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#someone who died to the cruelty of humanity could have cured cancer
craycraybluejay · 3 months
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How many great artists and scientists and iventors dyou think died in slave plantations, concentration camps, and meaningless bullshit wars and genocides?
#i think about it every now and then and feel like crying#you know?#someone who died to the cruelty of humanity could have cured cancer#and their lives matter either way but#it causes me anxiety to think that even with whatever value I have it can only mean so much#people are irrational and cruel. i could invent fucking time travel and in some spaces it simply would not matter#how do you play at stocks and mind games with someone who does not Think in that way#a smart play for power or play for anything else is only useful so long as other involved parties arent insane or stupid#how frustrating is that?#irresponsible stupid people in power make my blood boil more than just the power itself#you cant even concede to someone like that either bc they wont understand compromise or surrender#but also its like telling a bully you'll tell his mom that his dad cheated#but the bully is stupid and beats you up anyway and now you both lose because youre definitely going to tell now#you could have come out both winners if he understood your leverage and backed off#but now youre both losers cause you are still all bruised and bloody and he gets to deal with his parents messy divorce#don't negotiate with stupid people. recognize when they arent understanding and just try something else like running#dont fret sometimes an appeal to emotion will kick em into gear#'ill tell your mom' vs 'your mom will be so devastated and sad when she finds out :('#obv dont do that unless someones abusing their power over you/hurting you in a situation you cant just run from#because the best solution if possible is almost always run. leave. get away.#but if you have to fight you want to get at any angle you can#you want to corner the other person so they go from being offense to defense#and if youre just digging/prepping for a bigger thing you want to get them frazzled enough to make a mistake#again. this is for self defense especially in long term abusive/toxic situations#people who abuse using their power usually have ego problems. sometimes you can take a gamble and go for the ego#they do this to you. do it BACK.#and preferably have a weapon on hand if they are liable to violence and unpredictability#better to look for a lawyer than check on the status of your life and health insurances#it is never too late to fight back. some people will tell you helplines but they have not helped me or anyone i know#so i'm telling you how to fight back and protect yourself by any means necessary
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3000stories · 1 year
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The prompt: Include the phrase “The contract left me homeless.”
The contract left me homeless.
Not what one expects from a Faustian bargain, I know -- had I been expecting anything in particular, it would have been something drawn from the centuries of literary and folklorical canon about deals with the Devil. My soul would’ve been a strong contender. My firstborn child, always assuming I had one. Various and sundry acts of sinister cruelty. Losing my home? The banality of the contract’s terms almost made me snicker, though I’m no fool -- revealing one’s upper hand in this sort of bargain can get you killed, if you’re lucky. Arguably it’s worse to become a passenger in your own mind, watching while an unspeakable eldritch horror wears your face, smiles your smile, and cheerfully destroys everything you've ever worked to accomplish. So I stayed silent. I signed.
I don’t even remember why I summoned the demon in the first place. Was it to gain some petty advancement in my career? Money? Revenge for some slight, perceived or actual? Regardless, it’s fair to say that if I don’t remember why I made this bargain in the first place, it wasn’t worth it. Maybe in the first decade I could remember. That would fit the cruelty of the whole thing, remembering the tiny benefit for which I’ve sacrificed so much.
I hope, I pray daily to any gods and powers that might still hear me, that the bargain was one of mercy. If everything I’ve lost was in service of finding the cure for cancer (I know this wasn’t the deal) or world peace (manifestly also not what I bargained for) I could sleep a little better at night. Not that I sleep. But in my darkest hours I fear that I made a weak and foolish bargain. In many of my hours, not just the darkest ones. Because the whole point of a deal with the Devil is in fact that it’s with the Devil, unworthy of being considered by the pantheon of good.
I can hear you, wherever you are. Whoever is reading this now is thinking “Such drama over merely losing one’s home. It’s just a set of rooms somewhere. Other sets of rooms exist, other homes can be found.” I can hear you because those were exactly my thoughts. Part of the cruel game I guess: I can remember my hubris but not the reason for my fall.
A home is not merely a house, an apartment, even a decrepit tent under a freeway overpass. When I read the contract, I assumed it was. Thought I would rebuild. Find a new home. Easy.
When I was in seventh grade, I read a short story by one Edward Everett Hale. “The Man Without a Country” tells of a young lieutenant in the US Army, who in 1807 is tried and convicted of treason alongside Aaron Burr. In his anger, in his hubris, the man angrily renounces the United States. And the judge grants his request. The man is imprisoned on a ship, never allowed to touch land in the United States or indeed in any other port, and his minders are instructed never to speak of his former country. In all other respects he is treated with perfect civility, but the lack of knowing gnaws at him, taunting him with the knowledge of the value of that which he cast away. It is only on his deathbed that someone -- an officer named Danforth, and it pains me that I can remember his name but not the name of the treasonous lieutenant -- takes pity on the man and shares with him the news of his country of birth, news that had been forbidden for the past many decades. The traitor dies at peace. His epitaph reads “He loved his country as no other man has loved her, but no man deserved less at her hands.”
A home is not merely a house, or even a country.
A home is comfort. Security. Belonging. Identity.
I thought I was going to lose a house. Become, in the vernacular of the day, unhoused. Instead, what have I not lost.
I cannot sleep, because sleep brings comfort. Dreams bring memories and belonging.
I cannot stay in one place long enough to build a human bond. Friendship is built of all the things I unknowingly rejected when I signed my name, and they run through my grasping hands like quicksilver.
