust my technology right now.”
“You don’t trust…” Pepper gaped. “Tony, you gotta tell me what’s going on.”
Tony worked his jaw, hard enough to hear the crack across the room. “I don’t think I can get you up to speed fast enough —”
“Try.” Pepper narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. Giving a tone that wasn't to be argued with.
Tony heaved an exaggerated sigh as he ran his hand through his unkempt hair. He briefly looked to the ceiling, not that there was anything that caught his attention. Rather, it gave him a brief moment to find composure —
It never came.
He didn't expect it to.
His gaze turned back to Pepper before she had even blinked.
“Okay, well for starters, the wizard here is telling us Parker is still alive, and —"
Pepper’s eyes went wide. “Peter’s still alive!?”
It was Tony’s turn to look at her disapprovingly. He cocked his head to the side, and she winced in response.
“Sorry." Pepper grimaced hard enough to show her teeth beneath her lipstick. "Continue.”
Tony didn't miss a beat. “I think the chameleon helmet was stolen by someone from within Stark Industries."
That was enough to catch the attention of the others. The team quickly turned their focus on the two; even Steve, pulling away from the holograms and walking towards them with heavy purpose in his footsteps.
“You think we’ve been compromised?” Steve asked.
Tony nodded, wordlessly.
It was enough of an answer for Steve, who softened at the obvious weariness that etched deep lines on the man's face.
“What did you see?” Wanda cautiously approached them both, with her arms tightly wrapped around herself. “When he looked in your head, what did you see?”
“I didn’t see anything,” Tony declared, nodding his head to Strange. “He, on the other hand…”
All eyes looked to Stephen. Despite the attention, he stood tall; not one to be intimidated by the growing tension. And the room was brimming with it, reaching every corner and every wall in a way that felt suffocating. The extremely late hour of the night did nothing to steal the rising stress at play.
"I saw a glimpse of the future as it stands right now," Stephen began to explain. He looked to multiple occupants as he spoke. "The time stone showed me Stark — or at least, a version of him, running his company, but not as before. He was vicious, cruel. It was what I’d easily compare it to as dictatorship." Stephen found Steve's eyes and stayed on the him. “Of all lives and possibilities for me to witness, and that is what was chosen...I assure you, none of it felt right.”
Tony pointed a sharp finger at him. “What’s the word you used?”
Stephen squinted an eye. “Megalomaniac?”
“Yes, that!” Tony turned back to Pepper. “Come on, when have I ever been a megalomaniac?”
Pepper twisted her mouth with a shrug. “You once fired the kitchen's chef for overcooking your Peking Duck.”
Tony made a face.
“That was being an asshole, not a megalomaniac,” he defended. “And seriously, not even the dog would eat that burnt piece of meat.”
“We never had a dog,” Pepper argued.
“But if we did —"
“Okay, I don’t understand,” Clint interrupted, a palm held outright in the air. “What does that have to do with the facility being compromised?”
“If I may vocalize a theory…”
Vision’s voice seemed to catch them by surprise, as if a few members had forgotten he was still in the room. He had been quiet during most of their discussions; not that it was unusual to his character. For him, it was time he could calculate and soak in knowledge. Usually restraining from speaking unless it was vital to the conversation.
“You’ve been quiet the past couple days, Vis," Tony stated, waving a hand his way. "Have the floor.”
Vision stood straight, having been leaning against the nearest wall, and walked towards them all. Yet his attention was explicitly directed at Tony.
“If you are indeed assuming that someone from Stark Industries has stolen the chameleon device, is it possible that the individual is seeking your wealth?” he suggested. “Possibly use this time of weakness in your personal life to steal your identity, and assume control of your company?”
The theory must have been one they shared — Tony was quick to snap his fingers, multiple times, sounding a song that had no rhythm.
“Bingo.” Tony practically bounced on the heels of his feet, the unfolding information renewing what energy his body had lacked. No one would've known it was near midnight with how he expelled his excitement.
Stephen wasn't on the same page. He titled his head, confused. “And this chameleon device is…?”
The silence that followed spoke of their reluctance to answer the question. Every eye turned to Tony, Pepper included. The stares they gave were similar across every face — accusing, and irked.
Despite the room staring him down — even Rhodey seemingly furious with him — Tony spread his arms out wide.
"It's helmet containing microchip, nanobot technology that scans and recognizes up to 1.4 billion facial features, analyzing the appearance of any moving, walking, talking thing to duplicate via electrical impulses through its sensors,” Tony said, presenting the information like he would at any Stark Expo.
Stephen wasn’t impressed.
He was astounded, seemingly dumbfound, but was far, far from impressed.
“Why..." Stephen started to say. "In God’s name, would you create something that dangerous?”
“Um,” Bruce pointed his pen in Stephen's direction. “I don’t think you know Tony that well.”
Tony rolled his eyes with exasperation.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” he snapped, giving Bruce a heated side-glare along the way. “It was to help us. Make things easier for us. It wasn’t supposed to get in the wrong hands!”
“Okay..." Clint drawled out, shaking his head briefly to rid himself of the back-and-forth. "If that's the case, how does this Mysterio fit into any of that?”
It was Natasha who seemed to catch on before anyone else. Clint could see it in her eyes; a glisten that got brighter with the passing seconds.
“Wealth,” she simply stated. "He wanted money. And partnering with someone who has plans to assume the life of a billionaire...that's a sure fire way to get some.”
Clint thought he shook his head hard enough to rid his confusion; the knowledge of an infiltration plenty to throw him for a loop. Whatever Natasha dropped his way certainly didn't clear any cobwebs in his head.
Scrubbing along the length of his face — clearly overwhelmed with what the team had encountered during his absence — and he struggled to grasp the new information thrown his way. Not even two hours ago and he was in Iowa, mourning alongside the rest of the team.
Now there was a possibility — a reality — of the kid still being alive.
And in need of a rescue.
It was enough to, at the very least, keep Clint grounded from the weirdness of it all.
Pepper, on the other hand, wasn’t there yet.
“Tony, this is insane,” Pepper stressed, grabbing Tony's arm and pulling her towards him — and away from the others.
Tony nodded along with each step they took away from the round table. “I know, I know."
Pepper shook her head as he nodded his. “You need to get security on this, and the FBI, and —”
“I know, I know.”
Tony kept nodding. Pepper kept shaking her head.
“This is not normal!”
He threw his hands in the air. “It’s our normal!”
Pepper nearly scowled. If she did, the sound of her high heels overtook it.
“If this guy has already infiltrated the company — no, this isn’t even up for discussion." Pepper gripped Tony's arm hard enough to keep him from nodding one more time. "A child was kidnapped, Tony, and who knows —"
“Listen, sweetie." Tony gently grabbed the arm that held his. “I know its a long shot. And I’m a broken record when I say this...but you are the most capable, qualified —”
“Trustworthy person you know.” Pepper sighed, heavy enough to visibly lift her chest. She looked to the ceiling, as if she was counting each tile that stood above them. Judging from the way her lips mouthed, soundlessly, Tony had to assume she was doing just that.
