Chapter Text
PART ONE
Barbed Wire
“Agent number 0810. State your given name and purpose.”
Peter swallows thickly.
“Peter Benjamin Parker. Undercover operator, enhanced.”
“State nature of enhancement.”
Peter recoils away from the harshness of the voice. He clenches his hands tightly. His restraints don’t budge.
“Radioactive spider. Enhancement administered six months ago. Strength, healing, adhesiveness, and enhanced input of five senses. Danger sense…remains uncooperative.” He clears his throat, willing any shakiness out of his voice. “No further progress of note.”
The voice hums. Cold. Calculated. “I see.”
Peter sees dark shadows moving in the distance. He fights not to move, feeling scrutinizing eyes tracing his form where he lies restrained on the cold, hard examination table.
He hears something power up. Pin pricks raise on the back of his neck.
“Well, then. Let’s put that so-called ‘danger sense’ to the test.”
Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight. Feels a rod press against his bare stomach. Senses the electricity pulsing through it.
He takes a deep breath, and lets it happen.
୨ৎ
“Any luck?” Harley asks that night once they’re both back in their room, the steel door shut.
They sit next to each other on Peter’s bed, both in their pyjamas, Harley wrapping Peter’s stomach despite how pointless the action is against his already healing broken ribs.
Peter scoffs humourlessly. “What do you think?”
Harley purses his lips. He looks at Peter with consideration.
“Maybe the spider was faulty?”
Peter rubs his wrists, sighing. “The spider wasn’t faulty, Harley. I’m faulty. They made it bite the wrong person. That’s all it is.”
“Hey. Watch how you’re talkin’ ‘bout my best friend,” Harley chides quietly, shoving Peter’s shoulder. He finishes wrapping Peter’s stomach, giving it a pat and putting the gauze away. “Besides, it’s only been a few months, man. Harry’s enhancement took, like, a year to reach full potential, you know that.”
Peter sighs. He stares at his lap, at the burn marks on his thighs, chest, arms…everywhere. The bruises that the vibranium cuffs left on his wrists. The still healing cuts on his forearm from yesterday, when they had sliced into him over and over again to see how quickly he could heal.
“I know.” He wipes at his face, frustration rising in his chest. “I’m just…I don’t want them to rethink my place on this team. Or their choice to- to pick me.”
“Peter.” Harley places a firm hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Peter leans into the touch. “I can’t think of anyone better to take on an enhancement. I’ve known it since the day I met you. You’re made for this. You’ll get the hang of it. I promise.”
Peter closes his eyes. Breathes.
“Okay. Yeah, okay.”
They are both startled by the loud sound of the door locking – clunk. Their eyes both snap over to it, bodies immediately tensing. It takes them a moment to calm down and realize that it was only curfew.
“Midnight,” Harley remarks quietly. “Better rest up. You got more tests tomorrow?” He gets off Peter’s bed and makes for his own on the other side of the room, pulling the grey covers back and crawling inside.
Peter does the same, pulling his socks off and tossing them to the floor before getting under his sheet. “You know I do. I think it’s safe to assume I have them everyday until I prove they’re not necessary anymore.” He lies back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Which might be never, at this rate.”
“Oi.” Harley glares over at him – even in the darkness, Peter can sense his burning gaze. “What did I say? You’ll get there.”
Yeah. Peter fucking hopes so.
“Yeah.” He turns over on his side with a sigh. “Goodnight, Harley.”
“Night, Pete. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
୨ৎ
The next morning, Peter gets a much needed break from experimentation after the first few tests, and is sent to the infirmary to catch his breath.
“Hello, Little Spider.”
Peter looks up, feeling a smile overtake his face when he makes eye contact with Natasha. She stands in front of him, hands on her hips and a small smile on her face. Peter shifts where he sits.
“Nat!” He grins at her, trying to subtly turn his body so that he can hide the lash marks on his back from her all-too perceptive eye. “What are you doing in the infirmary?” He scans her for injuries, but luckily can’t find any.
“A little southern birdie told me you’d be here.” She hands him a water bottle. “Here. Hydrate.”
He smiles softly, taking it from her outstretched hand. “Thanks.” He takes a swig, exhaling with relief at the icy cold sensation travelling down his throat. “They sent me here for a break, but no doctor will even see me, so.”
Natasha grimaces, just slightly. Enough for him to notice, but probably not anyone else, had they been looking. “They want to test your healing. Medical assistance would interfere with that.”
“So then why send me here?” He asks, genuinely curious.
She shrugs. “To get you out of the way. Sometimes they like to prepare for the next test privately, that way the subject is surprised when it starts.”
Peter nods. “Makes sense.”
She comes to sit next to him, pressing their hips together. He offers her the water, but she just shakes her head. She is far too distracted by the red weeping wounds on his back to pay proper attention to anything else.