I touch the world, I see myself in mug shots and Missed Connections. “Me: mid-twenties Black girl on the cross-town bus, wearing beaded locs and a green peasant blouse. You: mid... thirties? Tan skin, brown hair, the saddest expression I’ve ever seen on anyone, you kept looking at me but not in a creepy way. I asked if you were okay. You replied “Never.” I hope you get to okay some day. I hope I see you on that bus again, and that your face is smiling when I do.”
She won’t. They never do. Even that, a second meeting on a squalid bus, would be a home.
My first hope is that my bargain was one of mercy.
My second hope, my larger hope, is that one day I find a Danforth.
I don’t know if I can die.
I don’t even remember my own name.
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sweaterodyne · 1 year
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The prompt: Include the phrase “the contract left me homeless.”
The contract left me homeless.
Not what one expects from a Faustian bargain, I know -- had I been expecting anything in particular, it would have been something drawn from the centuries of literary and folklorical canon about deals with the Devil. My soul would’ve been a strong contender. My firstborn child, always assuming I had one. Various and sundry acts of sinister cruelty. Losing my home? The banality of the contract’s terms almost made me snicker, though I’m no fool -- revealing one’s upper hand in this sort of bargain can get you killed, if you’re lucky. Arguably it’s worse to become a passenger in your own mind, watching while an unspeakable eldritch horror wears your face, smiles your smile, and cheerfully destroys everything you've ever worked to accomplish. So I stayed silent. I signed.
I don’t even remember why I summoned the demon in the first place. Was it to gain some petty advancement in my career? Money? Revenge for some slight, perceived or actual? Regardless, it’s fair to say that if I don’t remember why I made this bargain in the first place, it wasn’t worth it. Maybe in the first decade I could remember. That would fit the cruelty of the whole thing, remembering the tiny benefit for which I’ve sacrificed so much. 
I hope, I pray daily to any gods and powers that might still hear me, that the bargain was one of mercy. If everything I’ve lost was in service of finding the cure for cancer (I know this wasn’t the deal) or world peace (manifestly also not what I bargained for) I could sleep a little better at night. Not that I sleep. But in my darkest hours I fear that I made a weak and foolish bargain. In many of my hours, not just the darkest ones. Because the whole point of a deal with the Devil is in fact that it’s with the Devil, unworthy of being considered by the pantheon of good.
I can hear you, wherever you are. Whoever is reading this now is thinking “Such drama over merely losing one’s home. It’s just a set of rooms somewhere. Other sets of rooms exist, other homes can be found.” I can hear you because those were exactly my thoughts. Part of the cruel game I guess: I can remember my hubris but not the reason for my fall.
A home is not merely a house, an apartment, even a decrepit tent under a freeway overpass. When I read the contract, I assumed it was. Thought I would rebuild. Find a new home. Easy.
When I was in seventh grade, I read a short story by one Edward Everett Hale. “The Man Without a Country” tells of a young lieutenant in the US Army, who in 1807 is tried and convicted of treason alongside Aaron Burr. In his anger, in his hubris, the man angrily renounces the United States. And the judge grants his request. The man is imprisoned on a ship, never allowed to touch land in the United States or indeed in any other port, and his minders are instructed never to speak of his former country. In all other respects he is treated with perfect civility, but the lack of knowing gnaws at him, taunting him with the knowledge of the value of that which he cast away. It is only on his deathbed that someone -- an officer named Danforth, and it pains me that I can remember his name but not the name of the treasonous lieutenant -- takes pity on the man and shares with him the news of his country of birth, news that had been forbidden for the past many decades. The traitor dies at peace. His epitaph reads “He loved his country as no other man has loved her, but no man deserved less at her hands.”
A home is not merely a house, or even a country.
A home is comfort. Security. Belonging. Identity.
I thought I was going to lose a house. Become, in the vernacular of the day, unhoused. Instead, what have I not lost.
I cannot sleep, because sleep brings comfort. Dreams bring memories and belonging.
I cannot stay in one place long enough to build a human bond. Friendship is built of all the things I unknowingly rejected when I signed my name, and they run through my grasping hands like quicksilver.
I touch the world, I see myself in mug shots and Missed Connections. “Me: mid-twenties Black girl on the cross-town bus, wearing beaded locs and a green peasant blouse. You: mid... thirties? Tan skin, brown hair, the saddest expression I’ve ever seen on anyone, you kept looking at me but not in a creepy way. I asked if you were okay. You replied “Never.” I hope you get to okay some day. I hope I see you on that bus again, and that your face is smiling when I do.”
She won’t. They never do. Even that, a second meeting on a squalid bus, would be a home.
My first hope is that my bargain was one of mercy.
My second hope, my larger hope, is that one day I find a Danforth.
I don’t know if I can die.
I don’t even remember my own name.
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lurafita · 5 years
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Captain Hydra/Spiderman
This was inspired by @anime-lover1717
I tried to post this in answer to the ask, but it wouldn’t let me set tags like that.
Here is the link to the original ask: I loved this ask
I must admit, I had to read up on the universe with Captain Hydra Steve, as I have always been very partial to Peter Parker’s Spiderman and hardly looked at any comics that didn’t feature him, which is why I knew basically nothing about this particular story line. So, as I tried to familiarize myself with the matter at hand, I came to the following conclusion: ‘This is one convoluted mess.’ Now, this might have been better understandable had I actually read the comic issues, and not just a summary of them. But fact is, the comic canon circumstances under which Steve becomes an agent of Hydra, as well as everything around that, including characters and alliances, was too complicated for me to work with in a story.