It wasn't until a hot second passed that she returned her gaze to him.
“Give me an hour.”
Tony smiled back at her in a way that she hated — because he knew it made her melt right in her heels.
“Thank you.” His gratitude was the most he could offer her right now. He almost turned away, watching as she departed the R&D room, all before calling out. “I love you!”
Pepper briefly turned to look at him as she left. The nod of her head spoke the words for her. Her demeanor was nothing short of hurried; charging out of the room with a new found purpose.
There was barely a break in conservation before Clint sat down — or more accurately plopped down — in an empty chair by the others. At the same time, he tightly folded both arms over his chest.
“So, while she’s doing that.." Clint looked around the room, suddenly as tired as the others. "Somebody want to fill me in on all this?”
Peter woke up gagging.
It arrived harsh from his throat, burning in his chest like acid. The second retch came just as quickly, taking control of his body and pulling him inward with convulsions and spasms that rattled his core. Vomit rushed up his esophagus before he was even aware that he was awake, pouring out from his mouth and into the oxygen mask strapped around his face.
Gross.
His head screamed and his lungs ached — like he'd taken a good inhale of construction dust from the apartment complex down in Brooklyn, the one that had been vacant for years now. Each inhale felt red hot and raw, and he struggled to catch his breath, every expansion of his lungs met with a gasp or gurgle of his own stomach’s content.
Double gross. Every time he took a breath in, he was unintentionally sucking the fetid mess back into his mouth; riding through the waves of sickness as coherency came back to him in slow bits.
'Oh god...’ Peter thought, the words repeating in his head. ‘Oh god, oh god, ow...’
Eventually, the weight on the oxygen mask became too much, the vomit bringing it down far enough for Peter to breathe in fresh air. It sat weakly on his chin, with the elastic straps pulling at the skin behind his ears. The acidic smell that dribbled from his lips made him gag what little bile his body could produce. The sound clucked in his chest, a harsh blend of a hiccup and retch.
Triple gross.
Tears stuck to his eyelashes, and with what strength he could muster, Peter surveyed his surroundings. His eyes were half-lidded, at best. And the darkness was persistent, oppressive; the only illumination being the few flickering lights from above. With no windows to show the outside world, there was no way of telling if it was day or night.
Peter still had no clue where he was.
He wheezed greedily, gasping like a fish out of water. It wasn’t until he had replenished his body with the cold, musty air from the room that Peter realized just how sweet and nauseating the gas had been. Like rotten candy found deep in the Hudson River.
And he had been inhaling it, for who knows how long.
It wasn’t just chloroform. No way could it just be chloroform.
‘Hallucinogenic…’ he trembled and spluttered in panic, eyes open though glazed and unfocused, pupils dilated like space saucers. He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t go under that crap again. There was no telling how much time had passed — all he knew was that it felt real, and it felt bad. The idea of experiencing that again was enough to make him hyperventilate, causing him to choke on the messy spill around his mouth.
His head hurt so much. Peter knew he needed to focus, but the task had become incredibly difficult.
Shit, he'd never even been high before. He never experimented with drugs, not once. The only other experience he had even remotely close to this was when he got his wisdom teeth taken out. And even that didn't make him feel this foggy in the head.
Around him, Peter could barely make out two outlines — blurry, fuzzy figures moving and talking. Their voices were muffled and distant. It seemed to take forever for his brain to click on, like a switch that slowly flipped up.
It reminded him that he was in trouble — big trouble. These were bad guys, they took him, and he needed to get away from them.
Their conversation was indecipherable to his ears. Peter ultimately stopped trying to focus in on it, settling for ignorance and sinking into a stupor.
He needed a strategy, a plan to escape.
But he was so disoriented. And afraid.
Afraid that if he went under again, the delusions would be worse.
Afraid that waking up would be more painful.
Afraid of waking up here, wherever here was.
The confidence he had when he was first taken was long gone. Peter knew, deep down in his cramping gut, that he needed help. He couldn't get out of this by himself.
Each breath started to turn shallow, and it was only when an exhale came out of his mouth as a frail rasp that Peter realized he wasn't breathing quite as strong as before. Distantly, somewhere in the back of his clouded mind, he knew that was a sign of trouble. Faintly though, he assumed it was a good thing — considering the mask still hung low to his chin, and hissed out dangerous gas that tickled his nostrils.
If he didn’t breathe as hard, he wouldn’t breathe as much in.
That was a good thing — he needed to stay focused.
The metal that wrapped around his arms and connected him to the wall became the only thing holding him up. His body slumped forward and only rose with each wheeze from his chest. Peter never really understood the difference between losing consciousness and falling asleep before. He was naive in thinking they were both similar.
Now he could tell what it felt like to be on the verge of passing out. His skin suddenly felt flushed, hot and sweaty and cold all at the same time. His heart beat wildly; fast and out of sync. This was nothing like falling asleep. It made him lightheaded, and incredibly dizzy. His muscles shook with tremors that reminded him of when he would skip lunch and his blood sugar got too low.
For all he knew, that's exactly what was going on. He couldn't even remember the last time he ate. And ever since the spider bite, Peter discovered skipping a single meal meant trouble for him. His metabolism had gotten fast — too fast. Not eating equaled trouble.
Yeah. He needed help.
Peter swallowed, as hard as his throat would allow him. He needed to stay focused. What would Mr. Stark do in this situation?
‘He’d escape…" Peter scoffed a weak chuckle. 'With a box full of scraps.’
He should have listened to the team back at the bridge. Maybe backup was a good idea after all. There wasn’t even any point in him going inside that building — it was obvious nobody needed help. He'd had been tricked. Mr. Stark had to be furious at him disobeying their orders and getting into this mess.
Especially considering they thought he was dead and all.
Right.
That wasn’t exactly going to play into his favor.
Hell, after this, he’d listen to Mr. Stark yell at him until he graduated high school. He’d let the man visit him at college on a weekly basis to lecture him. If it meant getting home, Peter would personally hand scrub each Iron Man suit with a toothbrush.
The voices continued to speak, but they sounded like his head was underwater. His eyes were becoming so heavy.
Maybe if he just closed them for a second.
Just a second.
Just a…
For once, Pepper’s voice was heard before the sound of her high heels.
“Tony!”
While the entire team was quick to look at the door, Tony was the only one to approach it. She practically stormed into the room, file folders tucked neatly under her arm.
He met her halfway there.
“What’d you find?” Tony was quick to ask.
She paused for a moment, stopping long before he did. “You’re not going to like it.”
Tony scoffed. “As if I liked anything that came before this?”
Pepper bit back a sigh, but she didn't hide her frown. Bypassing Tony, she made her way to the round table, spreading out the papers across the surface with one smooth, fluid motion.
Rhodey, Steve, and Natasha were quick to gather them in their hands. They didn't last on the table for more than a few seconds.
