Wings || Peter Parker

Part 1, Chapter 1: The Origin Story

TW: Psychotic behavior, blood, dead body, emotional trauma/abuse, gore

It was a dark night for Angela Pierce. A thirty-one-year-old, nine months pregnant, lying on the floor of her kitchen giving birth. 

She was completely nude, her lower abdomen and legs covered in blood and goop. 

Her feet were planted against the wall, leaving blood spatters all over the floor. 

Her hands were tearing out clumps of hair from her head, wiping the strands off, and repeated the process as her contractions got worse.

Her landline phone rested on the floor, the busy tone beeping for days. It was broken, and the constant sound had caused her to rip the cord in half with her teeth. This obviously hadn't turned out well, allowing electricity to surge through her body. 

She spasmed on the ground for a moment, still in labor. 

The neighbors called the police on her again, for the third time that month. 

When they knocked on the door, they didn't get a response. Preparing for the psychotic behavior that couldn't be forced to go to a mental hospital, they raised their guns and stepped inside. 

When the youngest worker ran into the dead body of Angela Pierce, he screamed and threw up on the junk-covered kitchen table. 

When the second worker found the first vomiting, he followed once he saw the scene. 

A crazed woman, lying on the floor. A fully naked body, blood covering her and the floor around her. Her pregnant belly had bruises all over it as if it had been punched or beaten. Her black hair was dirty and matted, parts of her scalp bloody, and clumps of hair stuck in the blood pools. Around her eyes were dark with lack of sleep, and her stomach was scratched with deep gashes left from fingernails.

The third officer managed to stomach his vomit enough to call in an ambulance.

The child of Angela Pierce was pulled from the dead body of her mother, with the most peculiar thing doctors had seen. There were small flesh and bone lumps on her back, right near her shoulder blades. 

They immediately ran hundreds of tests and scans to see whether the lumps were affecting her in any way and if they had to be removed immediately. They found they were attached with a muscle under the shoulder blades, and decided since she could move them of her own free will, they would leave them there for now. Though if there were any complications, they would be surgically removed.

At one year old, the girl had a full head of curly brown hair, a small number of feathers on her flesh lumps, which had grown into a tiny set of wings.

All doctors in the NICU monitored her every hour of her life, all still appalled by the wings. They didn't know what to do with her, so they kept her until someone they could all trust would raise her. 

The child was taken to a scientific facility on her first birthday when the hospital allowed a covert study on human birth mutations to be done on her.

She was dubbed test subject 001. She was studied for years, growing up on genetically modified foods, living in a small room with a pink canopy bed and all the stuffed bears she could ever want. 

Her wings had developed as she grew older, shedding tons of feathers during the spring, and becoming warmer and thicker nearing the cold seasons. By the time she was eleven, her wingspan was twice her height. By her thirteenth, they were three times. 

Every day she was led from her room to a doctor's office within the facility. There, she had blood drawn, a daily check-up, and a full examination. This took up the first half of her day, eating her breakfast consisting of one fried egg(completely made from chemicals), and three slices of tomato. She attends a three-hour class about biology after the doctors, and then three more hours worth of training. By training, she worked out until it was time for the second meal. She rarely even moved her wings, except for moving them while she was sleeping. She'd been trained for years to ignore the weight on her back, and she did. She listened to the workers, without any knowledge of a world outside a computer-generated sky.

She stayed there for fourteen years until a certain visitor entered the door on her fifteenth birthday.

A short man in a black suit with a briefcase met her in a conference room when she woke that morning, the only time the schedule had ever changed.

"Hello, 001," The man said. "I am Tony Stark. Nice to meet you." He stood up, holding out his hand. 

The girl stepped forwards, shaking his hand as her wings brushed the doorframe.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked.

She shook her head.

"I'm Iron Man. I live in New York City at the top of the Avengers tower, and I'd like to adopt you."

The girl knew what adopt meant. She knew where New York City was, yet it was all information she never would've thought of happening.

"How does that sound?" He asked.

She just nodded in response.

"Great." He whispered something to the man who led her there, and he nodded, leading her back to her room. 

He instructed her to pack her things, so she placed her three shirts in a small suitcase given by the facility, along with her three pairs of pants and her favorite bear. They all looked the same in the beginning. After three years, one had been well worn from all the toddler's mishaps. The workers had simply taken it away, and instructed her to play with the other ones. She did, slowly dwindling the collection until it was just one left. They'd taken away her previous one while she was talking the Tony Stark. The last bear was not her favorite bear, but it was the only one left. 

Subject 001 left the facility for the first time in her life, entered a long black car, and was driven deep into the city. On the car ride, she was given the name Max Pierce, her mother's last name, and a name chosen by Tony Stark.