Chapter Text
DAY 1
9:00 PM (+ 0 hours)
Peter’s POV
Peter opened his eyes to a hospital room.
Or, at least, that’s what he thought it was. The absence of typical hospital noises suggested otherwise. Perhaps it was soundproofed– though that would be an unusual feature for the normally busy MedBay. Come to think of it, Peter couldn’t remember why on earth he was here in the first place. Or how. He looked down at himself, moving his legs and wiggling his fingers, taking note of the bandages that wound around his appendages and the dull throb of pain in his head. Okay, so he definitely had reason to be in a hospital. And it didn’t look like anything was keeping him in here. But why on earth was it so quiet? Where were the doctors? Mr. Stark? Aunt May? Peter knew Mr. Stark would never let him wake up from an injury alone, in an unfamiliar hospital room. Neither would Aunt May, for that matter.
Panic started to thrum through his veins as Peter considered the possibility that something might have happened to them. Or was he the one in trouble? Waking up alone in an unfamiliar room would probably support that hypothesis. Despite the apparent lack of immediate danger, the eerie silence was starting to freak him out. He had to figure out what the hell was going on.
Peter started to struggle to his feet, tugging at the IV in his arm, only to be halted by a figure emerging from the shadows.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Parker," the figure cautioned.
Peter whipped around, startled as to why his Spidey sense hadn’t alerted him, until he saw who was speaking. He relaxed (perhaps not the wisest decision, but still, at least it wasn’t a freaky unknown kidnapper).
“Fury, Jesus christ! What is it with you and standing in the shadows?” He barreled on before the man had time to respond (in his defense, nervous rambling was kind of his whole shtick). “Look, I don’t know where I am or what happened, but I’ve got to get out of here, Aunt May is going to be worried sick.”
Fury tilted his head, unmoved. "Your aunt thinks you're dead."
Peter's world shifted, and he abandoned his attempt to stand, collapsing back onto the bed. "...What?" he whispered in disbelief.
Fury approached, speaking calmly despite the absolute bombshell he had just dropped. If his head weren’t still spinning, Peter probably would have laughed. "In fact, the whole world thinks you're dead. Your aunt, the Avengers, your friends."
Peter tried to stand up again. There was obviously something going on here that his normally quick mind should have caught onto, but currently his thoughts were bouncing around in all directions like a shitty windows screensaver. He updated his internal mental self assessment from probable concussion to definite concussion . “I— I’ve got to get out of here, I have to tell them I’m not dead! I’m all Aunt May has left and— oh god, Ned is going to be freaking out — and Mr. Stark, he—” Fury interrupted with a raised hand.
"You can't tell them you're alive."
"And why the hell not?" Peter demanded. "Of course I'm going to tell them—"
"Do you value your Aunt’s life, Peter?"
Mouth agape, Peter stared at Fury in disbelief. He felt his cheeks heat in anger, protectiveness for May rearing its head inside him. "Did you just threaten my Aunt?" he asked, his voice low. Fury sighed— as if explaining the situation was causing him some great inconvenience— and stepped forward until he was next to the hospital bed.
"No. But have you considered that the explosion wasn't an accident? Because it wasn't. It was meant to kill you." Fury's words barely registered as Peter's mind reeled. Explosion? What explosion? What the hell happened? Why couldn’t he remember anything? He attempted to voice his confusion, but Fury pressed on. "Do you really think they'd stop with one try? And what if they can't get to you directly? Who do you think they'll target next? Your aunt, your friends— anyone close enough to draw you in—"
"Alright, I get it!" Peter burst out before lowering his voice. His thoughts were uncoordinated, and his head was still viciously throbbing in pain. If Dr. Cho were here, she would probably be yelling at Fury for aggravating his head injury (he almost laughed at the fleeting thought). He pressed his knuckles into his temples, attempting to collect his thoughts.
"First of all… what happened? What explosion? Where am I?"
Fury tilted his head, reaching for a remote control on Peter's bedside.
"You're in a secure SHIELD location. As for what happened… see for yourself." He pressed a button, illuminating a TV on the wall. Peter's sore eyes were immediately assaulted by the headline: 'SPIDER-MAN SUSPECTED DEAD AFTER EXPLOSION FROM UNKNOWN SUSPECT.' Fury flipped through several news channels, all echoing similar headlines. Peter stared, slack-jawed, as one of the newscasters started speaking.
“This just in: Spider-Man was caught in a massive explosion in a warehouse in the outskirts of his own home borough, Queens. So far, officials suspect the local hero was the only victim, and though the Avengers have not released an official statement yet, witnesses and reporters alike agree that there is no chance that Spider-Man survived…”
The newscaster kept speaking, but Peter tuned him out, eyes zeroing in on one particular image— it was blurry and grainy, as if taken on a bystander’s phone— but it was unmistakable.
Iron Man, carrying the almost unrecognizable body of Spider-Man from a blackened and burned building complex, still ablaze in some places.
Peter gasped, gripping his head as memories flooded back. "Shit."
~ ~ ~
Day 0
3:00 PM (- 30 hours)
"Come on, man, please?" Peter pleaded. "You're my guy in the chair! You're supposed to help me with things like this."
Ned shot him an exasperated look. "Peter, the last time I hacked into your Spidey suit like this, you ended up locked in a vault in DC and missed Nationals."
"Well, yeah, but there's no Nationals this time, and I'm not even planning to go stalk a supervillain! It's literally just a potential drug ring," Peter argued, imploringly.
Ned sighed, as if ‘not even planning to stalk a supervillain’ and ‘just a potential drug ring’ were considered reassuring phrases to hear from your best friend (coming from Peter Parker, they were). "If there's no trouble, then why do you want me to hack the suit?"