“There was one result. Walter Cortez, an employee in the IT department, was last seen the day after the compound was broken into. He never returned to work after that.” Pepper pointed to the documents that Rhodey held. “The strange part is, Cortez was an employee of thirty years. He was hired when your father still ran the company, Tony.”
Still sitting at the table, Sam rubbed harshly at his temple. “Oh god, is this one of those ‘three months until retirement’ situations?”
Rhodey skimmed through the files, his thumb peering them apart one page at a time. “Why would an employee of that much tenure just walk out?”
Tony looked over both Natasha and Steve's shoulders, somehow eyeing both their documents simultaneously — and taking in the information no differently.
“He didn’t. He couldn’t have,” Tony muttered under his breath. “There has to be more behind this.”
“There is, actually,” Pepper announced. She gestured to the documents Steve held. “His key-card was last used the night your chameleon helmet was stolen. According to Happy, he was never on the schedule to work that day. Happy also said he was the employee assigned to review the security footage of the break-in. The last time his employee ID numbers were accessed was to watch the security feed of that night.”
“Oh no, that’s not suspicious at all,” Bruce dryly said, leaning back in his chair while fidgeting with his pen. The cap had more chew marks on it than the hour prior. No one made any comment on it.
Tony turned his head towards Pepper, his brows furrowed tight. “Then nothing?”
Pepper nodded. “Then…nothing. No show.”
Tony looked away, going to run a trembling hand through his goatee as he did.
A part of him wanted to be furious. He wanted to know why no one bothered to tell him this; hating the fact that there was information existing that could have prevented this whole debacle. But even in his frazzled mind, he knew there wasn’t a point. He wasn’t involved in the day to day activities of the company anymore. Even someone like Pepper didn’t need to be informed of an issue human resources could easily handle.
Happy was going to have a field day when he got his hands on this. But outside of that, it didn't involve them.
Until now.
“FRIDAY, get me security footage on Cortez’s last known presence in the facility,” Tony demanded, already half way across the lab as he spoke.
The AI barely needed a minute to process the request.
“Playing now, boss.”
The largest flat screen monitor in the room began to play the footage. Chairs that weren’t facing the computer turned to do so; Tony walked closer to get a better eye on what they were seeing.
One old man, exiting the Avenger’s compound. The video wasn’t even worth a bucket of popcorn.
“Nothing seems…out of the ordinary,” Rhodey noted, slowly discarding his papers back to the surface of the table. No one else reached for them, too busy watching the footage to bother.
It played, rewound itself, and played again. Bruce chewed on the tip of his pen, studying the image intently. Even Vision couldn’t find anything strange.
Tony pursed his lips with confusion, and just when he was about to disregard the theory, Natasha’s voice cut through.
“No.”
They all turned to look at her.
Slowly, Natasha began to reach Tony's side. One step at a time.
“There’s something here," she stated, at first almost too quiet to be heard. Bruce's chewing on the top of his pen was louder than her voice.
Tony heard it, nonetheless. Impressed, he watched as she walked even closer to the monitoring, surpassing him in distance and standing close enough that her nose practically touched the screen.
“Pull up previous footage from earlier this year.” Natasha didn’t look away when she spoke.
Tony looked at the ceiling. “You heard the woman, FRI.”
The AI was dutiful in responding to the request. Two separate screens appeared before them, one playing the footage they had already watched, the other dated earlier in the year.
They all remained silent. Even Stephen, with a cloak catching a breeze that didn't exist, wasn't able to find a difference in the videos.
Natasha, however, studied them like school work. Her eyes moved at a rapid pace, darting back and forth between both screens in a way that made Tony dizzy just looking at her.
“That’s not Cortez." The silence broke when she pointed to the screen on their left, the one replaying events dated last week. “Watch…the man on the right, he has a mild limp. His knee buckles every third step, and he has a twitch in his left arm.”
Sam made a face.
“There could be many reasons for that,” he argued, leaning back so far in his chair that it cracked the bones in his back. “Maybe he went on medication? Off medication?"
Natasha didn't seem sold on his assumption.
“Maybe…” she hummed, low in her throat and only audible in the silence that followed. Suddenly, she pointed to the screen in front of her. “But that doesn’t explain his hair.”
Natasha used her fingers to zoom in on the footage, pinching them tightly together before spreading both her arms outward. She then tapped the smart screen and paused the image, right as the man had his back turned to the cameras.
“That’s a wig," she neatly deduced.
Pepper’s jaw practically dropped to the floor.
“How can you possibly tell…" Pepper shook his head, as if suddenly remembering who she was speaking to. “Right. Of course.”
No one dared to argue Natasha's assumption. A spy would know a spy best, and she was no exception to the bunch.
“So this is somebody who gets their kicks impersonating people…" Clint nodded, seeming contemplative. "Makes sense he’d want Tony's device.”
Natasha was still carefully reviewing the footage, still close enough for the pixels to reflect back on her face.
“I don’t think he ever broke character," she mulled out loud. "Surely not enough for security to catch on and pin him as a suspect.”
Slowly lowering his stack of papers to the table, Steve made steady strides in approaching them both at the monitors.
"If that's the case," he started to say. "How do we find out who was behind the wig and mask?”
Stephen audibly cleared his throat, and took a step closer to Natasha as he did.
“I should be able to assist with that.” A single finger pointed to the monitors ahead. No one made any comment on the trembles that were visible against the glow of the screens. “May I?”
Natasha took a step back, gesturing to the screens. "It’s all yours.”
Stephen didn’t waste time. A few movements of his hands, accompanied by a vivid orange glow, and the entire computer was engulfed in his enchantment. His fingers shook as he concentrated on the task; the surreal magic rendering the others speechless.
Wanda, of them all, seemed the most captivated.
Tony seemed the least interested, turning back on Pepper fast enough to tilt his balance.
“I need you to stay in the compound again tonight," he told her.
Pepper broke her stare on the sorcery, with her eyes somehow growing wider along the way.
“Tony, I have to fly back to — ”
“Conference call, work online, I don’t care what it takes. You can’t leave this building.” Tony grabbed her hand and pulled her close. “This is the only way I can protect you right now, Pepper. Please." Tony kept his voice low enough that only she could hear him, and only she could hear the crack that finished his words. "I can’t lose you too.”
The plea wasn’t just vocalized. It diffused off Tony like an exploding bomb. Pepper knew he would cling to anything he had control over — it was always control with Tony, especially when said control was out of his grasp.
This was certainly one of those times.
They locked eyes for a moment, and the desperation that flooded through his was enough to soften hers.
“Okay,” Pepper said, quieter than even Tony had spoke before. If she'd been just a step further from him, he wouldn't have heard her at all. “I’ll be in the east wing if you need me.”
Tony nodded back, too busy fighting for composure to say anything else. Luckily for him, he didn't need to.
Leaning forward, Pepper kissed him gently across his cheek, pulling away only after speaking into his ear, "Good luck."