Which is why I played around with some facts, ignored some story lines, made up some other things, and pretty much fucked up everything.
So the Hydra in Captain Hydra’s universe is still unarguably the bad guys, but they are not the torture happy sadist Nazi evil dudes and dudettes they are usually portrayed as.
Also, while many instances here hint at things that have happened in the MCU, and while everyone is completely free to envision Peter however they like, this here does not strictly follow the MCU canon.
The universe in which Captain Hydra finds Peter, is referred to as Earth 108. This is not hinting at any existing universe in the Marvel comics, or the Cinematic Universe. It’s simply a play on Peter’s birthday (August 10th), because I’m lazy and unimaginative.
I Don’t Have A Title For This!
Good and evil, Steve knew, were more often than not, a matter of perspective.
If a man killed another man, he was a murderer.
If a man saved another man’s life, he was a hero.
If the man from both those examples happened to be one and the same, was he good, or was he evil?
Individuals and societies as a whole, have different parameters for being good and bad and that may or may not be applicable for others.
There was a quote that goes something like this, we judge others by their actions, and ourselves by our intention.
Most people's perception of morality, was subject to culture and societal norms. What was completely legal in one country, could get you a prison sentence in another.
If someone's actions didn't align with anothers' beliefs, it was just far easier to call them 'evil', 'bad', and label them a 'villain', than to try to understand their reasoning, or admit fault in one’s own logic and morals.
Another factor was time. Humans and the societies they lived in evolved over time, and so did their view on morals and ethics. What was once seen as right and just, was subject to harsh judgement two centuries later. Something that right now is seen as morally correct, might be found cruel or disrespectful in the far future.
In the end, the whole debate was probably more deep and philosophical than Steve had the will or patience to deal with.
What truly mattered, was that Hydra's plans for the world, and therefore, humanity, were something he not only believed in, but supported wholeheartedly.
In his opinion, a large part of the struggles that humanity faced, was due to the moral ambiguity and different social standings, different ethics and belief systems, that the various cultures and societies produced.
Countries forcing their citizens to endure wars for economic or territorial gain. Religious diversity causing hatred between two or more groups. Racism and nationalism abound.
There was no structure, no unity, no order.
It was the classic tale of the tower to babel. According to the story, a united humanity in the generations following the Great Flood, speaking a single language and migrating westward, comes to the land of Shinar. There they agree to build a city and a tower tall enough to reach heaven. God, observing their city and tower, confounds their speech so that they can no longer understand each other, and scatters them around the world.
Whether one was religious or not, the story taught a valuable lesson. Together, united, striving toward the same goals, adhering to the same rules, following the same leader, mankind could achieve great things.
And that was all that Hydra wanted. To unite humanity under their banner.
Countries couldn't wage wars upon each other, if Hydra held all of the worlds weapons.
The chasm between the rich and the poor could be reduced, if Hydra had control over the world market.
People who developed powers and abilities that separated them from normal humans could be trained, studied, helped.
Was it cruel to have taken young Wanda and Pietro from their parents those many years ago? Perhaps.
But the children had had poor control over their powers, and their parents had refused to take the help that Hydra had offered them. Now it was 20 years later, and Wanda and Pietro had not only fully mastered their powers, but they had also made many good friends and parental figures within the organization. The training was sometimes hard, yes. But it was never designed to torture. The scientists that studied people like Steve and the twins (and others like them), weren't sadists.
Mutants and mutates weren't subjected to body modifications (unless they themselves requested such, or they were a medical requirement.)
His best friend Bucky had survived the cruelties of war thanks to Hydra's experiments with the super serum. He had the use of both of his arms, thanks to the Hydra scientists who had built him a new one. Wanda could sleep without accidentally slipping into the mind of another, because the many tests she had had to undergo, had helped her understand and control her powers. Studying the way Pietro's body withstood the centrifugal forces when he sped up, brought the potential of many advancements in both the technological, as well as the medical fields. The rate at which Steve's body healed from injury, would one day pave the way for Hydra to cure illnesses such as diabetes, cancer, and possibly even AIDS.
And those were just some of the examples in which Hydra would change the world for the better.
However, change like this came with a price.
Howard Stark, who had refused to manufacture weapons for Hydra, had been one of those. His wife, unfortunately, collateral damage. As had been Wanda and Pietro's parents.
The so called 'heroes' that stood in Hydra’s way, needed either to be brought over to their side, or eliminated. Governments that couldn't be infiltrated, needed to be felled.
You had to break some eggs to make an omelet.
It wouldn't matter in the long run, because the end would justify the means.
While Hydra wasn't scared to use force to do what was necessary (and they already had, on multiple occasions), it would still be preferable to win the masses over. Make them realize that Hydra was not as villainous or evil as most viewed them. After all, if they only won through the subjugation of the whole world, they stood the risk of revolution.
Which was the reason that Steve had been sent out through the portal their scientists had created, with the help of alien tech, to search for allies for their cause in other dimensions.
He had already been successful a few times. One dimension had yielded a version of Anthony Edward Stark, that was just as brilliant, but far less morally uptight, as the one in Steve’s own universe. Another had reunited him with a different Natasha Romanoff. The redhead in his own world had, sadly, sided against him, and was raising a movement against their organization. Yet another trip through the portal had secured the services of one Wade Wilson, or as he liked to be called, Deadpool. An ex-US Military soldier turned immortal mercenary, who had become disillusioned to his states moral high grounds. He was an insane pain in the ass, but damn useful.