"Well, the warehouse is on the outskirts of Queens— not that far out, but it's still technically outside the city. Mr. Stark has this stupid alert set up that pings him every time I leave the city boundaries," Peter explained, rolling his eyes.
Ned gave him a strange look. "I still don't get what the big deal is. Can't you just explain that to Mr. Stark if he asks?"
Peter sighed. "If I have to explain this, I'll have to rehash everything that I've been doing to track down the drug ring, and I really just… don't want to do that." Ned opened his mouth, presumably to ask something along the lines of ‘why not’, but Peter kept talking, trying to clarify his reasoning.
"Look, Ned, it's not that he explicitly wouldn't let me go to the warehouse, but he can be… a little too overbearing sometimes when it comes to things like this. He's never banned me from investigating drug rings, but I know he would disapprove if he found out how involved I am in it. He thinks it's too dangerous for a 'friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,'" Peter said, using air quotes.
The echo of Mr. Stark's cautionary words about Vulture's technology a year ago lingered in his mind. He wasn’t lying , per se. Though he hadn't explicitly discussed going after drug rings with Mr. Stark (and thus had never been officially banned), he had sensed the concern-bordering-on-disapproval whenever he mentioned a drug bust on patrol. Eventually, he stopped bringing them up, sticking to mugger stories instead. (It was the same tactic he used on May to stop her from worrying, but he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell for too long on that particular thought).
Ned hesitated. "Well… you know how messy the drug gangs can get. Maybe it isn't the best crowd to get involved in," he said uneasily, reluctant to argue with his best friend. Peter rolled his eyes once more.
"When you say it like that, you make it sound like I'm taking the drugs," he retorted jokingly. "Look, they might not even be there. It's just a potential location from a tip I heard going around; it's not like I know there's a drug deal about to happen, and I'm planning to bust it with no backup. Chances are, I'll go there, scope it out, nothing will happen, and I'll come back. No need to alert Mr. Stark and try to explain all of this to him beforehand. Besides, I'll tell him eventually; I just want to have a stronger case and more evidence when I do, to show him that I'm not running into this headfirst like a naive kid. And if I try to explain that to him before, it'll just lead to a back-and-forth argument that'll waste time I don't really want to spend for the same outcome."
Noticing Ned's wavering hesitation, Peter softened. "Hey, I promise if I get there and I'm in way over my head, I'll call Mr. Stark. I swear. It's just… the police aren't really dealing with this, and the Avengers aren't called in for things like this either. People are dying, Ned, and if Spider-Man doesn't protect them, who will?"
At that, Ned finally caved, heaving out a big sigh. "Fine. As long as you promise to call Mr. Stark if you get into trouble." Peter was already nodding, willing to agree to pretty much anything as long as Ned did what he asked, but his best friend was still talking. “But I’m not going to totally remove the tracker like I did last time, I’m only promising to disable the alert Mr. Stark gets when you leave the city boundaries. He’ll still be able to track you if something goes wrong.”
Peter rolled his eyes (for what felt like the seventh time in this conversation) affectionately at his friend’s concern, but he nodded again regardless. “Yeah yeah, as long as he doesn’t get an alert.” Ned sighed again but pulled out his laptop as Peter grinned, grabbing his Spidey suit to lay it on the bed. “Thanks Ned, you’re the best guy in the chair.”
Ned snorted but couldn’t help a small smile of his own. “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”
~ ~ ~
Day 0
5:00 PM (- 28 hours)
Things were going great so far.
True to his word, Ned (bless his heart) disabled the notification, and Peter had crossed the city boundaries without issue. He was currently crouched on top of a bus, hitchhiking his way along the route that Karen had mapped out on his HUD.
Peter grinned. Twenty more minutes until he could hop off and swing his way to the warehouse. Then he'd scope out the inside, scan the building, set a tracker to notify him of anyone coming in or out, and he'd be back in time for dinner. What could possibly go wrong?
(As he would soon find out, a lot of things. Fate never seemed to take a liking to Peter Parker.)
—
Peter crept up the wall of the crumbling warehouse, ears straining for any sound of people or vehicles. He felt unnaturally exposed in the glare from the setting sunlight, his vibrant red and blue suit a stark contrast to the dull cement of the old warehouse and the leafy green of the trees around him. Not that he was particularly subtle in the city, either, but the loudness of the bustling metropolis provided some cover compared to the eerie silence he found himself in. (He should really work on a stealth suit).
"Karen, can you scan the building?" he whispered. She obliged, and a view of the warehouse popped up in his vision, overlaying what he could see from his lenses.
"My sensors can't penetrate the lower levels, but there are no heat signatures in the rest of the building," she informed him, and he nodded resolutely to himself.
"Alright. I'm going in," he whispered back. He really didn't need to be whispering, now that he knew nobody was here, but it felt wrong to be loud— even the birds were silent.
"Be careful, Peter," Karen murmured in acknowledgment.
He started crawling through the window, still scanning the floor below for anything she could have missed. When nothing appeared, he dropped from the rafters to the concrete, walking towards the only door in the building that didn't lead back outside. Gingerly, he gripped the doorknob and braced himself, not knowing what he'd find on the other side. He quickly yanked open the door and yelped at a sudden flurry of movement, shooting his webs instinctively and hearing a SQUAWK in response.
Belatedly, he realized that he'd just webbed a pigeon to the wall.
Peter let out a breathy half-laugh, half-sigh, and jumped up to where the bird was staring at him (as insulted as a bird could possibly look), before peeling the webbing off and releasing it. The pigeon let out another offended-sounding squawk and flapped off (seemingly uninjured at the very least), and Peter huffed and turned his attention back to the doorway.