Tony briefly closed his eyes, letting her words sink in places he needed it most — like his unraveling nerves, close to splintering apart completely.
He was going to need luck.
They were all going to need it.
Luck or not, though, he could do this. He didn’t have a choice — Peter was counting on him.
Pepper hadn’t even left the room before Rhodey stood up, palms pressed firmly on the table in a way that spoke business.
“Okay, so, while that’s happening…” Rhodey briefly motioned to Stephen with his head, “Tony, we need to get in touch with SHIELD.”
Still half-attentive to Pepper leaving the R&D lab, and half-focused on his own nerves, Tony only spun to face Rhodey after a beat too long.
“Uh, no,” he finally said, bluntly.
Rhodey threw him a look.
“What do you mean 'no'?” Rhodey shook his head exasperatedly. “Yes, Tony, they need to be made aware of this. They’re currently under the impression that we got the kid killed.”
“But we didn’t,” Tony argued.
“But they think we did,” Rhodey bit back.
“And remember, they’ve put us all on house arrest as of…” Clint looked down at his wristwatch. "Two minutes ago.”
For those who couldn't see the digital screen of Clint's watch, they turned to the walls instead. Finding the clock in the corner of the room and the digital numbers hitting 00:02 the moment he spoke.
Tony was the only one not to bother with glancing at the clock. He didn't need to know what time it was; he could practically feel it in his bones.
Rhodey gestured towards Clint. “All the more reason to brief them. Let them know we have resources to fix this problem.”
Tony found himself rubbing at the back of his neck, where all of his problems and frustrations seemed to migrate to. As if he could massage away his troubles and throw them in the nearest garbage can. He huffed a deep breath and slowly — slowly — approached the table.
“Okay, Rhodey, take a minute to think of what you’re saying here,” he began. When Rhodey's face grew hot, Tony stopped taking steps forward. “You want to tell SHIELD, that a magical sorcerer is using his magical abilities to magically tell us that the kid is still alive?”
Sam's sardonic laugh cut through the tension like a hot, scolding knife. “They’ll have us all in straitjackets before the sun comes up."
Despite Sam's comment, Rhodey still shook his head. “With the Accords dissolved, we’re bound to report to them. That’s the agreement we made, and we need to stick to it.”
Bruce lifted his chewed-up pen in the air. “In all technicality, I never made that agreement.”
Tony waved his hand in Bruce’s direction. “And is that a mess we really want to deal with right now?”
“We’ll have to deal with it eventually,” Natasha stated, a low tone of regret lacing her voice. Her eyes locked intently on the floor, as if she could sense that Bruce was looking her way.
“I can’t imagine fighting the red tape on this one." Clint made a indistinguishable sound from his throat. "You know how SHIELD runs. The bureaucracy they live by…they’ll want all the paperwork in hand before we can even start up the Quinjet.”
Sam made an equally indistinguishable sound. "Kid's been gone almost two days. We don't got that sort of time."
“Rhodey’s right though,” Natasha countered his facts with her own. “When the Accords were turned over, we promised one-hundred-seventeen nations that we’d resort back to the jurisdiction of SHIELD.”
Wanda hugged herself tighter. “They only allow us to work when they see fit. I will not wait around for permission to save one of my family.”
“Okay, first off — timeout." Rhodey held his hands out in a passive manner. "I am not trying to have another Accords fiasco.” Dropping both hands, he turned to look straight on at Tony. “I’m only saying that if we pursue this without briefing SHIELD, we could end up in a lot of trouble.”
“We don’t have the time,” Steve spoke up, making sure to turn his head towards Rhodey as he did. His voice would've been too low to hear otherwise.
Rhodey shook his head back at him. “It only takes one phone call —”
“And if it were you, Colonel?” Steve asked, sparing no amount of weight in his words. “If you were captured, would you want us to waste every second we had in our hand’s filling out paperwork instead of saving you?”
The room fell quiet. Only the crackling from Strange’s magic could be heard.
Ultimately, Rhodey relented, wordlessly sitting back down in his chair with a muted sigh to follow.
Steve was too busy re-approaching the round table to notice it.
“Peter’s out there…and we don’t know what trouble he could be in. I can’t, in good conscience, prolong a rescue mission. Especially when there’s no telling what we’ll find when we get to him.” Steve looked to them all. “And no, I don’t want another Accords debate either. So I promise you, whatever consequences come from this, I will take full responsibility for it all." A pause separated what he had to say next. "But you have no obligation to be involved. You can choose to stand by us, or stay back. For now, I’m pushing forward. You’ll need to decide what you’re going to do.”
Far off behind him, still hovering close to the monitors that Stephen worked on, Tony found himself grimly nodding along with Steve's words.
“Captains orders,” he bluntly said, going to pocket both hands deep in his jeans as he spoke.
Natasha finally looked at Bruce, who was staring right back at her — his gaze had never let up. Sam and Rhodey exchanged apprehensive glances, and Clint watched as Wanda stepped forward — no hesitation in her steps as she did.
“I joined you in this fight with the promise that we will avenge those who deserved better,” Wanda’s voice seemed pained, determined. It nearly stole the whole room. “I will not let Peter face the same fate as Pietro. I will fight for him with my last breath. While I live, and until I die, I am an Avenger.”
Clint was at her side almost immediately, a curt nod of his head showing his approval.
“Girl said it better than any of us could.” He laid a hand firmly on her shoulder. “I’m in.”
Vision nodded his head. “As am I.”
“Hear hear,” Sam said, hand in the air.
“I’ll help in any way I can,” Bruce offered, though his eyes were still locked on Natasha. A pause bridged his next words. “Nat?”
She hesitated, just briefly, before finally looking his way.
“I’m unfortunately very familiar with playing both sides against the middle," Nat said. "Steve is right, SHIELD will take too long in processing our request to advance. If Peter’s still out there, you bet I’ll be shooting first and asking questions later.”
Something was disturbing in her tone that nobody wanted to question. Tony noted it, but didn’t waste time focusing on it. He turned to the only person left in the room.
“Rhodey?”
The next sigh Rhodey let out was audible, and defeated in a way Tony was all too familiar with. He heard that sigh going back for decades.
“The kid needs our help,” Rhodey said, proving Tony right — not that he needed confirmation on the fact. Again, decades told him all he needed to hear with that sigh. “I’ll take a damn court-martial if it means getting him back.”
For once in what felt like forever, Tony smiled. It was small and barely curved his lip upward, but it was there. His muscles finally relaxed, albeit as marginal as the smile on his lips, but it was more than enough knowing the others were on the same page as him. It had his heart racing a little less than before.
Which was a good thing — he couldn’t handle petty political arguments right about now.
The fact that the entire team would take a hit for Peter...well, that was just icing on the cake. The kid really did have a way with people.
If this didn’t prove it, Tony didn’t know what would.
“If you’re finished here —” Stephen had stepped forward, politely interrupting them.