Still, non of the new recruits filled the criteria he was looking for. So the search continued. Until he stepped foot into the latest universe, coined by the researchers, Earth 108.
The first thing that surprised him about this universe, was their very own Hydra group. Steve had looked into them right away, hoping to have found possibilities for cooperation between their universes. But it became quickly apparent to him that, while on the surface this Hydra's goals and ideals might seem similar to Steve's worlds Hydra, there were some glaring differences in execution that couldn't be overlooked or tolerated.
Turning his attention away from the poor imitation of Steve's Hydra, he looked instead into 108′s heroes. What he found both disappointed and amazed him .
The disappointment rang loudest when he found this worlds James Barnes. Teamed up with Sam Wilson, formerly known as the Falcon, but having taken on the mantle of Captain America in this world, Bucky was- no. He refused to call this man Bucky. This version of James was a shadow of the man he called his best friend.
Sam Wilson was another disappointment, though not as much of a surprise. His world's Sam was an enemy to Hydra, too convinced in his own views of the world and too stubborn to accept any different.
Earth 108 had no natural mutants, only mutates. As it turned out, the Maximoff twins not only existed in this world, but also had roughly the same powers. Only the origin of those powers was different.
The Pietro of this world had died, and his sister was hardly seen by civilians, obviously she held no interest in using her gift to the betterment of the people.
There had apparently been a Steve Rogers, who had once worn the colors of Captain America and fought for his country. But the man had vanished, chosen the peaceful life of a civilian, over standing by his friends, and protecting those that needed him.
The Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff of this world had also perished, in some big battle that had been fought against an almost almighty being. Steve didn't feel too bad about it, though. After all, he already had secured the loyalty of their undoubtedly superior versions.
While other people with powers existed, not much was known about them, apart from a few appearances. Which told Steve that they hadn't really done anything worth of acknowledgment.
And then he found Spiderman.
Spiderman was a guy who dressed up in blue and red spandex (slight stature, narrow frame, lithe,  but finely muscled), and swung around the city of New York on white strings (“Synthetic spider webs.” Tony had told him, an excited, almost manic gleam in his eyes. “Those are biodegradable, synthetic spider webs, that would have decomposed before I could get them under a microscope, had you brought them to me only an hour later. The tensile strength of these things is through the roof! I have tried reverse engineering it, but there is something about it's components that apparently changes when mixed together, which makes recreating it without knowing the original ingredients pretty much impossible. I want that formula, Cap. And the guy who came up with it. What are you still doing standing around here like the worlds most boring historic statue? Get back to 108 and find out more about that spider guy!”)
So that was exactly what Steve did, and he spent days observing the vigilante hero and learning as much about the young man (the tenor of his voice and the way he talked led Steve to believe the guy was somewhere in his early twenties) as he could.
And that's where the amazement came in.
Now this, this was a hero.
Spiderman didn't choose who deserved his help and who didn't. He climbed up a tree to bring down a stuck cat for a little girl, with the same aura of purpose, as when he jumped recklessly into a burning building to get out the inhabitants the firefighters couldn't reach. He spent hours almost every night, jumping from roof to roof, traveling along the cities many streets and alleys via his webs, to look out for citizens in trouble.
The type of criminal he would take on likewise didn't matter.
Be it a mugger with a knife, a rapist who had drugged his unsuspecting victim, a group of bank robbers with automatic guns, or a mutated villain with delusions of grandeur, or just a simple thirst for revenge, Spiderman fought them all.
And that was perhaps the most fascinating thing about the man. Steve had only been shadowing the vigilante for little more than a week by this point (which was surprisingly hard, the man seemed to sense whenever Steve got too close, and had almost spotted his 'stalker' a few times), but he had witnessed enough to know that Spiderman had enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes.
It should have been easy for him to lay out his opponents. Child's play, really, to kill most of them.
But he didn't. Spiderman pulled every punch, held himself back on every kick. Let himself take damage when there was risk to the civilians around.
Many people didn’t see a distinction between ‘fighting a criminal’ and ‘saving a person’. It was one and the same, wasn’t it? If you fought a mugger, you saved the person they were trying to rob. If you fight a rapist, you save the person they were trying to rape.
But it wasn’t as easy as that.
In Steve’s experience, most ‘heroes’ were created out of a need for revenge. They went out and fought ‘the good fight’, in order to rid the world of those who tried to hurt others. They went out in order to stop crime, and to fight the villain, and to punish the unjust. Saving someone in the process, was a byproduct.
But for Spiderman, the opposite was true.
Spiderman wasn’t out to punish, or to hurt or kill the villains of this world. Spiderman didn’t take on the role of judge, jury and executioner.
Spiderman simply wanted to help others. If helping someone meant holding up a collapsing building, that’s what he did. If helping someone meant fighting a bunch of thugs, that’s what he did. If helping someone meant explaining to them how they could get to a certain part in the city, then that’s what he did.
Steve caught an interview that one of the news reporters did with the vigilante, just after Spiderman (or Spidey, as most of this city seemed to like calling him affectionately), had resolved a hostage situation.
“This is New York News, live on the scene with Spiderman, where the city’s beloved hero has just prevented what could have ended in many causalities. Spidey, what most of our viewers have been dying to know since you first appeared, what made you choose to throw on that skin tight suit and fight crime in the first place?”
It was interesting to note that Spiderman seemed both awkward and shy in front of the camera, but somehow also reveled in the attention.