"Karen, is there any way you can erase that from the Baby Monitor footage?" he grumbled, embarrassed that his Very Important Drug Reconnaissance Footage was now tainted with this Bird Incident (Mr. Stark was never going to let him hear the end of this).
"I'm afraid I would need confirmation from Boss to do that, Peter," Karen replied, not sounding apologetic in the least. In fact, Peter was pretty sure she was laughing at him. If AIs could even do that.
"Yeah, go figure," Peter sighed once more, peering into the darkened hallway and letting his eyes adjust from the brightness. "Can you detect anything else now that the door is open?"
Karen was silent for a few beats before speaking again, an apologetic tinge now coloring her tone. "Sorry, Peter. The walls downstairs seem to be blocked with something that sensors can't penetrate, even with a door open."
Peter frowned, the hairs on the back of his neck rising with general unease. Everything about this was fishy. Why would an utterly abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city have rooms in the basement that were completely sensor-proofed? Even for a large-scale drug ring, it felt wrong. Drug rings usually moved from place to place to avoid getting caught; they didn't normally establish themselves in one place, and especially wouldn't invest in such high security (if he could even call it that) unless they were hiding something.
Well, hiding something other than the drugs, to be clear.
He hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't go in. Anyone with common sense probably wouldn't. But… he wasn’t just anyone— he was Spider-Man. He paused, focusing on his senses. His Spidey-sense was quiet— so he wasn't in immediate danger, at least. He could hear MJ's voice in his head, telling him to listen to common sense for once ( "You do realize the evolutionary equivalent of Spidey-sense is common sense," she'd said, rolling her eyes. "You should try listening to it sometime. Worked for our ancestors." ).
"Sorry, MJ," Peter muttered to himself. "I never claimed to have common sense." With that, he stepped into the hallway, carefully webbing the door open behind him so that it didn't shut and lock him inside or anything (maybe he did have a little dash of common sense. Or maybe he'd just seen too many horror movies with MJ). He crept further into the building, Karen automatically switching to night vision to compensate for the darkness. Within a few minutes, he'd descended down a few flights of stairs and had reached another doorway. Peter was tempted to ask Karen to scan again, but he knew she had already tried and would give him the same answer as before.
Bracing himself, he yanked the second door open, web-shooters at the ready again. Everything remained quiet.
"Well, at least there wasn't another pigeon this time," Peter half-joked, receiving no response from Karen before stepping through the threshold of the doorway and into the room.
A few things happened simultaneously.
His Spidey sense screamed at him at the same time Karen crackled to life in his ear, shouting a warning, and his foot depressed something in the floor. The door slammed shut behind him— he scrambled to catch it but was too disoriented by the rush of events as well as the loud cacophony of beeping that had suddenly begun to assault his ears. He clapped his hands to the sides of his head reflexively and scrunched his eyes shut, trying to adjust his hearing after being in relative silence for so long. When he opened his eyes and scanned the room he was in, he realized what all the beeping was coming from.
Bombs.
The entire room, lined with explosives, with Peter stuck inside. He glanced down at his foot and realized that he had stepped on the trigger mechanism. Each of the bombs was ticking down ominously— they must have had 5 minutes on them originally, but they were now down to 4:23.
4:22
4:21
4:20
“Shit.”
He would have preferred another pigeon.
With that, adrenaline flooded his body, and he tuned back into Karen’s urgent voice in his ear.
“Karen, call Mr. Stark!” he yelled over the beeping, turning to push against the door he’d come in.
It didn’t budge.
Peter frowned and pushed harder, using his super strength to throw himself at it. He stumbled backwards, gripping his shoulder and panting in disbelief when he didn’t even see a dent in it. No. This couldn’t be possible. He had super strength . He could kick down a stupid metal door.
Focusing, he put all the strength he could into kicking at the door.
Nothing happened.
“No, no, no,” he panted. “That doesn’t make sense.” He stole another glance at the clock.
3:59
3:58
3:57
“Karen!” he called again, starting to panic.
“I can’t get in touch with Boss,” Karen said (if Peter didn’t know better, he’d say she sounded panicked herself). “I can’t tell if the walls are interfering or if he’s just not picking up.”
“Karen, what’s the door made out of?” Peter panted, having thrown himself at it several more times and nothing giving.
“Adamantium,” she replied, and Peter felt his heart sink. As far as he knew, there were only two metals he couldn’t break through— adamantium and vibranium. This wasn’t a drug bust, or even a reconnaissance mission. This was a trap. And he’d fallen right into it.
3:19
3:18
3:17
“Karen, start… recording a message,” Peter said, voice wavering. “A voicemail. Something.” God, he only had three minutes left. That… that wasn’t enough time for all of them. For Mr. Stark. May. Ned. MJ. Happy. The Avengers.
He scrambled over to one of the bombs, peeling off the cover and staring helplessly into the mass of wires. He didn’t know how to defuse a bomb. Even if he could figure it out without blowing himself up quicker, there was no way he would be able to disarm dozens of them in the time he had left.
Karen said something, but Peter didn’t hear her, too preoccupied scanning the room, praying for any last hope— any final solution. He heard the telltale beep of the recording start, though, and he started rambling, staring at the literal clock ticking down to his demise.
2:59
2:58
2:57
“Hey guys!” he let out a little hysterical laugh. “I don’t even know if this recording will survive or if you’ll ever hear this because in approximately 2 minutes and 54— oh, 53— seconds I will be blown to smithereens so apologies I didn’t get to make this a little more personal because I’m a little cramped on time here.”