“Yes, Christ, we’ve been waiting on you,” Tony snapped. “What did you find?”
Stephen took a step back, clearing way of the monitors so the others could see.
“See for yourself.”
The glowing magic dimmed around the edges, the orange still a bright outline on the computer ahead. It revealed the same footage they had watched before, but with a different man on the screen.
As the others gathered around the monitors, moving in closer to get a better look, Wanda stared at it from afar — a sense of wonderment keeping her in place.
“Your magic…” she furrowed her brows, turning to him. "It is able to do that?”
Stephen cocked an eyebrow. “With enough concentration, yes.”
A beat passed. Wanda looked between the monitor, and then back at him.
“How?”
His expression hardened, but he never turned to look at her. The avoidance hadn’t gone unnoticed on her end. Stephen had gone so far to take a step back when she approached him, as if avoiding her presence entirely.
“Pulling energies from other dimensions involves organized, purposeful focus,” Stephen explained. “It utilizes power in a much more precise and controlled way that your chaotic abilities could not achieve.”
The insult hit hard. Wanda frowned, turning away from him and retreating back to Vision, who stood by himself reviewing the footage. Though she found herself looking back to him every so often, she otherwise kept to herself.
With the screens showing them the true identity of who broke into the compound, Tony deliberated on what to do next. It was a nobody, as far as he was concerned. An average Joe Schmo, with just enough clarity to his face that maybe, maybe his own technology could get a pin on the man's identity.
“Alright,” Tony started, already working the wheels in his head five-hundred miles a millisecond. “I’m going to have FRIDAY begin a facial data recognition on this and —”
“Don’t bother,” Natasha’s voice was hoarse, tearing straight through Tony's like a tornado. “You won’t find any record of him.”
Despite the multiple occupants that spread their body heat in waves, a chill suddenly fell over the room. Natasha had a tendency to do that. The tone that coated her words, more-so.
Always the boldest person among them all, always resolute and always firm, it was abrupt when Natasha seemed to cave in on herself. The attention directed towards her didn't help; every eye stared her down, awaiting the explanation that needed to follow her words.
For once, she wasn't eager to uncover the details.
“His name is Dmitri Smerdyakov.” Natasha stared at the monitor, not daring to break away — not even as she spoke. Her expression remained painfully neutral, aside from the crinkle of her brows against her forehead. It added lines where her skin was normally smooth and pristine.
Steve was the first to tell something was amiss. Even at a distance, he could see the way her nostrils flared, and the way color had drained from her face.
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “And you know this, because…”
The way Natasha stuffed both hands underneath her armpits, folding her arms across her chest in a way that risked the structure of her rib-cage, was an immediate red-flag for Steve.
Very little disturbed Natasha. He learned that some time ago, not long after waking from ice and not long after being forced into the hands of SHIELD. Still, even without the knowledge, her demeanor shifted enough that those around her could tell something was up. Something that'd been tucked away beneath the surface.
Something troublesome.
“We worked together," she told them, flatly — bluntly. Her tone stripped of any possible emotion that may have flickered across her face. "In the KGB.”
If the vein on Tony's forehead got any bigger, it would've taken over the monitor that Natasha refused to look away from.
“Okay...” Tony crossed both his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing until they were mere slits. “Explain.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. The whole room knew it.
Tony's eyes bored into her accusingly, his voice practically dripping with anger. If his gaze was any hotter, she'd be in flames.
The fact that Natasha even allowed him to speak to her that way spoke to the gravity of it all.
“It was a long time ago, back in the Red Room Academy." Natasha spared him a glance. No sooner after did she turned back to the monitor. "I was still training in the Black Widow Ops program when I met him.”
Bruce cautiously stepped forward, each step smaller than his voice. “I thought that was a program for females only.”
Natasha's nod was sharp and concise — one single bob of her head.
“It was," she simply answered. "Because of its success, they created the male equivalent."
Steve looked from Tony to Natasha, and then looked back to the monitor. Keeping his eyes there, even when he spoke.
"The male equivalent?" he repeated.
"They dubbed it the Wolf Spider." Natasha didn't grace him a glimpse. The man on the screen kept her attention more than anything else in the room. "Dmitri Smerdyakov was the only participant.”
The ring that followed her words was no different than a bomb exploding, leaving a sheet of silence in its wake. The aftershock of its destruction — of her revelation, was startling.
"The KGB..." Steve's jaw locked tensely. "There's documents you leaked from them that also detail unnamed participants in experiments that tried match the super soldier serum." Steve let a beat pass. "By any coincidence, this Dmitri fella wouldn't happen to be someone who also received the Soviet Super Serum, is he?"
Natasha's lack of an answer was answer enough for Steve.
He turned away with a curse they could all hear, but decided not to mention.
Rhodey looked to Tony, mildly afraid of the growing rage that covered his expression. He turned back to Natasha before giving it too much thought.
“What happened?” Rhodey asked. "To him, to the program?"
Natasha squeezed the grip she had on herself. Any tighter and the seams to her jacket would've ripped apart.
“The program didn’t last long,” she went on to explain. “Dmitri proved to be an effective killer, tenfold after recieving the Soviet Serum, possibly better than all the girls combined with their training. He accumulated more body counts during his time in the program than some of the tenure spies there," her voice noticeably dipped low. "But out in the field, he couldn’t be controlled. He was ruthless. And that’s saying something, coming from me.”
Tony clenched his jaw, hard enough that the base of his neck felt the pain he inflicted on himself. Turning to the monitor — the same monitor Natasha kept her gaze on — and he threw his hand out in a gesture.
“Playing dress up?" Tony asked, his words clipped and frosty. "What’s that about?”
Natasha gave him the side-eye and nothing more.
“It was his skill — obviously still is," she practically mumbled. "He became known for his mastery in disguise. In fact, his ability to impersonate was what caught the attention of the KGB. If there's one thing I remember the most about him — the one thing I took away above all else — it's that he would take any assignment that came his way.” Natasha finally looked over at the others. “Any.”
The stress in her final word didn't go unnoticed.
“Even the dirty work nobody else wanted.” Sam seemed to understand what she was getting at.
Natasha simply nodded. “Those jobs paid the most.”
Steve frowned, looking at the screen ahead with the same lines Natasha had on her forehead drawn across his.
“What happened to him?” he asked, one hand falling to his hip as he stared ahead. “When the program failed? Where'd he go?”
The image — footage that had been paused and magically altered — seemed to twist with each revelation Natasha unveiled. And with every detail she provided, Steve found himself disliking the picture all the more. Suddenly finding an average nobody breaking into their facility to be far, far more sinister than they ever anticipated.
“I don’t know," Natasha admitted — and sounding as upset about he fact as the others. She continued on right through Tony's scoff of frustration. "The last I saw of him was an assignment we shared together in Argentina. It...didn't end as planned. There were unnecessary casualties. He got overzealous, and an entire children's hospital burnt down.” Natasha looked down at the floor, suddenly, with her lips pursed tightly together. “The children never got out. So you can imagine...I was thrilled to never speak to him again.”
