It had been a good half hour, before Ross came to get him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He drawled, eyes glancing at the knife on the end of the 'bed' Peter sat on.

Not taking his eyes away from the metal, that he'd been staring at for oh-so-long. He hugged his body tighter with his shivering arms, gulping down the tightness in his throat and the hollowness in his chest. Blinking against his welling eyes, Peter bit into his cheek.

"Come now, Mr Parker – it's not all that bad," Ross said brightly, and Peter heard the scrape of wood against cement as the older man pulled up a chair, "at least your Aunt is safe." Ross said it softly, like he were doing Peter a favour.

In a way, he was, but Peter knew May would be worried sick. Peter knew May just lost her last family member, the exact thing Peter had dreaded for his whole life. He hoped Mr Stark would take care of her.

He heard Ross sigh at Peter's silence. "You must be confused as to where you are, and what we want with you, are you not?"

This made Peter's gaze to land on him. He was sitting just behind the cell door, hands folded in his lap, almost professionally. His own eyes were trained intently on Peter's face, a smirk creeping onto his face when Peter looked at him.

"Well, to start off with, you're currently in the raft, third floor, corridor 05, cell 107." Ross began, glare digging into Peter thoughts.

"Yeah, that was pretty obvious." Peter muttered, folding his arms tighter once more.

Ross ignored him, as he continued to talk. "You are in one of the highest-security cells in the world, so there is no way you can escape."

"Again, obvious."

Ross glared daggers at him, and Peter shut up. It was silent for a moment (although, the tension was roaring). Peter couldn't help but let the tremor of cold he'd been fighting, course through him. It could easily be below zero degrees in his cell, although Spiders did tend to suffer worse from the cold.

In winter, Spiders die.

(Or, at least that's what google told him.)

"Okay, so why am I here?" Peter asked, moving his hand up to his chin in mock concentration. "Oh! That's right, you want petty revenge on Spider-Man, because Iron-Man didn't save your son from being squashed by a building, because he was too busy tryna save the rest of the world! I remember now—"

"You will not dare speak to me in that way!" Ross spat, making Peter grin. He always got such an easy rise, when it came to old men. "Besides, there is more to this turn of events, than just revenge."

"Uh huh, and what is that?" Peter mumbled, picking at his finger nails as best he could with the cuffs on them.

Ross didn't answer him. Or, he didn't answer him with what he should have. But what he did say, sent Peter into a spiral.

"Your Aunt wasn't at your funeral."

My funeral. Peter Parker's funeral. Aunt not there. Your funeral. Your Aunt wasn't at your funeral. Peter's mind broke down every single word in that sentence, until he could extract no more meaning from it. My Aunt May didn't attend my 'funeral'. Why he had a funeral in the first place, he didn't know, which was why he let out a simple;

"What?"

"Your funeral? You know, because you died in a gas explosion, while signing for a photography job at the Jameson Complex? Yeah, your Aunt didn't go." Ross continued, saying the words like he was asking how Peter's day went.

Terrible, but thanks for asking, is what Peter would've said.

But, instead, his mind was falling into a whirlwind of questions and confusion. There was a well of darkness opening up underneath him, threatening to swallow him whole. None of this made sense. It felt like everything that had happened in the past day was clawing at his insides, hurting him, killing him, ruining him.

"She...she th-thinks I'm dead." It was meant to be a question, but Peter already knew the answer. His chest actually hurt.

"Oh, they all do. Even your dear, dear Mr Stark."

Peter's heart did a funny thing – something between beating a hundred miles a minute and stopping completely. The air had been knocked out of him by an invisible source. The well beneath him suddenly looked all-too inviting.

"What have you done?" Peter whispered, tears springing to his eyes. Ross smiled. Just smiled. Peter fumed.

"I have done you a favour." He stated, spreading out his arms, like he was supposed to embrace Peter. "Now that he won't be looking for you, we can focus wholly on our little plan."

Peter scoffed, casting Ross an amused glare, his grin lopsided.

"He might not be looking for me," Peter said quietly, getting up from where he sat on unsteady legs. Maybe there was some fight left within him after all. Maybe there was still some hope in his heart. Maybe.

Ross blinked thickly at him for a moment, before regaining his composure and sick smile. But Peter didn't let him speak.

"But he won't stop looking for you, until you're buried fifteen feet under the ground and dead." Peter snarled, taking a step forward, pointing a threatening finger at the man.

"Here's where you're wrong, Mr Parker," Ross said coolly, his voice turning to ice. "You're the one buried fifteen feet under the ground and dead. Stark has no idea I was the one who 'killed' you. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he bought the whole 'tragic accident'."

"He wouldn't have—"

"Maybe, but I'm sure he would prefer to think that your death was an accident, over thinking that someone had murdered you." Ross cut across him smoothly. Peter pulled his eyebrows together.

"But that's what you want him to think, isn't it?" Peter asked, confused as hell. "You want him to think I'm dead! That's why I'm here, right?" He exclaimed, voice loud.

"Oh, no." Ross smiled, making Peter's stomach flip. "A mindless warrior, tearing the world apart like a terrorist. Killing people, one by one, injecting fear into the hearts of his victims. A super-soldier, one capable of mass destruction. An unstoppable anti-hero, one without mercy, one without guilt, one without fear. That's why you're here."