2:49
2:48
2:47
Peter started spraying all of the bombs with webbing, completely emptying his canisters and refilling with the ones on his belt in a last ditch attempt to minimize the explosion. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that literally being 10 feet away from dozens of detonating explosives— webbing-covered or not— did not exactly fare well for his chances of survival, but it made him feel like he was doing something and not just waiting for his imminent demise. It probably increased his likelihood of survival, too, by some infinitesimal amount (he could probably do the math— y'know, if he didn’t have like two minutes left to live).
2:26
2:25
2:24
He emptied his canisters.
2:23
2:22
2:21
With absolutely nothing else left to do, he turned and started punching the wall next to the door, over and over again. It may be layers and layers of reinforced concrete and steel, but it wasn’t adamantium. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get through it by the time the bombs detonated but maybe — just maybe— he’d be able to make a little wall nook for a bit of protection (it probably wouldn’t end up mattering, but he had to try).
2:11
2:10
2:09
The recording was still going. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you beforehand, Mr. Stark,” Peter panted. “That was stupid of me. I should have. MJ, I should have had common sense. Sorry about that too. Happy, you would have probably said the same thing too. Ned, please don’t blame yourself. That goes for all of you actually.”
1:56
1:55
1:54
Peter felt his knuckles crack and his fingers break. He kept punching the wall, digging the tips of his fingers into the concrete and tearing out chunks. He could feel warm blood seeping over his hands and his arms were aching but he continued tearing through the wall, trying to create a hole big enough to climb into.
1:28
1:27
1:26
“Aunt May, I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to miss dinner tonight.” He let out a little choked laugh that was more of a sob— he didn’t know when he’d started crying. “You should— you should get a cat or something. To keep you company. You could name him Ed, because, y’know, Mr. Stark always said he would never want a pet, and he calls Ned that, and it’s his middle name shortened which is kind of funny and Ned and I always wanted to—”
He cut himself off with another choked sob, suddenly realizing that he would never get to see Ed the cat that Ned and him had always joked about getting May to keep her company when Peter went off to college. He would never get to see Mr. Stark pretend to be aloof around it (like he always acted around Dum-E and U). He was going to die in here.
1:03
1:02
1:01
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears now running freely down his face— not that there was anyone around to see them. “There’s— there’s so much I want to say to everyone, so many things I need to tell you, and I could talk for hours but I don’t even have a minute left and all I can say is ridiculous things like how it was actually me who broke the toaster 7 months ago and I framed Hawkeye for the stupid balloon prank and—- and I told FRIDAY to play the national anthem every time Cap walked into a room and—” He laughed hysterically again.
“—and none of that matters anymore because I’m going to be dead in 52 seconds and I can’t even really comprehend that so I’m just sitting here rambling and punching a wall and I think all my fingers are broken but that won’t really matter soon enough and—” He was hyperventilating i earnest now, staring at the bombs yet again. He still clawed at the wall, but he knew it was a futile effort. He’d never be able to dig deep enough.
0:37
0:36
0:35
“I can’t believe— this is the way I go out.” Peter muttered incredulously, not even sure if he was talking to the recording or himself at this point. “Spider-Man, taken out in the bottom of an abandoned warehouse because he was stupid and literally stepped on a detonator.”
0:23
0:22
0:21
Peter grabbed the biggest chunk of concrete he could find from the pile he’d created and hefted it up clumsily, broken and bloodied fingers slipping against it. The only thing that stopped him from dropping it was his sticky powers.
0:18
0:17
0:16
With the last of his strength, Peter hoisted himself up into the tiny hole he’d created in the wall. It wasn’t nearly big enough for him but he crammed himself in as much as he could, sticking himself to the surface. He held up the chunk of concrete in front of him in some sort of semi-useless attempt at a shield from the blast, and he trained his eyes on the final countdown.
0:10
0:09
0:08
“I’m so sorry. I love you all. Every single one of you.” Peter’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “Aunt May… I’m so sorry. For everything. I love you so much, you don’t deserve this. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Mr. Stark… I should have been better. This is on me.”
0:07
I’m going to die.
0:06
I hope the bird got out , Peter thought belatedly, almost laughing again at the absurdity.
0:05
What is someone even supposed to think in the last 5 seconds of his life?
0:04
Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his head in, pushing as far back as he could into the wall and gripping the concrete for dear life (as if it were going to do anything).
0:03
“I’m sorry, Karen,” he made the final apology to his AI. “Stop recording.”
0:02
0:01
0:00
The beeping of the timer stopped for milliseconds before a blinding white hot flash of pain washed over Peter, accompanied by a bone-rattling explosion— and then everything went dark.
~ ~ ~
Day 1
9:00 PM (+ 0 hours)
“—er. Mr. Parker. Peter, are you back with me?”
The world came fizzling back in, and Peter shook his head vigorously, trying to clear the sudden onslaught of memories. Unfortunately, all it did was make his head throb more. “Y-yeah, sorry Mr. Fury, I just… I just remembered everything.” He glanced down at his body, the bandages suddenly making a lot more sense. “Well, up to the explosion at least, I don’t remember anything past that.”
Fury peered at him with his single eye. “When Stark found you, you were badly injured,” he paused, scrutinizing Peter in the hospital bed. “If you hadn’t taken the precautions that you did— covering the bombs with webbing and making that hole in the wall, the explosion would have killed you.”
Peter blinked. Fury phrased it like a statement, but coming from him it sounded vaguely like… a compliment? Before he could say anything, though, the man continued talking.
“There was a medical team working on you— mostly SHIELD, of course. But still headed by Helen Cho. Stark insisted on that. They managed to patch you up for the most part— hence the bandages— and that’s when one of my agents slipped you a drug, called Tetrodotoxin B.”