Legs of a chair squeaked against the floor as Clint stood from his seat, already three steps closer to Natasha before the sound stopped.
“Nat –”
“Don’t.” Natasha's tone was sharp, hissed through clenched teeth. "Just...don't."
Clint sighed. But backed away, nonetheless.
Steve wasn't as eager to let it go. “You’re telling me the KGB just let this man walk away?”
Natasha shot her head over to Steve, creating a second chill that swept over him with full force.
“No,” she bluntly answered. "He was blacklisted and made an outcast. And from the stories I had been told, when they burn you — they burn you good.”
Rhodey offhandedly shrugged. “And now he wants to assume Tony’s life to…have power and control over Stark Industries?”
Tony's scoff could be heard half way around the world.
“Yeah, well..." Running a hand down the length of his face, Tony blew a hard sigh against the flesh of his palm. "He can take that from my dead and cold hands."
“No. It’s not that." Natasha shook her head, turning to face both men head-on. "It’s not about power. Dmitri… he was always after the money. Everyone knew he took the highest paying jobs, no matter what they were. He’s probably been living his life under multiple different identities since he was burned. Which means he’s probably had this plan for a while, Stark.”
Tony rubbed harder at his forehead.
“At least five months,” Stephen suddenly spoke up, peering up from the monitor that had been the focus of his attention. “That’s how far back his impersonation of your IT employee goes.”
They were directed back to the computers across the way, where Stephen had run through months of footage provided to them, using the same magical spell that had exposed their culprit to begin with. He didn't stop until hitting the timestamp that his shaking hand gestured to, dating back almost exactly five months.
And he was right; the real IT employee left the building and Dmitri, his disguise useless under Stephen’s spell, re-entered the next day.
Sam twisted his lips to the side. "So...'three months from retirement situation,' then."
Steve paid the comment no attention as he crossed the length of the lab to meet where Stephen stood.
“You said you might be able to locate them if we discovered who Klum was partnered with," he immediately cut down to business. "Now that we know it’s this Dmitri person, can you still do that?”
The hum that came from Stephen's throat was deep and thoughtful, and long at that.
“Locator spells typically only work best with a tangible object to connect with, and a blood relative as the source," he thought out loud more than anything. "For example — a strand of hair from your friend Thor provided me with the ability to locate his father here on Earth. It’s the foundation needed to conjure the magic, to tie one individual to another.”
If Tony rolled his eyes any harder, they'd have fallen right out of his head.
“Where’s the ‘but’ David Copperfield?” he drawled out.
Stephen looked at him through the corner of his eye; pausing only to restrain himself from snapping back.
"But if you give me enough time," he settled on saying. "I believe I can find you something.”
A hasty glance to the clock on the wall, and the time stared back at Tony in all the most taunting ways. Midnight was long since gone, and the minute changed on the digital design no later than Tony found his eyes latched to the numbers.
“How much time we talking about here?” he asked, still looking at the clock, though a furrow deepened his brows as he did.
Stephen shook his head. “I’m not sure. Without a tangible object to tie back to Dmitri...at least give me until the afternoon.”
Tony gaped. "Are you seri —!”
It happened so quickly that Tony’s exhausted mind didn’t have a chance to process it.
The thick, red cloak that'd been attached to Stephen’s shoulders suddenly flew off him, wrapping itself around Tony’s head and noticeably covering his mouth. It moved so fast, he couldn't speak another syllable.
What he did speak came out a garbled, muted mess.
Tony stared at the offending object with wide eyes, his hands reaching for the cloth that wrapped around his head like a gag. When he looked back up, he could see Strange staring him down — clearly annoyed.
Rhodey hid his laugh by coughing.
Sam didn't hide his chuckle at all.
Tony shot him a heated glare.
Bruce smirked.
Disregarding the others, Tony looked back at Stephen, pointing one stern finger to the cloak wrapped around his mouth.
"Nhhhgg—" When he spoke, it came out only as a muffled mumble.
“I’m sorry?" Stephen stepped forward, tugging at his earlobe along the way. "I can’t quite understand you.”
Tony tilted his head to the side, and his eyes narrowed harshly, squinting until they were practically closed.
He spoke again, but his voice was still stifled beneath the cloak.
“I still can’t...you’re going to have to speak up, Stark.” Stephen pressed a finger behind his ear. “Unless, of course, you’re saying that you’ll give me the time I need. Is that what you’re trying to say?”
At this point, if Tony's expression could kill, Stephen would at the very least be knocked out cold on the floor.
Looking to the ceiling of the lab, Tony wondered if he had the number of tiles memorized by now. He reached fifteen before looking back down at Stephen, his frustration dissipating enough for the cloak to unwrap itself from his mouth.
Not a moment later and it flew right back onto Stephen's shoulders.
“Okay, first off, that’s gross.” Tony wiped the back of his hand against his lips, multiple times. “Who the hell knows where that piece of outerwear has been. Second off —”
“Tony," Steve's voice cut right through Tony's tangent — stern in tone, but laced with enough severity that Tony didn't even need to look his way to see the somber blue eyes staring him down. He could feel them pierce through his back like a hot poker.
Tony sighed. He hoped the sigh would relieve him of the enormous stress weighing on his shoulders, but like his composure, he didn't anticipate it happening anytime soon.
“Do what you need to,” he settled on muttering. “Just find them so we can find him.”
Stephen nodded. It was short and curt, but it spoke more than his words could.
It, at the very least, told Tony that Stephen understood the gravity of the situation. That stressing find him didn't bear repeating.
“Ms. Romanoff?” Stephen turned on his heels, facing Natasha head-on. “As you’ve had connections with this man before, would you be willing to aid me in this search?”
Natasha immediately scoffed. “Getting inside my head isn’t all that easy. I can’t promise I won’t make it difficult for you.”
Despite her reluctance, Stephen gave a small grin. “I thrive off a good challenge.”
Steve was just as surprised to see Natasha agree as he'd been shocked to see Tony do the same. Both instances had his brows high on his forehead, and he looked between the two with his thoughts kept strictly to himself.
If either Tony or Natasha noticed, they did the same.
Stephen held two fingers out directly in front of him, lifting his other arm as he slowly moved his hand in a circular motion. The act sparked the same form of magic they'd all witnessed him appear in; the bright orange portal leading them to Natasha's sleeping quarters.
Magic was definitely one thing Natasha wasn’t sure she could get used to.
Steve easily felt the same way.
"Nat..." he calmly approached her, one eye kept on the magic portal while the other stared her down.
She noticed. Both him staring at her, and his unspoken concern for her well-being.
“The wizard and I are going to go hold hands for a little while,” Natasha wearily joked, forcing a halfhearted smile that appeared nowhere genuine. “You going to be alright here?”
Steve let her deflection be. Between Peter, SHIELD, and now Dmitri — she was a can of worms not to be opened anytime soon. He held back his sigh, if only to ensure she remained composed.