“Uhm, actually, I think, that is... It’s not so much that I specifically chose to fight crime. Someone who meant a lot to me once told me that ‘With great power, comes great responsibility’. I have these powers, and I’m honestly not sure that I did anything to deserve them at the time, but it is my responsibility to use them for good. Well, at least that’s what I believe.”
That was when Steve knew that Spiderman was exactly what Hydra needed. He could be their poster boy, their front man, the image of ‘goodness’, that the organization lacked. Spiderman could win the support of the civilians, could soften them into accepting Hydra’s rule, while Steve and the others continued their work in the shadows.
There was only one problem.
Spiderman’s obviously stellar moral compass.
He brought the matter up with his team and superiors.
“Would you be able to make him more open to our way of doing things, Wanda?”
“Not without running the risk of completely changing his character. From everything Steve has told us about this man, these things are too deeply ingrained in his being to simply change them.”
“.. There might be a way...”
“Could you elaborate on that, Doctor Schmidt?”
“Well, there are several drugs used in the present to help victims that have been through traumatic events, by replacing the problematic memories with other, harmless, or even happy ones. They are used mostly in the treatment of PTSD in soldiers, or especially traumatized children, who have experienced high levels of abuse. My research team has been working on tweaking the effects of the drug for some time, and we are at a point where I’m positive that we could use it to manipulate a person’s perception of events. If, for example, we use the drug to plant the ‘fact’ that Hydra would never break the law, and he witnessed exactly that, his mind would erase the memory of it as it happened. He would simply be unable to retain the kind of information that would contradict what the drug had planted.”
“Why am I only hearing of this drug now? Wouldn’t that solve the problems we are having with bringing the people around to our way?”
“It’s sadly not applicable for mass distribution. The drug needs to be specifically attuned to the chemical and biological make-up of the person on who it is used. And it must be regularly administered to keep up its effect. So while it may work on one individual, it’s just not possible to manufacture it for hundreds of thousands of people.”
“Very well. What would you need to ‘attune’ the drug to Spiderman?”
“Any kind of organic sample will do. Blood, skin tissue, some hairs... Just anything that carries his DNA.”
“That should be easy enough to accomplish for you, Captain. And while you are at it, try to find out who is beneath the mask.”
“Yes Sir.”
It turned out to be easier than he thought it would be. Spiderman had fought a man with four mechanical arms who called himself Doc Ock. (Well, Spidey had called him Doc Ock, which hadn’t seemed to be sitting all that well with the man.)
While Spiderman had won, he had been wounded. The vigilante had managed to swing himself away from the place that was rapidly filling with onlookers, authorities, and emergency personnel alike, and had come to a painful stop in a dark alley a few miles away. It had taken Steve a few minutes to catch up with him, but once he did, he quickly crouched down in front of the crumpled form of the red and blue clad man, who was leaning weakly against the dirty wall, pressing a hand to his bleeding side, and breathing harshly through his teeth.
He flinched violently when Steve laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“Easy there, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Cap... Captain... Rogers..? Sir..? I thought you... you were...”
Speaking was evidently hard, so Steve held up a calming hand.
“It’s a long story. Let’s get you some help first.”
He was about to reach over to scoop the slighter man into his arms, but was stopped by a hand on his chest and a rapidly shaking head.
“Can’t... can’t go to.... a hospi.. hospital... It’s okay... ‘ve got a... got a... healing factor... I’ll be fine... Just need a... a few.. “
Accelerated healing. Spiderman really was the perfect hero.
Steve nodded in order to appease the man.
“Okay. Are you sure your wound isn’t too much for your healing factor?”
Spiderman nodded.
“... Just need... to not bleed out... before it can... finish repairing the... damage..”
“Good. Let me help you with that.” He pressed his hand over the slimmer, smaller one that was covering the wound. It tore a pained, but thankfully short, groan from the hero’s lips.
“My instructor in the army used to say that we should be damn grateful if we feel pain, because that means we are still alive. Just keep breathing. You are doing good. Maybe we should take off that mask-”
He reached for it, but his hand was intercepted by a still surprisingly strong grip. He looked right into the masks eyes and spoke in a reassuring tone.
“Don’t worry, we are deep enough in this alley that no one will see. The mask might make it harder for you to breath under these circumstances, and I can’t imagine it feels very comfortable right now. No one will know besides me. Trust me.”
Steve was banking on the fact that his other version had been a well respected and trusted icon to the people of this world. Thankfully, it worked, and his hand was released from the now slightly shaking grip.
Steve had not been prepared for the sight that greeted him once he removed the mask, and he couldn’t help but stare for a few seconds.
Beautiful.
Spiderman was beautiful.
Chestnut curls, almond eyes, pale skin (though that could be due to the blood loss), soft features.
Gorgeous. Just utterly gorgeous.
“Uhm, uh,.. hey. I mean, hi. I... I didn’t really get the... chance to introduce myself,.. last time we met,... so uhm,... hi. I... I’m Peter. P-Peter Parker. I’m... I’m a big.. fan.”
He was blushing through his ramble.
Adorable.
It was too dark, and Peter was too exhausted, to discern the wide smirk on the Captain’s face.
“Hello, Peter Parker.”
It was so easy, after that first meeting.
Steve had stayed crouched before Peter and applied pressure to the sizable wound for a good twenty minutes, before the younger man had judged it safe to use his webs to spray the wound close. He was weak from the blood loss, so Steve had told him to stay right there, while he himself would go and retrieve the backpack with Peter’s civilian clothes for him to change into.