Peter looked up sharply at that. “I’ve heard of it. Dr. Banner made it, didn’t he? It lowers your heart rate to 1 beat per minute. Ned was freaking out about it when he told me. I didn’t know it was actually in production, though— everyone assumed it was more theoretical.”
His voice trailed off at the thought of his best friend and what he must be feeling right now. Guilt ran through him as he remembered convincing Ned to turn off the tracker alert. He knew his best friend well enough to know he’d be devastated and blame himself for everything, even if he never could have known the outcome. And even though he’d told everyone in his last recording (if they even got that) not to blame themselves, he could almost guarantee that they still would. Peter tried to push the thoughts aside to focus on Fury’s explanation.
Fury inclined his head in a nod. “I had to use it myself once before, to stage my own death. Of course, the rest of the medical team thought the lowered heart rate was the usual case of flatlining, as you were badly injured, and they tried the normal procedures. My agent… interfered in some ways, to say the least. Not in any noticeable way, but enough to make their efforts look futile. They were… annoyingly persistent in trying to revive you, I have to say. Took them a while, but they eventually called your ‘death,’ and SHIELD moved your body to the morgue area, making sure to keep you injected with the drug to make up for your enhanced metabolism.”
Peter looked down at his hands, twisting the sheets in his grip at the mention of how hard the medical team had tried to save him. “So the whole medical team thought I was dead? Your other… agents… weren’t in on it?”
“No,” Fury replied shortly. “Only one of my most trustworthy agents, who administered the drug. And she doesn’t know why, or even who you are. The more people who knew, the more chances there were that something would slip, and we couldn’t afford that. That’s still the case.”
Peter didn’t respond, still staring at his sheets. “Poor Dr. Cho,” he murmured. “She’s going to feel awful for thinking she wasn’t able to save me.”
Fury was silent for a few moments. “It won’t be forever. She will eventually know the truth. As will everyone else. But not yet. The consequences are too important.”
Peter looked up sharply at that as realization dawned on him. “Why are you doing this?” Fury was silent, staring back at him levelly. “I’d be willing to bet those ‘important consequences’ aren’t the death of Spider-Man or the safety of my friends and family. If it benefitted you, you wouldn’t lift a finger to change anything or protect me. You certainly wouldn’t put this much effort into faking my death if there weren’t something important that you’re after. What’s your game?”
The silence stretched in the quiet room, and Peter met Fury’s eye steadily for the first time since he’d woken up. Honestly, he kind of wasn’t expecting an answer. Fury wasn’t much of an explaining guy. Then, much to Peter’s surprise, Fury gave a short chuckle.
“You’re smarter than you let on, Mr. Parker,” he paused, taking in Peter’s look of shock. “Your poker face is terrible; we’ll have to work on that,” he mused. “But you’re correct. This isn’t for the benefit of you or your friends. But believe it or not, it is currently in SHIELD’s best interests to maintain the Avengers as a team, and as it turns out, they don’t function well without you. I need you alive, or Earth’s best defenders become virtually useless.”
Peter hesitated. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment— if you can call it that— but… they’re the Avengers . I’m just Spider-Man. They could be a team without me. They were a team before me.”
Fury merely stared at him for a few moments. “You’d be surprised, kid. They weren’t much of a ‘team’ before you, believe it or not,” he said wryly.
Peter shook his head, refusing to go down that mental path, instead continuing his questioning.
“Regardless of that… opinion, there has to be another reason. If it was just that, why fake my death to the Avengers, too? I would understand to the public, but if anything, the Avengers would be a protection, not a hindrance if they knew I was alive. They would do anything to protect me.”
Fury sighed. “Yes, and that… becomes an issue.” He paused again, the silence stretching between the two. Peter said nothing, recognizing whatever Fury said now was as much information as he was likely to get.
“You’re right. SHIELD needs something. We know who set the explosion. It was HYDRA.” Peter’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt for once, and Fury continued. “SHIELD has been trying to get rid of HYDRA for decades. Many people have. They’re pesky motherfuckers, and we’ve been searching for all of their locations for god knows how long. It’s been suspected for years that there has to be a centralized collection of data somewhere, but nobody could prove it, much less get to it. We’ve recently been able to confirm that there is a disk, with information regarding the entire network on it. People have been after this information for decades; it’s HYDRA’s best-kept secret. The news that it’s centralized like that… If we can get to that disk, we will have the information to finally take down the entire HYDRA network, for good. If we get all of their proverbial ‘heads’ at once, none of them can grow back. Some of SHIELD’s best agents have attempted to track it down and retrieve it, to no avail. That’s where you come in.”
Peter stared at him like it was Fury himself that had grown multiple heads. “If it’s never been successfully retrieved by your best-trained agents, what on earth makes you think that Peter Parker could get it?”
Fury merely stared back levelly. “You aren’t Peter Parker anymore. Legally, Parker is dead. It’s a perfect job for a dead man— you can assume anyone and anything and nobody is any wiser. The public and HYDRA don’t know your face— they only know Spider-Man. Even sending Widow or Barton would be risky, however well-trained they may be; their faces have been plastered across too many places by this point. Not to mention your enhancements give you an edge. All of this means you have become the perfect agent. And that is precisely why the Avengers cannot know— they would never allow you to take on such a task. Sending you on this mission doesn’t exactly lend itself to ‘doing anything to protect you.’”
Peter started to protest. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done, whatever your reasons, but I’m not an agent. I’m Spider-Man. The Avengers are right— I’m not the guy for the job.”
“You say that as if I’ve given you a choice, Mr. Parker,” Fury cooly replied. Peter’s jaw hung open.