They needed her for info now more than ever.
“Yeah..." Steve nodded, his jaw growing tight as he turned to the orange portal ahead. “Try and get us something, okay?”
“That’s my plan." Natasha clucked her tongue. "What’s yours?”
Steve hesitated on answering. His own eyes looked around the room, twice over, taking note that the entire team was clearly exhausted — both physically and mentally.
The clock on the wall was approaching one a.m. Steve saw that clear as day as he swiveled his head around the lab.
“Everyone here needs to get some rest,” he answered, his own voice tired. “I have a feeling that we have a fight approaching. One we all need to be prepared for.”
Though Steve knew the others wouldn't have a problem following through on his orders, he was mildly surprised to see Tony immediately clear out of the room. Even more surprised that he practically ran out, quick to depart before another word could be said.
Steve had a feeling Tony wasn't rushing to get any sleep.
Down the hall and a few corners to the left, the double doors to Tony's workshop automatically opened for him.
“FRIDAY?” Tony hadn’t even reached the nearest computer console before he was speaking to his AI.
“Yes, boss?”
He collapsed into the nearest chair, the wheels sending him rolling across the floor until he reached his U-shaped steel table.
“Mark 37— tell me, what are the statistics, where do we stand with it?”
Tony was quick to rattle off demands. Luckily for him, he built his AI to respond even faster.
“The project is currently 87% percent complete. Would you like me to bring up journal data to review the remaining requirements that will need to be completed before the suit can become functional?”
"No need, FRI." Tony shook his head, already at work on the holographic keyboard beneath his hands. "Take the project and copy it to a new hard-drive, and bring up the schematics and blueprints for the original design. We’re going to be tweaking it around a little bit.”
He watched as the blue holographic screens appeared in front of him, one at a time.
“Project data copied. Would you like to rename the original file folder?”
Tony pursed his lips to the side. “What ideas was I throwing around?”
A pause gave way. Long enough that Tony could hear the hum of his own technology; wires embedded into the walls taking the silence from the workshop. Even the brief second that passed without any noise was too much for him. He was at risk of falling into his own thoughts if he didn't keep his hands, and mind, busy.
"Multiple names have been found," FRIDAY finally answered. “Extremis 2.0, Badassium Nanosuit, Bleeding Edge —”
“That one.” Tony snapped his fingers. And then again, desperate to keep the silence at bay. “Bleeding Edge. I like it. Keep it.”
“And the copy?” FRIDAY asked. “Would you like to name it as well?”
The question had Tony scrubbing at his face, hard enough to shave off the extra growth on his beard that needed a trim. It wasn't the only thing he needed; coffee. Tony needed a lot of coffee to pursue this project tonight.
His hands were still rubbing at his eyes when he answered.
“Preferably, no. Throw it in a protocol bank.” With a sigh, Tony leaned back in his chair. “We’ll call it…’Save the Spider’ protocol.”
“Sounds good, boss,” FRIDAY said. “What changes can I be of assistance with?”
Tony clucked his tongue and scooted the chair away from his desk, the wheels spinning him in a circle before his feet planted on the ground to stop himself. He pinched his fingers together and then spread them wide apart, an array of different screens lighting up the room.
“I want to prepare the suit for zero technological function. Once the nanites build the first layer of armor, I want all of this —” he swiped away the screens to his left, multiple windows spreading out. “Gone. It’ll all end up inert anyway.”
Tony watched as those very same windows began to disappear, blinking away one after the other. Slowly, the room that had been illuminated with the blue holographic images started to dim in darkness. Only a few images remained, and his face became the only object that reflected with the light.
“My calculations tell me that will strip 42% of nanotech from within the suit. You will need to find a substitution to uphold the armor. The neurokinetic user-controlled morphologic nanoparticle bundles can exist within an environment of technology blocking substances, but will be unable to perform further actions once exposed to such a thing,” FRIDAY informed him.
A larger screen appeared in front of him, showing an outline of a man’s body with the suit forming onto it. It replayed the process in a loop.
“The replacement should be able to seal the nanites as a second layer of muscle and protection onto your body like originally intended. It will fail to serve any purpose outside of that. You will not have any technological functions in the suit, including me.”
The news was music to his ears — odd, all things considered. Stripping his own technology was an ass-backward thing to do, but it was necessary. Tony took the image and enlarged it, immediately cataloging the work he’d need to get done. As long as the armor could stay connected to his frame, he’d be set to go.
There was no way he could fight in a nonfunctional Iron Man suit. Even in Mark 46, as lightweight as the suit had been, it would still be twice his body weight. He’d be a walking, useless cinder block in the bulky armor.
No, he needed something that would protect him without weighing him down. Something that would shield his entire body. He didn’t need his repulsor blasts or rockets — his fists could do the manual work for him. He had a feeling they’d be more than capable in the heat of the moment anyway.
“Trust me, it’ll serve more purpose than you think,” Tony muttered.
“What replacement particle are you considering, boss?”
It was a million dollar question, and unfortunately one he couldn’t buy his way into answering. Tony's mind, usually easy to process and compartmentalize, couldn’t focus on one solid object. He couldn’t just tell FRIDAY what he was considering because for once, he was caught between too many other thoughts.
Where was Peter? Was he okay?
How were they going to get to him? What were they going to find?
Would they be able to find him? What was he going to tell May?
Would Pepper stay safe? Was it a smart move to leave SHIELD out of this?
Tony swiped at his nose and studied the blueprints. If this was going to happen, he needed to make it happen.
He needed to focus, and do the one thing he did best.
“We’re going to kick it old school, FRI,” he said. “What do you think of magnets?”
He was a mechanic. He’d invent a solution for the problem, just as he had done so many times before. Because come hell or high water, he’d get Peter back.
There was no questioning that.
Coming to was less painful the second time around.
Peter groaned, his head lolling to the side and resting in the tuck of his shoulder. Slowly, weakly, he forced his eyes to open. They came apart one lid at a time, and even then he couldn't see right away. It was too dark to get a good grab on anything.
The smell hit him before anything else could — putrid and acidic, a combination of vomit and chemicals. The second thing was the film that stuck to his mouth, a layer of his own sickness that had dried up.
‘Ugh.' Peter squeezed his eyes tightly shut. ‘So gross.’
The third thing he noticed was the oxygen mask. While still hanging loosely around his chin, it failed to provide any sort of gas. No hissing, no whirring — there wasn’t anything pouring out. The bile and chunks of sickness had since dried in the plastic, lifting the weight but still not falling back in place over his mouth.
Peter peered his eyes open. ‘The tank must be empty.’
The last thing he noticed was the sound. Or more specifically, the lack of any sound. It was so quiet that his ears were ringing, and he could hear each pulsate behind his temples from the ever-growing migraine. He planted the bottom of his feet firmly on the ground and lifted his bottom off the floor, adjusting himself to sit straight against the wall. It allowed him to better view his surroundings.
