[Third Person POV]
Peter walked carefully through the dimly lit base, both hands occupied with a tray stacked high with food. Balancing the tray, he nudged the reinforced door open with his hip, the metallic clang echoing faintly behind him as he stepped through.
Ahead loomed a massive gate of polished steel, its surface humming faintly with energy. Peter paused as the machinery scanned him from head to toe, beams of pale light gliding across his body before the system gave a confirming beep. With a hiss, the door slid apart, revealing the sterile, controlled environment of the containment block.
The room wasn't large, only a handful of cells lined the space, each one walled off by shimmering fields of blue energy that rippled faintly like disturbed water.
Peter's footsteps echoed softly as he passed the first cell. Inside, Samuel Stern lay sprawled out on the cot, still deep in sleep, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. Peter didn't linger, moving on until he came upon the next cell. There, sitting quietly on the edge of his bed, was a man who looked far older than his years suggested.
His slowly graying hair caught the light, and his broad shoulders slumped forward as his forearms rested against his legs. He didn't move, eyes locked on the floor, lost in a silence.
"I brought you food," Peter announced, his voice carrying a boyish grin despite the heavy atmosphere.
The man finally lifted his head, revealing the familiar, timeworn face of General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross.
Peter raised the tray for him to see. "It's a five-course meal, see? We've got rice, meat, salad, something to wash it all down, and even dessert. We treat our guests with the finest hospitality." He gestured dramatically at the spread as though he were a waiter in a high-end restaurant.
Ross let out a low sound, half a scoff, half a bitter laugh. "Guests? Don't you mean prisoners?" His gravelly voice still carried weight, though the fiery edge that once defined him seemed dulled. He motioned vaguely to the glowing barrier around him.
Peter tilted his head, unfazed. "I mean, can you blame us? After everything you've pulled against us in the past, what did you honestly expect?" His grin softened into something more neutral before he nodded at the tray. "Well? You gonna eat, or should I take this back?"
Ross exhaled through his nose, placing a hand over his stomach before slowly rising to his feet. The barrier rippled, a small rectangular slot opening just wide enough for the tray to slide through. Without a word, Peter pushed it in. Ross retrieved it and carried it to the small table and chair pressed against the far wall, sitting with his back to the glowing field.
Peter turned to leave but Ross's voice stopped him.
"How's Betty?"
The unexpected question froze Peter mid-step. He glanced back and saw Ross already digging into the meal, his tone had shifted into something softer, something vulnerable.
Blinking, Peter conjured a wooden chair from a portal and spun it around, straddling it backward so the backrest faced Ross. He leaned his arms casually across the top. "She seemed okay the last I saw her. She and Bruce… they had a moment. Now the two of them are examining the effects Bruce's blood had on her."
Ross gave a low hum, chewing thoughtfully on his salad. "Hmm. That's good, I suppose…"
"And you?" Peter asked, his curiosity genuine. "How are you feeling?"
Ross looked up briefly, eyes heavy, before lowering them again. "A lot of things. Rage. Regret. Exhaustion." His fork tapped against the plate. "I'm feeling so many things at once I don't even know which one is supposed to win out. And I don't know why I'm even telling you this."
Peter studied him, intrigued by the rare honesty, when Ross suddenly cut him off.
"About Betty… is there any chance I'll be able to see her? Maybe talk to her, even for a moment?" There was a flicker of hope buried in his voice.
Peter shrugged. "Sure. But that depends on her and what she wants to do."
Ross snorted bitterly, stabbing at the meat with his fork. "Right. Since the only reason she'd get close to me was when she was undercover, spying."
Peter tilted his head slightly. "Were you aware of that?"
Ross set his fork down and reached for the drink. After a long sip, he finally said, "Yes and no. Stern had the strongest hold on me because of how long he controlled me. But that also meant I was the first to… realize what was happening, even while I was still trapped under his influence. When Betty came to me with that nonsense about her and Banner being over, I knew she was lying through her teeth."
He glanced at Peter then, his expression shifting. "You have children?"