Still shaky and slightly trembling, Peter had gratefully accepted Steve’s arm around his slim waist, and had let the super soldier support him the whole way to his apartment. There Steve had carefully deposited him on his beat up couch, pressed a bottle of water into his hand, and fixed him a quick meal with the ingredients found in the fridge. (Which were pitiful at best. The state of the whole apartment actually left a lot to be desired in Steve’s eyes.)
He had stayed and watched as the younger man ate, refusing all offers of Peter to share the meager portion, and kept lifting up the shirt to check if the temporary bandage had been bled through. (And to covertly stroke over the skin surrounding the wound. And oh, it was just as soft as it looked.)
When the webbing dissolved about an hour later, Steve insisted on cleaning and bandaging the wound himself, which had Peter blushing and stuttering, in-between thanking Steve for his help.
He didn’t notice when the Captain held a small vial to the sluggishly bleeding wound, stealing a few precious drops.
Steve could tell that Peter had questions. Questions that he thought he would be directing at the Captain Rogers from Earth 108. But right then wasn’t the right time to explain things to the vigilante. So Steve again simply scooped the slighter man into a bridal carry (it had Peter blushing so delightfully), and took him into his bedroom. (The overhead light wasn’t working, the mattress was probably as old as Peter himself, and the blanket was thin and had quite a few holes in it. The rickety bed frame squeaked when Steve laid his light burden down on it, and he had a hard time masking his disdain at the blatantly poor accommodations the younger man lived in.)
“How good is your healing? Will you really be okay without seeing a proper doctor?”
The thought had crossed his mind to just whisk the younger man away, into his own dimension, to let him be checked over by Hydra’s doctors. But such a move might be counterproductive. Dr. Schmidt had told him that it would take a few days to code the drug to Spiderman’s genetic structure. Steve didn’t know how well acquainted Peter had been with his own Captain Rogers (though possibly not very well, remembering how Peter had said that he hadn’t had a chance to introduce himself to the older man before), and he hadn’t established himself as a trustworthy figure to the vigilante yet. So there was no telling how Peter would react to not only being in a different universe, but also enjoying the hospitality of a group that was considered the enemy in his world (and in Steve’s world as well, if one wanted to be technical about it).
They had the means to keep Spiderman at the base should things go awry, but if the younger man went into this already carrying a negative impression on either Steve or his group, the drug might not work as intended.
So unless Peter was in immediate danger from his injury, Steve would use the time he had while the scientists manufactured the drug, to earn the vigilante’s trust and affection.
Thankfully, Peter nodded.
“It’s fine. It’s not healed yet, and I will probably have to take it easy for about 2 to 3 days, but it’s gonna be okay. As far as I have narrowed it down, as long as I prevent dying, my healing will patch me back up. Sleeping will help, as will a good meal, though I’m gonna have to go shopping for groceries, I think...”
Since Steve had similar experiences with his own accelerated healing, he knew that it would take more than one good meal to satisfy the high metabolism and boost his body’s healing ability. And judging by everything he had seen so far, the super solider doubted that Peter had the funds for this.
Fortunately, this presented a great opportunity.
“Then how about this,” He smiled charmingly as he gently tucked the holey blanket under the narrow shoulders. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning with some nice breakfast, Then, depending on how well you feel, we will go for a little walk to catch some sun and fresh air. And after that, we will eat in that cozy little diner I found the other day. My treat.”
“No, Captain Rogers, Sir, I couldn’t possibly-”
A simple finger pressed to soft, plush lips, stopped the protest right away.
“Peter, I insist. And really, it’s more for myself than for you. I wouldn’t feel good if I don’t get to check on your wound, and make sure that you eat well. Also, please call me Steve. Captain and Sir seems far too formal.” (Though it might be fun being called that under different circumstances...)
As Peter tried protesting anew (stubborn little spider), Steve added
“Also, there is something I need to discuss with you. A favor, really. So, just take this as my thanks for your help.”
Peter frowned. “What if I’m not the right guy for the job?”
“You are.”
-
The next four days were a dream. Steve had gotten the blood sample back to his world, and Doctor Schmidt and his team had started on it right away. As promised, he had been bright and early at Peter’s pitiful apartment the next morning, with an assortment of breakfast food (courtesy of Tony’s wallet, who had managed to amount quite a bit of a fortune for Hydra in his free time, using only a computer).
The spider-powered hero took surprisingly well to being told about different dimensions and universes. (Steve had had to cut off the excited science-techno-babble though, as it frankly went right over his head.) “Well, it explains how you are here. No one has really seen Captain Rogers after the last great battle, and according to Sergeant Barnes, he is happily retired.”
Even when Steve told him about the Hydra in his world being the good guys, that they were their version of Peter’s world’s Shield, the younger man accepted his words as the truth without much complaint. Though a bit of the easy compliance was probably due to Steve mentioning how fascinated Stark had been by his webs.
“Stark? T-Tony Stark? You have a Tony Stark in your world? He... he is alive in your world?”
Well, the Tony Stark that was originally from Steve’s world was dead, but there was no reason to tell Peter that.
“Right, I heard about Iron Man’s death here. I’m sorry, Peter. Were you close?”
This could work in their favor.
“N-not exactly close... I wouldn’t say. Just. He figured out who I was, back when I started going out as Spiderman. I was still new to the whole hero/vigilante thing, and I ... I made some mistakes. He offered to take me under his wing, show me the ropes. He even made me a new and better suit!”
Steve frowned.
“He gave you that spandex suit?” That thing couldn’t even protect Peter from a harsh wind!