“And what’s to stop me from going to the Avengers on my own once you let me out?” Peter asked with his chin raised in a challenge. “If you’re supposed to release me to track this disk down, you can’t keep me hidden away forever.”
Fury merely tilted his head. “You were right earlier, Mr. Parker. I couldn’t care less about the fate of you or your friends. But I know you do. HYDRA, for whatever reason, has decided to eliminate Spider-Man. I do not know their real reasoning, but my guess is that little ‘drug ring’ you were going after was merely a front, and you were getting too close for comfort.”
Vaguely, Peter wondered how Fury had even found out that he was going after a drug ring. He supposed it was possible he found out from the recording Peter left with Karen, though that information would have had to travel fast . He supposed he shouldn’t bother even asking— Fury was the type to enjoy remaining vague and cryptic and mysterious. Speaking of which—
“Currently, they think they have succeeded. If you work with us and get the info to get rid of HYDRA, you remove the source of your troubles. If you don’t, and you choose to return to your friends and family, well… you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. Even if you tried to give up being Spider-Man. By being around them, and allowing HYDRA to continue to exist, you’ll have painted a target on you and those close to you. You can’t protect them forever. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
Peter stared back, not saying anything. He didn’t need to. They both knew what his answer was.
Fury nodded at his silence, before turning on his heel and heading towards the door. “Good. You’ll spend the next few months training. You start tomorrow.”
Peter balked, startled out of his silence. “ Months? Training?! I’m Spider-Man!”
“Kid, if you think I’m sending you out on a highly dangerous mission untrained, you’re out of your goddamn mind. I don’t care if you’re Jesus Christ himself, you’re getting properly trained.” Fury snapped, and then he was gone, leaving Peter alone in the quiet room with the sound of beeping machines and the TV still replaying the footage of the explosion on mute in the background.
“Great. Just fantastic,” Peter muttered to himself, sinking into his bedsheets before sighing and closing his eyes. Months… He had originally hoped that this would be a short mission, and he’d be back to normal soon, but now he could tell he had no choice. Fury was right. He was stuck. He desperately wanted to go back to Aunt May and his friends and the Avengers, but he would never prioritize his own wishes over their wellbeing.
Plus… it was HYDRA. It was sort of Spider-Man’s duty to get rid of the bad guys. Even if it didn’t benefit him at all, and he knew he had the opportunity to get rid of an evil organization that had been around for decades… Peter sighed. No matter which way he looked at it, he came to the same conclusion, and Fury knew it. Peter was well and truly stuck.
Before long, the adrenaline of waking up in an unfamiliar place had faded, and the rhythmic hum of the heart monitor and his body’s own exhaustion quickly started lulling him to sleep. Peter didn’t try to fight it, knowing he might as well try and get some sleep to help his super-healing along if he was going to start training tomorrow. (“Training” sounded ominous coming from Fury.) With his last conscious thoughts, Peter thought about Tony, and the Avengers, and Ned, and MJ. And Aunt May.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into the quiet as he drifted off to sleep. He hoped they would understand. “I’ll keep you guys safe,” he promised.
~ ~ ~
Day 2
10:00 AM (+ 13 hours)
Much to his disappointment, Peter awoke in the same room. “Ugh, I was hoping it was a nightmare,” he muttered to himself, throwing a still-bandaged arm over his eyes.
“Unfortunately not,” a voice came from the shadows. Peter startled violently as Fury stepped out again, not dissimilar to the day before. (Night? He didn’t actually know how much time had passed, there were no windows in the damn place. Definitely some sort of hospital room code violation there.) Regardless, at this rate he’d have a heart attack before he even had time to complete his training.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Peter quipped, ignoring his internal qualms about the actual time and wincing as he tried to sit up. Apparently being in close-range of a deadly explosion wasn’t good for the muscles. “Don’t you have better things to do than stand in the shadows and watch me sleep?” Peter asked, rubbing his chest. Fury merely raised an eyebrow.
“No,” he said simply. “HYDRA— and you, by proxy— are my top focus right now. Unfortunately.”
“Wow, I’m flattered,” Peter muttered, shifting.
Fury stepped towards him, making no note of the comment. “First lesson: you have to be aware of your senses at all times. Even right when waking up. Even while asleep. You have the benefit of enhanced senses, but you rely too heavily on your sixth sense, which isn’t always reliable— as we’ve seen two days in a row.”
Peter was, unnervingly, reminded of the explosion that had gotten him into this whole mess. And how his Spidey-sense didn’t alert him until after he’d set off the detonator (or milliseconds beforehand, if he was being technical about it). So he supposed Fury was right. But he was not about to tell him that.
“But that’s not fair,” Peter protested instead. “It doesn’t go off around you because you’re not an active danger to me. I’m sure the same can’t be said about HYDRA agents.”
“You can’t rely on that.” Fury leaned forward, his gaze intense. “What if it isn’t a HYDRA agent? What if it’s just a civilian? But if that civilian sees you and HYDRA happens to get ahold of them, your cover could be blown,” he continued. “You don’t know the full extent of your powers— which means you don’t know their limits. What if you’re hit by something that makes you effectively powerless? You need to be able to rely on your regular senses and instincts for information when your enhanced ones fail.” He straightened back up. “You should be a dangerous and capable asset without your enhancements— like Widow and Barton. Your powers should merely be used as an advanced tool rather than your reliant baseline.”
“How am I supposed to train like that?” Peter asked, brows furrowing as Fury paced the room. “It’s not like I can turn my powers on and off.”
“Oh, we’ll work on that,” Fury said, the corners of his mouth flickering briefly as if raised in a phantom smile.
“Ominous,” Peter muttered once more.