Peter's face brightened instantly. "I do, actually. A little girl." His grin stretched ear to ear, pride practically radiating from his voice.
For the first time since Peter had entered, Ross smiled faintly. "Then you'd know. It's instinct. A parent always knows when their kid is lying." His jaw clenched suddenly, his hand tightening around the utensils until they trembled. "But what use was that instinct? I couldn't do anything to protect her. Couldn't warn her that she was walking straight into danger." His voice cracked faintly, though he masked it with another bite of food.
Ross sat in silence, the scrape of his fork against the plate the only sound filling the containment room. His eyes, half-shadowed beneath his brow, flicked away from Peter and down at the remnants of his meal. For a long moment, it seemed like he wouldn't speak again. But then, with a heavy exhale, his voice broke the stillness.
"He made me watch, you know…" His tone was low, almost hoarse. His hand rose slowly, fingers covering his forehead, and for a brief moment he shielded his eyes as if he could block out the memories clawing their way back. "He practically forced me to watch as he experimented on my own daughter—on Betty—right in front of me."
His jaw tightened, teeth grinding faintly. "I think he knew I was aware, knew I could see everything. That was the point. He thrived on that control, on knowing I was powerless to stop him. Every second of it… he relished the look in my eyes when I realized there was nothing I could do."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the energy barrier, the faint mechanical clicks from the base's walls, all seemed distant compared to the raw gravity of Ross's admission. He lowered his hand from his face, his voice softening.
"I want to see Betty," he muttered, his throat tightening on the words. "I want to properly apologize to her. Being aware, knowing what was happening and still unable to do anything… it left me with more to think about than I can put into words. A lot to regret. A lot to reconsider."
Peter leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over the backrest as he studied the older man. There was no arrogance in his expression, no smug satisfaction in seeing a former enemy so vulnerable—just empathy. "I'll see what I can do," Peter said softly. "Maybe this… maybe it can be a chance for you to start fresh. To use what you went through as a way to change, instead of letting it eat you alive."
Ross didn't answer right away. He shifted the food around his plate, poking at the leftovers more out of habit than hunger. Finally, his rough voice returned, quieter than before. "…Do you believe I could really do it? Start over, I mean?"
Peter smiled faintly and leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded arms. "Absolutely. There's not a single doubt in my mind. If I didn't believe people could change, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be doing this. Being a superhero means believing that everyone deserves a second chance, that no one's past has to dictate their future. I believe anyone has the ability to do good—to learn from their mistakes, to grow, to be better than they were yesterday."
Ross let out a dry, humorless scoff, shaking his head. "That's a dangerously naive way of thinking. A person's nature isn't so easily rewritten. You keep believing things like that, you're bound to get yourself hurt. Or worse."
Peter's grin widened, though his eyes remained steady and serious. "Sure, it's naive. But I don't see what's so bad about that. Believing in the good in people isn't such a thing after all. And no, people don't change overnight. Nobody's expecting that. Change is a process, not a miracle. But if someone's willing to try, if they're willing to take the first step, then why should we deny them the chance just because it's hard?"
His tone grew firmer, almost carrying the same conviction that made him stand unyielding in the face of villains far stronger than him. "General Ross, we've butted heads before. We've been on opposite sides more than once. But I believe you can do good. I believe you can be better than the man you were before. The only thing standing in your way… is you. You just have to start believing it too."
Ross's eyes closed, his chest rising and falling as he let out a long, slow breath. The stern lines of his face softened just slightly. When he finally opened his eyes again, they weren't burning with anger or resentment, but with something else—tired gratitude.
Wordlessly, he picked up the tray and extended it through the slot toward Peter. His voice was quieter now, stripped of its usual commanding tone. "Could I… get seconds? All that bastard ever did was make us swim in nutrient-filled water." He hesitated, his gaze slipping to the side as he muttered almost awkwardly, "Please."
For a moment, Peter just stared at him, the corners of his mouth tugging upward into a smile. He rose from the chair, his movements light with an almost boyish energy. "Sure thing, General," he said warmly, taking the tray. "I'll get you more."
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