Peter’s expression fell right away.
“Uh, no. The suit he made me was... it was super awesome. Intelligent nano-tech with its own A.I. I named her Karen. But... after Mr Stark died... “
The Captain had laid a consoling hand on his shoulder.
“I understand, Peter. Listen, if you don’t think you can face Tony-”
“No, no. I want to help you, even though I’m still not sure why you think I’m a good candidate for that. And it might be, good? to see him again... I mean I know he isn’t the Tony Stark I knew, but... I will help you.”
“After you have fully healed. I will take you with me and introduce you to everyone, and when we are there I will be better able to fully explain everything to you. And Peter? Thank you.”
Steve made use of the time spent together to learn what he could about the young hero. Peter was 23 years old and working freelance for a big newspaper. When Steve inquired about college, the younger man awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, and confessed to not having pursued a higher education, due to not being able to afford it. “I mean, I was offered a few scholarships from different universities, but those only paid for tuition. I still needed to come up with the money for living expanses and some of the text books I would need on my own. And going to college, plus getting a job, plus being Spiderman... I would have liked studying, but I don’t regret choosing Spiderman over it.”
Steve learned that Peter was a genuinely nice and warm person, with a good head on his shoulders, and a huge soft spot for animals (dogs especially).
“It’s probably a good thing that my apartment complex doesn’t allow pets. I can barely scrape the money together to feed myself.”
Peter was a bit of a nerdy geek with a dorky sense of humor, and once he started rambling about something he felt passionate about, it could be quite some time before you got him to stop.
It was endearing.
When Peter had insisted on taking Steve sightseeing (and asking a seemingly endless series of questions about all the differences between the two versions of New York), and Steve had casually mentioned that he liked to sketch and draw in his free time upon seeing an artist in Central Park, Peter had looked at him with wide eyes and pure admiration.
“Can I see your paintings? I have no talent for art, but the way people can take a pencil or a piece of charcoal or whatever and just create amazing images, has always fascinated me. Though I don’t really get some of the styles that are just random lines and splotches everywhere, but sometimes you look at a drawing and it makes you feel things, you know? And I just really love looking at art sometimes, or watching someone draw. I can’t tell you how many hours I have spent binging Bob Ross. But you don’t have to! I totally get if you would rather keep it private.”
Just when Steve thought he couldn’t possibly fall for Peter any more than he already had.
When Dr. Schmidt informed him that the drug had been completed at the same day that Peter reported his injury fully healed, Steve couldn’t help the feeling that this must be fate.
Clearly, Peter had always meant to be in his world, with his team, by his side.
He convinced the younger man to leave his suit at home.
“It wouldn’t do for your fans to recognize you and follow us. They might think your Captain America has returned to throw Spiderman into a wormhole or something. And besides, Tony has been quite adamant about giving you a better suit. He doesn’t want to undermine your grief, but he said that if your Tony was anything like him, he would be positively devastated that his protege was running around in spandex.”
Peter, perfect thing that he was, agreed.
When the inter-dimensional portal closed behind them, the two were greeted by Steve’s team and Doctor Schmidt, who was holding a syringe. It was time for the final act.
Peter hadn’t noticed the doctor, nor did he really pay attention to the other persons in the room. His eyes were fixed on one Tony Stark. Said man grinned widely and stepped closer.
“Spiderman! Or do you prefer Peter when you are not suited up? It’s good to finally meet you.”
Needless to say, he was quite taken aback when in the next second, the younger man flung himself against the genius in a hug.
Peter’s voice was muffled from where his face was pressed into Tony’s chest.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I know you are not him. And you are probably also not the hugging type. Mr Stark wasn’t, either. Just, just a moment... please.”
Tony wasn’t a man easily led by emotion or empathy, but this once, he made an exception. After all, Peter would become family soon. So the older and just slightly taller man returned the hug, and softly patted Peter on the back.
“It’s alright, kid. I get it.”
The brunette got a hold of himself shortly after, and apologized profusely, but Tony waved him off.
“Seriously kid, it’s okay.”
Somehow, the others managed to interject and introduce themselves to Peter. Wade naturally flirted with the brunette right of the bat, and while Peter blushed hard at the mercenary’s many pick-up lines (Steve did not appreciate the scene all that much), he also had a way of talking to the man that seemed to work very well with the hyperactive insanity that made up Deadpool.
“Peter?” 
Peter quickly turned to face the Captain. Which was when he finally noticed the older man in the lab coat, who was carrying a capped syringe in his hand.
“Peter, this is Doctor Schmidt, Hydra’s head of the medical department.”
Peter nodded in acknowledgement, but the sight of the syringe had him a little on edge, and he didn’t step any closer. Steve seemed to notice the source of his hesitance.
“Don’t worry, Pete, I promise it’s nothing sinister. I forgot to tell you beforehand, that’s on me. The thing with traveling to different universes, is that you are basically a foreign matter. It’s, uhm-”
Steve looked to the doctor next to him, hoping he would take over the explanation. They had gone over the story they would feed Peter to accept the drug two times, but Steve simply wasn’t a man of science and didn’t feel confident to deliver the words with the needed certainty for the younger man to believe him. Thankfully Schmidt took the hint.
“Are you familiar with the practice of organ transplantation, Mister Parker?”
“Yes. I mean, I’m no professional, but I know the theory and procedure behind it. Peter is fine, by the way, Doctor.”
Schmidt smiled kindly.
