Summary: SEQUEL TO PAINT IT BLACK. Peter Parker was rescued from Hydra's clutches, but not without great cost. Tony Stark and the Avengers work desperately to find a way to remove the alien parasite, Venom, from the teen before it consumes him entirely, Peter struggles to fight against his dark descent, all the while Hydra lurks, waiting to reclaim their investment.

A/N: Guess who's back? :) Hello, ladies and gents! Remember when I said I was taking a break from writing over the holidays and that I would start on the sequel next month? Yeah...that didn't happen. I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who left a review on Paint it Black, whether you stuck with me from the beginning or jumped in late! I was overwhelmed by your support and kind words! So, as a Christmas gift, I thought I would start posting my sequel early.

So yes, if you haven't read Paint it Black, this story probably won't make any sense to you. Go read that first!

This takes place almost immediately after the last chapter of Paint it Black, and also happens to be set around Christmas time! So the title of this sequel, as well as all of its chapters, will be named after Christmas carols, following my trend of naming the previous story's chapters after classic rock songs.

I hope to update at least once, maybe twice a week as the time allows, but I appreciate your patience in advance if the holidays prevent me from posting.

Without further ado, I give you, Silent Night!

Chapter One: Away in a Manger

Clint Barton

One of the worst parts about being locked up in this hell hole? The inability to tell just how much time has passed.

Our meals are delivered to us sporadically, carefully avoiding any kind of repetitious pattern that might give away what time of day or night it is. The assholes in charge must have thought it would be best if we knew as little as possible, if we were kept as isolated from the outside world as they could manage, or maybe they just wanted us to suffer more. I didn't really care.

All I knew was that it had been far too long.

And every day, every minute that passed, whether I was able to count them or not, was a minute of my children's lives that I was missing.

I'm lying on the cot in my cell, the scratchy, charcoal gray blanket crumpled up in a ball on the floor, the flat, white pillow bunched up beneath my head. My hands are resting atop my chest, rising and falling as I keep my breathing even and rhythmic.

Will Nathaniel even remember me?

He'd just turned one when I got thrown in here. Young enough that he may not recognize me by the time I get out. If I ever get out. I probably missed his first steps. He'd been so close to walking when I got the call from Cap. Is he toddling all over the house now? Tearing things off the bookshelves or pulling out the dishes from the cupboards every time Laura's back is turned?

Cooper was getting into everything when he was that age.

Is Cooper still struggling with his math? Is Lila still jealous over the attention the baby was getting?

Does Laura hate me for choosing the losing side in that battle, and consequently causing her to lose her husband, and the kids their father? She should. If she doesn't, that's just fine. I have enough hate for the both of us.

Not that I regret the side I chose. I just regret what it cost my family.

My silent musings are suddenly, harshly interrupted by a voice from the cell next door breaking out into song.

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen..."

My eyes snap open, my face twisting in an annoyed scowl.

"Nobody knows my sorrow…"

"Hey!" comes a second voice, laced with irritation. "What have we told you about the singing?"

"Aw, come on, guys!" Scott Lang protests. "I'm going crazy in here. You gotta give me something."

"We did give you something. We gave you clear rules about your damn singing. So shut the hell up," Sam snaps from further down.

"How come no one yells at Clint when he sings?"

"Because Barton has the voice of an angel, which he chooses to use very sparingly. You have the voice of a cat that's been smoking cigarettes for nine years before being run over by a car. Twice," comes Sam's sharp reply.

"Jesus! What the hell is wrong with you?" Scott exclaims, and I hear him move closer to the front of his cell.

"Did you seriously just ask me that?" Sam's voice is incredulous. "Do you not see where we are? Or is this some kind of vacation for you, trapped in this floating shit hole with the Avenger's former finest?"

Scott lets out a snort of derisive laughter. "Finest. Yeah, ok. Sure, man. Yeah, this is an effing dream come true for me, surrounded by my idols, the most impressive of the Avengers. I am just so unworthy. You know, if I recall correctly, and I do, I kicked your ass that day at the Avengers compound. I think someone's pride is still a little wounded."

"Kicked my ass?"

"For the love of god, please don't start again," I say finally, interrupting as I hear Sam's sharp intake of air, no doubt ready to rip Scott a new one. My hands reach up to rub my temples. How am I thousands of miles away from my family and still having to play the role of a parent? God, not even my kids argued like this.

Although to be fair, my kids have never been imprisoned in small cells in the middle of the ocean with only each other to talk to.

"He started it," I hear Scott mumble as I push myself up and swing my legs over the edge of the cot until I am perched on the edge.

From my angle, I can't see Lang's cell at all, and only half of Sam's down to the left on his other side. The man is leaning against the wall of his cell close to the barred glass, his arms folded over his blue clad chest. He is glaring daggers at Scott, who is no doubt responding in kind.

Idiots.

Ross could have at least had the kindness to keep us all separated so I didn't have to put up with this shit.

My eyes find Wanda's cell directly across from mine, and my stomach sinks.

She hasn't moved from where she sits curled up in the corner, her head leaning against the wall, her long, dark hair forming a curtain around her face and spilling over her shoulders to partially cover the belts of the straightjacket crisscrossing over her chest. From what little I can see of her face, she is staring blankly at the opposite wall, lost in thought.

Wanda hasn't spoken in a long time. Weeks, if I had to guess.