“I don’t usually do the training, it’s far below me,” Fury said, turning back to face Peter. ( ‘Wow, how humble.’ A voice that sounded eerily like his mentor’s said snarkily inside his head).
“But I have no other options here. Nobody except me, you, and the agent who administered the drug know that you’re alive, and I plan to keep it that way for as long as possible. Plus, I don’t trust anyone else to train you for this mission. So I will train you personally.”
“What an honor,” Peter said, with a mock salute. Fury frowned (or maybe that was just his resting face).
“You’ll want to lose the Spider-Man sass during this training period, Parker,” he said sharply. “It doesn’t work the same on HYDRA as it does on common criminals. Besides, you’ll be working primarily in stealth and interrogation for this mission, not flashy battles like you’re used to in the Avengers and on your home turf.”
Peter held his tongue (for now). He doubted he would be able to completely lose his joking remarks; it may not work the exact same on HYDRA agents, but he was willing to bet it would still give him some benefit. Even if it just meant annoying the shit out of the bad guys. Or keeping himself mentally sane. Those were both a win in his books.
“So. Your training will consist of hand to hand combat, physical endurance and agility training, interrogation methods, stealth, first aid on yourself and others, withstanding torture, and the like. The last one is never the goal but it is a likelihood that I have an obligation to prepare you for,” Fury said seriously.
Peter let out a nervous chuckle before realizing he was entirely serious. Fantastic. Torture. How fun.
Fury paced up to his bedside, standing over him. “Any questions?”
“No, sir,” Peter said, giving another mock salute. Fury didn’t look too pleased at that. Whoops.
His eyes scanned Peter’s form, taking in the bandages still wrapped around his limbs. “We’ll hold off on the physical training until your injuries are mostly healed. First lesson: first aid, how to change your own bandages and assess your injuries.”
“Technically you already said ‘first lesson’ before this,” Peter muttered, unable to help himself, but a sharp glare from Fury quieted him again. Lame. Tony would have laughed at that. Peter was suddenly hit with a pang of longing for his mentor before Fury snapped him unpleasantly back into the present.
“Bandages, first drawer,” he said curtly, gesturing to a nondescript cabinet in the corner of the room, and Peter looked at him incredulously.
“You’re making the injured person get up?” he asked. “I almost died less than 36 hours ago.” He didn’t actually know if it was 36 hours, but he was making an educated guess.
Fury raised his eyebrow (he did that a lot). “As far as I’m aware, you’re not a cripple. You can walk. Be lucky I told you where they were, and that they’re in this room. Wait until you have to crawl with a bullet hole to find the first aid kit in a maze of rooms.”
Peter stared at him, unsure if that was a joke (it probably wasn’t). Fantastic. He stood up awkwardly from the bed, limbs moving stiffly after spending who knows how long bedridden. He shuffled unceremoniously over to the aforementioned drawer and pulled it open, grabbing the rolls of bandages and gauze. He heard a click behind him before something soft hit him in the back. He turned slowly, gaze falling to the offending object— an orange foam… bullet?
His gaze traveled up towards Fury, who was pointing a—
“Did you just shoot a Nerf gun at me?” Peter asked incredulously. It was a plain black Nerf gun— made to look like a real gun (Peter had the sudden amusing image of Fury painting a store-bought colorful version black just for this purpose)— but a Nerf gun nonetheless.
Fury looked unbothered. “You forgot your first lesson: pay attention to your surroundings. I shot you, you’re dead. Doesn’t matter that you got the bandages because I shot you in the back and now you’re bleeding all over the floor. Fail.”
Peter spluttered. “But you said we were just doing—”
Fury cut him off. “I know what I said. But I also said to always keep track of your surroundings. So. Fail. Try again.”
Peter grumbled, bringing the bandages back to his hospital bed and perching on the side, squinting suspiciously at the honest-to-god-nerf-gun Fury had been pointing at him. The man didn’t look to be trying anything now— Peter figured Fury would try again when it looked like his defenses were down. He fiddled with the bandages while glancing up at Fury frequently, determined not to get caught again. Man, it was really annoying that his Spidey-sense didn’t work for things like Nerf guns.
On second thought, maybe Fury had a point about that.
Fury looked almost amused at his struggle. “You can’t keep focusing on me so much that you can’t do the task at hand.”
Peter furrowed his brow in exasperation. “But you said I have to pay attention to my surroundings, how am I supposed to pay attention to that and this?”
Fury shrugged. “Not like how you’re doing it.”
“You’re a really shitty trainer,” Peter muttered.
That got an unexpected chuckle out of the man. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually. And then we can move onto the real fun with actual bullets.”
Peter, who had been focusing on unraveling the bandages, startled and looked up. “What?” he exclaimed. Fury merely pointed back towards the first aid kit wordlessly.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Peter said, gesturing to the bandages and then to himself.
Fury shrugged. “Figure it out.”
“You’re supposed to be teaching me!” Peter protested.
“Yes. You do it yourself— probably completely incorrectly— and then I’ll correct you. So. Get to it.”
“This is not how Mr. Stark trained me,” Peter muttered, half to himself— though Fury was close enough to hear it. (Well. Mr. Stark had tried to teach him like that, but didn’t particularly enjoy that Peter kept accidentally blowing things up and decided he may as well just teach him from the beginning instead).
“I don’t know if you noticed, kid, but I am not Mr. Stark,” Fury said dryly.
“Yeah, don’t I know it,” Peter muttered. Fury ignored him once again.
"Now, imagine you're on the field surrounded by enemies, injured. What do you do?"
"Well, first, I'd probably wish I were somewhere else,” Peter said. “But since that's not an option, I'd assess the situation, find cover, and start patching up."
Fury's eye twitched, but he nodded. "Good, but speed is important. In the field, you won't have the luxury of time."