“Then you are familiar with the problems of transplant rejection, during which the body has an immune response to the transplanted organ, possibly leading to transplant failure. Which is something that modern medicine has found a way to prevent, through the use of immune-suppressant drugs.”
Peter’s eyes widened in understanding. (Steve loved how expressive Peter’s face was. How he could always tell when the younger man was working out a puzzle in his mind, and the exact moment when he solved it and his eyes would light up.)
“So another universe is like a different organism, and people traveling from one universe to another, are like donor organs, that get implanted into this new organism.”
“Right. What I’m holding in my hand, if we follow up on this analogy, is an ‘immune-suppressant’, that will prevent our ‘organism’ to reject you. The Captain has likewise taken this medicine every time he visited another universe, so I can assure you, it is completely harmless.”
Peter visibly relaxed.
“Yeah, no, I get it. I hadn’t even thought there might be something like this to consider with inter-dimensional travel, but it makes a lot of sense. Wouldn’t want to unbalance your universe with my presence here, or start glitching out of existence or something like that. Do you mind if I sit down for this? Not that I’m scared of needles or anything, but... yeah.”
God, he was cute. Steve couldn’t help the little chuckle that slipped out. (And he wasn’t alone. Bucky and Natasha were smirking, Pietro and Wade tipped their heads in sympathy to Peter, and Wanda and Tony were laughing lightly.)
“That will be no problem, Peter.”
The young hero didn’t worry when his spidey-sense tingled slightly as the needle came closer to his skin. His fear of needles was likely just feeding into the instinct.
It took only about two minutes for the drug to take affect. Peter’s pupils were blown huge, and he was swaying slightly in the chair as if drunk.
“We have estimated that it is safe to implant up to three new facts in the subjects mind. Say his name each time before you state a fact. List the facts clearly, so that his mind will have an easier time to categorize and save them away. Have him repeat the key fact after each time. Positive affirmation may help to anchor the new facts in his subconscious. It’s important that you keep eye contact with him during the whole thing.”
Steve nodded and crouched down in front of the drugged man, so that their eyes were at the same height. He carefully framed Peter’s face between both his large hands, and guided him gently to look directly at him.
“Peter.”
He saw how the almond eyes focused immediately.
“Fact 1: Hydra are the good guys. Hydra would never do anything bad. Say it.”
His voice came out slightly robotic, but grew in conviction with every word.
“Fact 1: Hydra are the good guys. Hydra would never do anything bad.”
Steve smiled and stroked his thumbs over Peter’s cheek bones.
“Good boy.”
Even though he was still a bit loopy due to the drug, the praise seemed to make him more attentive. What a perfect, perfect little spider.
“Peter. Fact 2: Hydra is your family. Everyone in this room especially, is your friend. You don’t want to go back to your own dimension, even if it means taking the ‘immune-suppressant’ every week. Say it.”
Peter repeated the words dutifully and Steve rewarded him with a soft kiss on his forehead.
“Good boy.”
The younger man smiled dizzily at him.
“Peter. Fact 3: You love me. You are in love with me. We are in a relationship. You love it when I touch you. You love it when I kiss you. You love it when I fuck you. Say it.”
“I love you. I’m in love with you. We are in a relationship. I love it when you touch me. I love it when you kiss me. I love it when you fuck me.”
This one deserved a filthy kiss on the lips. Steve smirked. Victory had never tasted as sweet.
“Good boy.”
-
They waited about an hour for the drug to wear off, before they tested the effectiveness of Peter’s conditioning.
The spider enhanced brunette stood close to Steve’s side, who lazily stroked a finger along Peter’s spine. It made the younger man shudder so deliciously.
Two Hydra agents dragged in a woman in handcuffs, who was shooting everyone in the room venomous looks, but stoically kept her mouth shut.
Peter frowned at the scene.
“What’s going on?”
“This woman broke into one of our secured bases, and was caught trying to hack our servers. We believe she was looking for a shipment of dangerous weapons we confiscated from a dealer a few days ago.”
At this the woman, who was a member of the resistance working against Hydra’s growing influence, scoffed.
“That what you are telling to feed the masses, Captain Hydra? Pathetic!”
Thankfully, Peter couldn’t see the venomous look his boyfriend gave the woman. When he looked up at him, Steve’s face had cleared of all hostility.
“So why is she here, and not in prison?”
“We believe she is part of a larger organization connected to the black markets. So we brought her here in order to hopefully get some Intel on that. Agent Harper, your gun please.”
As soon as the gun was passed over to the Captains hand, Steve shot the woman right between the eyes. She collapsed dead in the hold of the two Agents that had brought her in.
But Steve’s focus wasn’t on the enemy’s lifeless body, but on Peter. The younger man looked at the scene before, blinked once, and then turned to Steve with a nod.
“Okay. I’m sure you and Bucky will get her to talk in no time. I should get going now, I need to make myself familiar with this version of New York, and Tony said he has a suit ready for me. Wade offered his services as tour guide.”
He grinned brightly and stood up on his tip toes to press a small kiss to the corner of Steve’s lips.
“Have fun, darling. And remember, if Wade gets too handsy, web him to a wall somewhere.”
Peter laughed. Steve would never get tired of hearing that sound.
“You are sexy when you are jealous. Tell me what you find out from her when I get back. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
A quick kiss goodbye, and Peter was happily jogging out of the room to meet up with Deadpool and get his new suit from Tony.
Steve watched him go with a satisfied smile on his face, before turning to the agents.
“Dispose of her body. And inform Dr. Schmidt and his team that the test was successful.”
__________________________________________
The End.
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