“It’s fine, Natasha. Nothing I can’t handle.”
She clicks her tongue. Peter knows from experience that it’s one of her disapproving noises.
“I just don’t understand what they’re getting at.”
Peter feels his lips twitch. “You’re not usually the curious type.”
Natasha had been the one to tell Peter to stop asking questions early on, in fact, back when he had first been recruited by SPHINX.
‘Don’t waste your time wondering what any of it means, little one,’ she had said. ‘It won’t do you any good. We’re simply here to do what we’re told. We do what is expected of us- nothing more, nothing less.’
That feels like another lifetime, now.
“It’s not curiosity. It’s…” She sighs. She is still staring at Peter’s back, her eyebrows furrowed. “You could use a break, is all.”
Peter chuckles. “Aw, Nat, you’re worried about me!” He fans his face. “I’m getting emotional.”
“I’ll squash you,” she warns, but he can hear the playfulness in her tone. “Don’t test me, Parker.”
“Uh-huh,” he hums sarcastically, knowing she’s all talk right now. They both know it.
“I’m alright, I promise,” he continues, getting more serious. “I get why they’re doing it, I mean- my enhancements should be better by now. I don’t blame them for wanting to study them and- and improve them.”
“How do we know they aren’t already the best they can be, though?” Natasha challenges.
Oof. Peter does his best to swallow down the hurt that rises in him at that.
“They better not be,” he mumbles. “If this is the best I’ve got, then there really is no use for me.”
She closes her eyes. “Peter.”
But it’s too late – he’s already standing.
“I should really go. They want to keep doing tests through the afternoon. But maybe I’ll catch you for dinner?”
She sighs. Takes a breath. Nods. “Yeah. I’ll see you.”
He nods back, turning to leave. As he favours his back, he can feel her eyes on him the whole time, burning a hole through his skin until the infirmary door closes behind him.
୨ৎ
“Hit him again.”
Pain.
“Administer another shock.”
Pain. Blinding, white hot pain.
“Initiate 85dB soundwave.”
Throbbing pain throughout his whole head. Blood dripping down his chest, back, face.
“Another shock.”
Screaming.
“Again.”
Fire.
“Again.”
Pulsing heat.
“Again.”
Darkness.
୨ৎ
That night at dinner, Peter is overjoyed to see scalloped potatoes on the menu. So overjoyed that he could cry, actually.
“Doris, I could kiss you,” he says with a bright, winning smile to the woman manning the canteen. Doris, a kindly older lady who has been here since Peter first arrived. “I don’t know how you do it.”
She smiles back, spooning an extra large helping onto his plate. “Gotta keep you full, darling, you’re looking too small these days.”
Peter shrugs. “I’ve got a brand new metabolism, what can I say?”
She shakes her head. “We should be feeding you double, then- no, triple.”
“If it was always your scalloped potatoes, then I’d love that.”
She tilts her head fondly. “Too sweet, hon. Now go on, grab your veggies too.”
He does, leaving the serving table with a heaping serving of broccoli added to his plate. He spots Clint and Wanda waving at him from their corner table, and immediately makes a beeline for them.
“Geez, Pete, save some for the rest of us,” Clint remarks once he gets close, slapping Peter on the back. Peter bites back a yelp and a flinch. Clint doesn’t know that his back is still in the process of stitching itself back together. “C’mon, sit. Warmed your seat up for you and everything.”
Clint slides down so Peter can take his usual spot beside him and across from Wanda. She smiles at him, sliding a chocolate milk in front of him.
He blinks. “Oh. I didn’t realize-”
“I knew you’d forget drink. Like always.” She smirks. “Chocolate. Your favourite.”
Peter feels his smile soften. “Thanks, Wanda. Did they have apple juice for you?”
She answers by taking a loud slurp from her straw.
He grins. “Nice.”
They all dig in, not bothering to wait for the others. Everyone’s training always ends at unpredictable times – if they waited for everyone, they wouldn’t be eating until after curfew (and that is never an option. No one wants to be stuck out of their room after curfew).
At SPHINX, you eat and sleep whenever you can, because before you know it, the opportunity will have passed you by.
“So, Pete, what tests did they have you doing today? Any epic brawls yet?” Clint asks through a mouthful of potatoes.
Peter replies after swallowing a huge stem of broccoli, “All kinds of things.”
Hearing tests. Healing tests. Strength, reflexes, speed. But most importantly-
“Are they still focusing on your sense of fear?”
“Danger sense,” Peter corrects Wanda gently. “And, yeah. Yeah, that’s pretty much the main thing.”
“Do they have a theory for why it’s not working properly?” Clint butts in. “Bad spider, or something? I mean, you were the first to be bitten by one of those prototypes, weren’t you?”