"Right, right, speedy Spidey. Got it," Peter muttered, more to himself.
Fury pointed to the bandages still strewn on the bed, which Peter had yet to touch. "You still haven’t shown me how you'd perform first aid on yourself. Assume you're on your own."
Peter looked at the bandages with mock enthusiasm. "Ah, the classic 'Peter gets injured, Peter tends to Peter' routine. I've mastered this one." And, well— he had , technically speaking. Just not for burns. Usually only stab wounds. (Much to Tony’s and May’s disapproval).
Fury rolled his eye. "Just do it, Parker."
Peter opened the medical kit, grinning slightly at getting a reaction out of the director.
"Okay, let's see..." he trailed off, murmuring to himself as he usually did in scenarios like these. In his early days of being Spider-Man, he had been particularly well-acquainted with May’s first aid kit on the floor of his bathroom. Once Mr. Stark had come into his life, and subsequently experienced one of the more disastrous of Peter’s self-attempted medical escapades (resulting in an infected stab wound), he’d visited the Med Bay most of the time. Unfortunately, Fury was not quite as helpful as Dr. Cho usually was, even if she glared at him for his stupidity sometimes as well.
Wincing, he unwrapped the bandages from his wounds, the stinging pain breaking his train of thought. Fury just watched in silence, being notably as unhelpful as a brick wall. Actually, a brick wall would probably be more helpful, because at least Peter could lean on that.
He managed to finish re-dressing the worst of the wounds (mostly on his left arm and side) without tearing any of his skin off (thank god for enhanced healing and Cho’s regeneration cradle), which he considered a win. Apparently, Fury was not quite as impressed.
"Good. But remember, adaptability is key. Field conditions won't always be ideal."
"Yeah, because I usually deal with ideal situations," Peter retorted, securing the last bandage with another wince. "What's next on the 'Fury's Torture Fun Time' agenda?"
Fury's expression didn’t shift. "Lunch," he deadpanned.
Peter perked up. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until Fury mentioned food. Almost on cue, his stomach rumbled.
Fury raised his eyebrow, but looked mildly amused. Peter shrugged and sighed mock-dramatically.
“Guess almost dying and starting secret agent boot camp training worked up my appetite,” he said, grinning. Fury just sighed at that and opened his trenchcoat slightly, pulling a few sandwiches out and tossing them at Peter. He caught them instinctively, but blinked incredulously once they were in his hands. Did Fury seriously just walk around with sandwiches hidden in his pockets?
Unwrapping one, he took a bite. Peter almost snickered at the thought of the grumpy director standing in a deli line to bring him food (though there was no way he would actually do that— he probably had some SHIELD minion bring something to him). But regardless, it tasted pretty good, having been dragged around in a trenchcoat for who-knows-how-long.
While he was chewing, his mind started wandering to the mission. He really didn’t know what it entailed at all, just HYDRA and a disk and some stealth… stuff. He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak.
“So speaking of secret agent boot camp, do I get to use any tech on this mission?” he asked, already knowing what the answer would be. He wished he had Karen, but he knew that was definitely off the table. He wouldn’t mind having other technology, though.
Fury, who had been watching him eat (kind of creepy, if he was being honest), raised an eyebrow. "In the field, you won't usually have access to fancy gadgets. You need to be resourceful. Besides, sometimes the simplest methods are the most effective."
Peter sighed. “No Stark tech for me, then?” he asked morosely. He was mostly joking— he wasn’t surprised Fury wouldn't trust his mentor not to be nosy, even if he was only asked to produce some sort of tech for a secret SHIELD mission. His mentor was definitely not a follow-directions-and-don’t-ask-questions kind of person.
Fury snorted. "No. Stark has his uses, but subtlety is needed in a stealth mission. He tends to bring a sledgehammer to a situation that requires a scalpel," he commented dryly. Peter thought back to lab time with his mentor. Yeah… the man did tend to go overboard. Normally with explosives. Or color. Or 576 web-shooter combinations.
Peter shrugged, feeling the need to defend his mentor but also recognizing that was as much of a joke he was probably going to get out of Fury. "Yeah, well, at least his sledgehammer comes with a cool AI," he said, lips tilting up slightly.
Fury didn’t respond verbally, but Peter was sure he looked somewhat amused. Peter went back to munching on his sandwich, getting lost in thought once more. He wondered what Tony was doing right now. If it were any other day Peter would say working in his lab, but he really wasn’t sure what the precedent was for when Peter was ‘dead.’ He supposed he would figure it out eventually. And May—
He heard another click , and a foam bullet hit him square in the forehead. Peter sighed and lowered his sandwich from where he’d just been going for another bite. He picked up the orange bullet and looked reproachfully at Fury, who was now holding the small Nerf gun in his hand again.
“You’re having fun with this,” Peter accused him, using the bullet to point at him with one hand. Judging by the look on Fury’s face, he didn’t look particularly intimidating or accusatory (though Peter could have guessed as much given that he was wrapped in bandages, holding a sandwich in one hand and a foam bullet in another).
Actually, Fury looked downright gleeful . For his standards, at least. Peter wasn’t sure what the Avengers would say if he told them that Fury was enjoying shooting Nerf guns at him.
Fury’s mouth twitched in a smile as he lowered the gun and deposited it back into one of his endless trenchcoat pockets (seriously, what was the man storing in there?). “Always remember the first lesson, kid. HYDRA doesn’t care if you’re on lunch break."
Peter couldn’t help but give a small laugh, surprised at his own reaction. Maybe the man wasn’t as insufferable as he seemed. "Okay, okay, you win this round. But I will get you soon."
“We’ll see, Parker.”