In the beginning, I'd tried to keep her spirits up as much as I could. I was wary of my words, not wanting to give any information that could be used against us to the bastards running this joint, but I'd kept her entertained with stories of some of the places I had seen, or told her about all the things she should do or see when we got out of here.

She'd even opened up to me more about Pietro.

"He always thought of himself as the older brother," Wanda had said in her heavy accent, a small smile still laced with grief. "Like being twelve minutes apart counted more like twelve years."

"He was a good man," I'd replied, my insides tight with guilt and sympathy. "A good brother."

"He was," she'd agreed, her large eyes glassy and wet. "Pietro always said that I was the stronger one, that if anything happened to me, he'd go mad from the grief of it. But that I would find a way to go on if something were to happen to him, because I was a fighter. He told me I was a fire too fierce, too forceful to be put out."

Tears had broken free to slip down the hollows of her cheeks, and the devastation in her eyes had nearly crippled me.

"He was wrong."

I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the monstrosity of the bonds constricting around her body. Rising, I make my way to the barred glass wall and lean against it, one arm pressed against the barrier above my head. I am torn between heartache and horrible rage at the sight of her caged like this. Broken.

"Hey kiddo," I call softly. She had stopped responding to me a long while ago, but I didn't stop trying. Couldn't stop trying. "Wanna give me a hand, here? These morons aren't listening to me. Maybe if you tried, they would finally shut the hell up."

Her eyes don't even twitch in my direction.

"How's your singing voice?" I try again. "I'd bet good money yours would put all of ours to shame. Come on, I bet you know some great Sokovian lullabies. Might even put Scott right to sleep, save us the trouble of asking the guards to drug his food again."

"Very funny," Scott shoots back half heartedly.

Nothing.

Wanda just blinks, just breathes, just stares at the gray and white metal wall.

Goddamn it.

Damn the Accords. Damn the U.N. and Secretary Ross and everyone who had a hand in creating them. Damn Stark and Vision and all those other bastards who let them lock us up in here. Who let them break her.

I hear Sam curse softly, and as I look over at him, his eyes leave Wanda to meet mine. His face is grim, angry, and I know he feels the same way I do. Scott sighs heavily in the cell between us and mumbles, "Sorry, guys. I'll shut up."

"It's about damn time," Sam replies. His voice is quieter, teasing, his mouth forming a smirk, and I can only imagine Scott is returning the look.

There's a sudden hiss and loud clank as the main doors to my right open. I turn my head to look as eight heavily armed guards, all clothed in head to toe black armor, save for a strip across their eyes so they can see, enter the holding cells. Two more follow behind them, pushing a metal cart laden with foam trays filled with bland, unappealing food.

Dinner time.

I step away from the barrier, putting my hands on top of my head and backing up into the corner like we are required to do if we want to eat, knowing Scott and Sam are doing the same. Wanda doesn't move, but she never does anymore, and the guards seem fine with it.

The soldiers all approach my cell first, raising their weapons as they move into formation around the door.

"Evening, gentlemen," I say. "What's on the menu today?"

"I'm going to guess the same pig slop they served us last time. And the time before that. Oh, and the time before that," Sam snarks from his cell.

The guards don't speak. They never do. Kudos to whoever assigned them here. Lesser men would have broken by now between Sam and I's continued verbal assault every time they come into the holding cell area. Scott usually tries to keep up with our quips and insults. Key word being tries. Bless his heart.

Wait a moment.

Something is different. Something has changed.

My sharp eyes zero in on a figure slightly shorter, slimmer than the rest in the center of the group. I narrow my gaze on the set of eyes staring at me from beneath the helmet and above the black material concealing the bottom half of their face.

I know those eyes.

Then one of them winks at me before all of the lights go out, and we are plunged into complete darkness.

Screams and shouts break out in the dark. There's scuffling, the sound of fists meeting flesh before several blasts of rapid gunfire light up the pitch black, briefly illuminating the silhouettes of the guards being utterly annihilated. Then the gunfire ceases suddenly, and everything disappears into darkness once again.

"What the hell is going on?" Scott shouts over the sounds of the fight.

There are several more slams and thuds, several more cries of pain, and then nothing. Nothing but silence and dark.

The lights flicker back on, and I am already surging to the front of my cell, my hands pressing against the glass. A lone guard stands in the center of the room, bodies and discarded weapons littered all across the floor.

The guard reaches up, removing the helmet and pulling down the black face mask.

Natasha Romanov smirks back at me beneath platinum blonde hair.

"Hey stranger," she says in her low voice. "What're you fellas in for?"

A grin stretches across my face. "Not a damn thing."

A/N: So it begins.

I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! I know I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know your thoughts, and leave a comment down below! I can't wait to hear from all of you again. :)

Huge thanks to PippinStrange, the world's best beta and an incredible writer, herself! If you haven't, head on over to her story, Down Came the Rain!

Also! I am currently working on a fan art/poster cover for this story! If you'd like to see my progress so far, head to my instagram mscrystalbeard

You guys, I can't tell you how much I LOVED writing Paint it Black. But if it's possible, I have been loving writing this sequel EVEN MORE! Like, oh my gosh, I am so excited for you guys to read it all! I have so many things in store for you. This is going to be an epic, Christmasy ride!

Coming up: The downfall of Secretary Thaddeus Ross