Peter nods. “It wasn’t the spider, though. It’s me. I’m supposed to have this perfect danger sense, but…I don’t know, something’s wrong with it, it’s- it’s going off almost constantly. It’s only supposed to happen around threats.”
Clint hums. “Weird.” He takes a huge bite. “Is it going off right now?”
“Yeah,” Peter mumbles, motioning to the nape of his neck. “It’s really quiet, but it’s there.” He spoons another large bite of potatoes into his mouth, sighing.
“You are the best at undercover,” Wanda says, speaking with a confidence that she doesn’t have very often. “So, even without sense of danger…you are good agent, Peter. One of the best.”
Peter feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He looks down at his lap. “I- Thanks, Wanda.”
“What she said,” Clint adds, gesturing between the two of them with his fork. “Hey, didn’t Pietro’s enhancement take a while to be perfected?”
Wanda nods. “Some time, yes. Two months.”
It’s been almost three since Peter was brought into the laboratory to have the spider bite administered.
“There ya go,” Clint concludes, speaking like the issue has been resolved.
Peter doesn’t have time to reply as Harley, Natasha, and Pietro arrive at the table with their trays. They all take their usual spots, leaving the space to Peter’s right empty as they always do; the spot where Gwen used to sit.
Clint perks up and beams, rubbing his hands together. “No way we’re all here at the same time. When was the last time this happened? Holy shit, family dinner- everybody move down! Peter, stop manspreading- oh my god, this is so exciting! Harley, chew with your mouth closed, c’mon, man.”
As a small consolation, Peter’s danger sense does quiet down to near silence as soon as they’re all sitting down. It’s a nice break, just for a moment.
୨ৎ
They’re in one of the training rooms when it happens.
It’s just Peter and Harley at the time – the others all occupied with training – as they both share a short break time on Thursdays. This week, they decided to go to an empty training room. Harley has been tossing darts while Peter paces back and forth on the ceiling.
“Who the hell did this, do you think?” Harley asks as he pulls darts out of the dartboard. He gestures to what he’s referencing – the crumpled up photo of Captain America that somebody had printed out and stuck to the dartboard. The next dart Harley pulls out tears a small rip through the Captain’s forehead.
“Gotta be some HYDRA descendant,” Peter remarks, looking down at Harley and trying to ignore all the blood currently rushing to his head. “Doesn’t Gavin have some variation of Strucker blood in him?”
Harley wrinkles his nose. “Hell if I know, dude. I just know he’s an asshole.” Harley lines up to throw the darts again, this time hitting Captain America directly in his right eye. “Don’t get me wrong, I get that HYDRA was important, or whatever, but Jesus, they were so fucking-”
“Don’t let Seth hear you say that.”
Harley rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say shit about Seth.”
Peter knows he didn’t. Nobody would ever dare to speak an ill word against their operation’s founder. But whether they like it or not, SPHINX was only founded for the purpose of being HYDRA’s backup operation, should they ever go under. That way, an organization that aims to take down the Avengers could stay on the map that nobody would ever discover. And so when SHIELD and HYDRA went under, SPHINX had the privilege of anonymity to keep them in operation.
“He’s never going to pick you for an enhancement if you keep up this attitude, Harls,” Peter says, as gently as he can. He knows how hard Harley has been gunning for an enhancement to be tested on him – only thing is, he is very outspoken, sometimes to the point of people disliking him for his bluntness. That kind of behaviour doesn’t typically catch the eyes of the higher-ups.
“Fuck the Nazis, Pete.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “Duh.” He pauses, stopping his pacing. “But Seth only cares about one value from HYDRA,” he continues, reciting one of the sentences that they've both been hearing for practically their entire lives, “A strong, united front-”
“-to neutralize otherworldly threats and protect the population,” Harley finishes, nodding along. “Absolutely, I just-” He throws his next dart particularly hard, hitting the captain square in the mouth, “I’m just saying, our history is not exactly squeaky clean.”
“Nobody’s is,” Peter remarks, resuming his pacing. “Certainly not the Avengers. Certainly not Steve Rogers.” He spits the man's name with vitriol.
Harley huffs. “Subtle, Pete.” He walks over to remove the darts, holding them up towards the ceiling. “You want a turn, or what?”
“Right,” Peter scoffs. “I’d rather go for the real thing, thanks.”
“What exactly makes you think you’ll get a shot at Steve Rogers?” Harley asks, doubt and mirth lacing his tone.
Peter clenches his fists. “If we don’t one day, then what’s the point in any of this?” He gestures to the training room around them, to all the equipment and weapons strewn about the facility.
The corner of Harley’s mouth twitches. “Fair point.” He throws another dart, hard. Thunk. “Aim high, then. Go for Tony Stark.”
Peter smirks. He presses a hand to the ceiling, sticking to it for a moment so he can let his feet drop, gracefully landing on the floor. “That’s the dream.”
“Hell yeah, dude.”