Peter was silent. The words weren't sinking in. They didn't make sense, at all. The hole in his heart grew, and without his healing factor, he surely would've been dead. It didn't make sense – none of it – and all he wanted to do was go home. He just wanted to eat ice-cream with Mr Stark again, or have a Star-Wars marathon with Ned again, or surprise Aunt May with an 'I love you' and a kiss on the cheek after a particularly rough day at work again. 

"So, Mr Stark will have to deal with the guilt of your apparent death," Ross continued, "while the rest of the world watches their TV screens in fear of the new, deadly assassin's next move."

Peter has to sit down. He doesn't think his legs can hold him for much longer. He collapses onto the floor just next to his bed, back pressed against it, knees curled in on himself.

"And when it comes the time, for the soldier to strike Earth's Greatest Defender, only then will Tony Stark find out that his son is still alive. But that'll only happen moments before the soldier will strike the final blow. He will see the soldier's eyes, he will realise, then he will be murdered by one of the few people he came to love."

Peter wanted this maniac to shut up. He wanted him to shut up right now, but his drawling voice continued on. Peter found himself curling his legs tighter into his chest and squeezing his eyes tight shut.

"And no one could have guessed, that it was innocent Peter Parker who killed Tony Stark."

"Shut up." Peter whispered, voice wavering. His fingers were entwined in his hair, pulling and scratching. The action helped him not lose himself to the creatures clawing at him. Home, home, home, home, I want my home—

"What did you say to me?" Ross asked angrily.

"I said...I mean, I-uh..." Peter faltered. He was scared. He didn't want to do those things that Ross was saying he'd do. Ross couldn't make him, right?

Right?

"Now, you listen, and you listen good," Ross growled, standing from his chair and grabbing two of the bars of the cell door in tight fists, "I'm going to give you a chance to not do this the hard way. If you refuse...well, there's a special compartment upstairs just for you."

Peter glared at the man through watery eyes. Why was it always him? Why couldn't he just live a normal life for once? Everything always had to go wrong in Peter's life, there was never a 'dull' moment. Parker Luck – that's what May called it.

"Either you comply to what we ask, without a fight, and do what we say, no matter what that is – or, you don't, and we force you to do it anyway (with a few punishments, of course)." Ross said simply.

What kindsa options are those? Peter thought, sending Ross a bemused look, causing the man's throat to ripple.

"And what would you ask me to do?" Peter asked, voice low and mocking, arms still tight around his legs.

"Kill."

One simple word. And he knew—

He wasn't cut out for killing. Not even when it came to saving himself or his loved ones.

That was his flaw.

He couldn't kill.

So, it didn't matter what Ross wanted him to do or not. He couldn't do it anyway. Not even if the man forced him.

He would rather die himself.

"Remember, if you refuse, you're losing everything you have. And not just people, or objects." Ross' eyes bore down on Peter, who shivered despite himself.

"I can't kill," Peter croaked, shaking his head.

"Ah, I thought you would say that." Ross sighed. "Disappointing – I guess it's the hard way then, huh?" Despite his words, he didn't seem disappointed at all. There was ugly desire hanging off each syllable, mock dripping from his tone.

Peter froze, all feeling leaving his body. What was the hard way? No matter what Ross did, there was no way he could force Peter into killing anything or anybody. Ever.

God, he wanted to run so bad. He wanted to run and run and run until he's on the opposite side of the world to Ross. This was worse than Toomes – at least with him, Peter knew his fate. But this...he didn't know what was about to happen. And that terrified him; made him realise that none of this was in his control. He was useless.

My friends and family think I'm dead. I'm in the highest-security prison in the whole world. I can't escape – there's not even a chance. Thaddeus Ross wants me to kill all the people he has a grudge on (probably) including Mr Stark. I don't want to kill Mr Stark.

He can't make me. I physically and emotionally cannot kill another human being.

"You can't," Ross started, making Peter blanch – he hadn't known he'd said that out loud, oh God, "but what if you weren't you?"

So, that didn't make any sense to Peter, but it caused a chill to ripple from his heart into every crevice of his body, until he was tremoring from it. His mind was blank, no thought, no emotion – he was just so goddamn cold.

He needed to go home.

He couldn't be alone.

Not again.

"That being said," Ross suddenly said, voice loud and clear in the eerie silence of the prison. Then he stood up, arms spread in a sweeping gesture, eyes bright, mouth upturned in a sickly sadistic smile. Peter found he couldn't breathe properly, the fear choking him, crushing him

"Welcome...to HYDRA."

--

hey kids. yep, i'm back.

i would just like to say; thanks for all the support i'm getting. it really keeps me motivated.

now, i know this was a rather short chapter, but i hope y'all enjoyed it. i feel really sadistic right now. actually, scratch that, i AM really sadistic. 

despite this, there's so much more to come - and i'm pretty sure you all know what's about to happen, but comment your theories if you want. i would love to hear them!

anyway, bye bye for now, i should be back with another chapter soon (by soon, i mean, like, in a few days - maybe a week? i don't really know).

LuvForStydia xx