He was alone.
The space they were keeping him in wasn’t so big that he couldn’t see every corner of the room. Sparing a glance all around, Peter quickly determined that the Mysterio and his wannabe Bond villain had left him by himself.
Looking back at the now empty gas tank, he realized that if they were smart, they’d return to put him back under.
“Hell. No,” Peter mumbled, spitting to the side what saliva was in his mouth. There was no way he was letting that happen again. He needed to make a move now, while he was still in his own mind and not trapped in some messed up hallucinations.
God, those hallucinations sucked.
Step one — figure out a plan. Peter tapped the heels of his feet on the ground, letting the shackles clatter against the cement. Getting those off would be a piece of cake once he regained some use of his arms. But from his last attempt, there was no way his strength could break him free.
Ada-metalwhatever proved to be too strong.
Peter craned his head behind him. 'But the walls aren't.'
Tapping the back of his head behind him, the echo told Peter everything he needed to know — and he winced past the pain that spiked in his head at the noise.
It was steel. The walls were made of steel.
"Perfect," Peter mumbled, his lips curling upward — just slightly, before the jaded, drugged smile didn't last. The strength that held his head up seemed to vanish, and his chin fell down to his chest not a second after.
Okay, prepare — Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. He needed to prepare. Psych himself up. Make this happen.
Save himself.
Because no one else was going to.
"You got this, Spider-Man," he muttered to himself, slamming the soles of his feet on the ground, bending his knees high to his chest. "You got this. C'mon, Spider-Man. C'mon!"
Peter took one deep breath in,
And pulled forward.
“Grrrra—…ahhh!” he growled between tightly clenched teeth, forcing himself further forward until the seams of his suit began to tear piece by piece, and he could feel the muscles of his arms ripping in two. "C'mon, Spider-Man!"
Peter fought to hold his ground, his boots slipping on the cement as he kept forcing himself forward, fighting against the restraints that wouldn't budge — but savoring every tear of steel he could hear from behind. The wall began to cave and crumble; the more strength he used in pushing himself away from the wall, the more steel that began to break away.
Until finally, triumph broke through him. Peter ripped away with a force that shoved him face first to the ground, eating cement before he even realized what happened.
"Yes, yes, yes!" Peter panted and heaved, resting his cheek on the cool floor. It felt nice. He almost let himself close his eyes before — ‘No time Parker, come on, get up. Get out!’
Laying on the ground felt better than he imagined it would. The chill of the floor eased his flushed skin, and the pressure on his stomach quelled his nausea. Plus, he'd been so dizzy — and so lightheaded, that finally being horizontal stopped the world from spinning.
"No time," Peter mumbled, forcing both palms down on the ground as he fought to sit upright. "Gotta go. Gotta...go."
For once, Peter's intuition kicked in, replacing the role of his spider-sense. It said danger. He needed to get out.
He didn’t need his spider-sense to know that.
Peter rolled to his back, the large chunks of steel attached to him clattering as he did. With weak swings, he practically karate chopped the metal away from his body and ripped apart the shackles around his ankles. The Adamantium straps were still bolted to each side of the steel metal, but he was free from it.
Stumbling to his feet proved to be harder than Peter initially anticipated. His first attempt landed him back on his butt, and his second had him tumbling on his hip. Peter ultimately had to cling to the nearest wall to stand up. When there, he didn't move for a solid minute.
"If this is what drugs feel like..." Peter ripped the plastic oxygen mask off his face and tossed it to the ground. "I won't ever do drugs."
It was only when Peter tossed the oxygen mask to the side that he noticed his wrists — both wrists — were missing his web-shooters.
"You gotta be —!" Peter bit back what would've otherwise been a loud groan. First they took his mask, now his web-shooters?
God, this day was getting worse and worse.
"Where'd they'd put —" Peter shook off the thought before he could finish it, stumbling forward in three large strides. "Later. Gotta get out."
The exit to the room wasn’t far, and he stumbled the entire way there, using the walls to keep himself balanced. Once outside, he found a hallway that contained a fork in his road.
Peter's eyes darted left, right, and then straight ahead.
He settled on straight. It had to lead him somewhere.
In hindsight, he should have known better. Maybe if he weren’t so hazy from the hallucinogenic drug, he would have thought twice about his predicament.
He would've thought that it shouldn't be so easy escaping the room they held him captive in. He would've thought that booby traps were definitely a thing, and there was a risk of him falling into one.
He would've thought, with the fog blocking his spider-sense, he should've been more careful.
Unfortunately, he didn't consider any of those things. And as Peter stumbled forward in the hallway, his feet stepped right on-top of a deck of playing cards.
The glass walls appeared around him almost instantly. Peter didn't even register the difference at first, too hazy from the drugs to realize what was happening. He blinked frantically, even scrubbing at his eyes — scrubbing so hard, the skin felt raw.
All around him was a reflection of himself.
Just like Times Square.
Crap. He activated a trap.
“Are you freaking kidding me!?” Peter spun around, trying to find a source of the magic — pressing against the walls to rid himself of it, pushing when that didn't do the trick. “This dude is so extra!”
Peter tried to remember what had happened last time in Times Square. He vaguely remembered something similar happening — in fact, it was on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t place it.
There was a way to get out of this, he was sure of it. He just had to remember it.
Suddenly, Peter's legs buckled and he fell to his knees, smacking down hard on the ground before dropping to his backside. The drug — drugs? — was still messing with him. His head pounded like Thor's hammer being used as a maracas in his skull, and he was still so, so, so dizzy.
“Great,” Peter mumbled, “Okay...just...just need to escape from crazy man’s crappy fun house. No problem, right?”
Peter's breathing was starting to come in heavy again. He realized it a second too late. With resignation, he let his hands fall to his side, and his head dipped low to his chest. His chin sat there, and for a long while he simply stared at the black spider emblem across his chest.
Once the room stopped spinning, he’d figure it out.
He had to.
‘Because no one is coming for you.’
Peter looked up, his bloodshot eyes reflecting back at him from the glass walls. Perhaps it was the drugs messing with him. But for the longest time, he stared at himself.
He looked like a shell of who he was; still in his Spider-Man costume, without his mask. Like it wasn’t actually him in the mirror.
It didn't look like him. He looked a lot younger than how he felt, a lot weaker. As if, for once, Peter saw the boy everyone else did; young and vulnerable and incapable of handling himself. Incapable of saving himself.
For once in the longest time, Peter felt vulnerable.
Spider-Man made him feel tall and strong, capable of doing anything. Right now, he felt like weak Peter Parker.
He couldn’t save Uncle Ben. He was unable to stop the smugglers on the ferry. And he failed at catching Mysterio before they stole the Chameleon helmet.
Peter Parker was all these things. And Peter Parker was dead. At least to everyone else.
Peter gripped his head in his hands, squeezing his temples tightly to try and steer the pain away.
He’d figure this out. He had to.
Because no one was coming for him.