It’s as if the universe heard the man’s name and decided to play a cruel joke. Or maybe it was just the strangest coincidence Peter has ever – and will ever – experience in his entire life. But either way, a sudden announcement over the intercom interrupts them, silencing their conversation and turning the air thick with tension:
“Agents and trainees, report to the courtyard. We have a code HIVE. Repeat, code HIVE.”
Peter and Harley’s gazes whip over to each other.
“Avengers,” they mutter at the same time.
Harley drops his darts. They both race out of the room like their lives depend on it.
୨ৎ
Hundreds of them gather in the courtyard – which isn’t really a courtyard, contrary to the title. It’s simply a large area within SPHINX headquarters that’s lined by electrified barbed wire, with a huge screen mounted in front of it for viewing purposes.
When Peter and Harley arrive, the room has already mostly filled out, a live broadcast projected on the screen. The volume is blasting, creating an intense echo that seems nearly overpowering to Peter’s sensitive ears.
“Do you see the others?” Harley practically yells into Peter’s ear in order to be heard over the chaos.
Peter begins shaking his head, before he’s cut off by the sight of Natasha ushering them over from the corner of the room.
“There,” he says, grabbing Harley’s hand and pulling him through the crowd.
When they reach her side, Clint, Wanda, and Pietro also come into view, standing next to her with their eyes glued to the screen.
“Do y’all know what’s going on?” Harley asks, not letting go of Peter’s hand even once they’re standing still.
Natasha shakes her head with pursed lips. “Not a clue. But apparently Stark is about to talk.”
Peter frowns. Tony Stark doesn’t just talk on live national television. He always has someone else do it for him, like CEO Pepper Potts. The last time Peter remembers seeing the man talk on television must have been when his identity reveal was being broadcast on every single channel for days on end. The last time in person? Well, that would have been the 2009 Stark Expo.
The point is, this is more than just a rare occurrence. It’s downright weird.
“No wonder they called a code HIVE,” Peter mutters, mostly to himself.
They all turn to the screen as it changes to show none other than Stark stepping up to a podium. Camera flashes distort the image until he is constantly being washed out by the flickering white lights. The entire courtyard goes quiet, everyone listening with bated breath.
“Hi,” Stark starts simply. Peter fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I see you all brought your cameras. Make sure you get my good side.”
Some kid standing far up in the front actually laughs. Peter hopes they know they’ve just sealed their own grave – if Seth is in the room right now, which he undoubtedly is, that kid won’t be making it to the end of the day.
“Yikes,” Harley mutters, clearly coming to the same conclusion as Peter. Peter just laces their fingers together even tighter, pressing close until their elbows are touching.
Stark continues, saying some bullshit about the Stark Relief Foundation and how it’s improved immensely over the past year, blah, blah, blah. Everyone in this room knows it’s all bullshit.
If SPHINX were in charge, there wouldn’t be enough structural damage or civilian casualties to even need a relief foundation, Peter thinks with annoyance.
“And so maybe it’s this whole sharing and caring vibe I’ve got going on recently, but I wanted to do more. I guess you could say I’ve gotten a taste of what it feels like to help.”
Peter finds it hard to believe that the man has changed or reached any kind of personal enlightenment when he won’t even bother to remove his sunglasses throughout his whole speech.
“We have seen so much support from the people of New York, especially the youth who continue to believe in the Avengers.”
Peter is fighting so hard not to scoff aloud right now. It’s absolutely killing him.
“And so, with the brilliant direction of the delightful Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries- get her autograph later,” Stark remarks, shooting a wink at the nearest camera before continuing, “I am pleased to announce that the Avengers will be paying it forward. And that is why…we will be accepting a foster placement into our happy home of superheroes.”
Peter feels his jaw literally drop.
“What the fuck?” He hears Clint mutter. Many others around them are whispering similar sentiments.
Stark continues, saying some more phony bullshit about ‘wanting to help raise the next generation of heroes,’ and ‘provide the safest of safety nets for the troubled youth of today,’ but all of it goes in one ear and out the other.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Peter thinks disbelievingly. Does he seriously think that anyone buys this charity work bullshit?
“The most PR stunt to ever PR stunt,” Harley whispers.
“He’s talking like he’s got a gun to his head,” Natasha remarks.
Peter has to agree. Stark may have mastered that fake, winning smile for the paparazzi, but this is a room full of highly-trained agents. They can all see through him as easily as breathing. And the man reeks of lies and deceit. It’s all fake. Every single word coming out of his mouth is just a ploy. A strategy.
A game.
The chaos in the room has yet to die down, with everyone exclaiming their outrage. Their voices blend until they’re nothing but a sea of noise.
Stark finishes his speech with a sly grin and one final remark:
“I’m a regular Daddy Warbucks. See ya.”
He tosses two peace signs at the audience before the screen goes black.