Friday, March 25, 2016

East Town Engineering/Chemical Manufacturing - Rooftops

08:24 p.m.

Despite what most fourteen-year-olds would claim, despite what most people would claim regardless of age, Peter Parker was fairly familiar with the sight of a gun pointed right at his face.

Spider-Man dealt with it on almost a daily basis from criminals who assumed their petty thefts and late-night misdemeanors were granted some security with the presence of their pistols. It wasn't even the most impressive gun he'd ever seen. (No, that award would have to go to the genius who felt the best choice of weapon to use while carjacking the McLaren dealership on 52nd street was a freaking bazooka.)

Even without the mask, Peter was no stranger to such weapons. And while he wasn't completely sure that the Cons were even legally allowed to own said weapons, he'd never really felt the desire (or the total lack of self-preservation needed) to ask.

Of course, just because he was familiar with the sight didn't mean he could stare down the barrel of Sam Wilson's gun with nothing but a shrug and a "well, ain't this a pickle."

Peter could feel his heart beating all the way down to his fingertips as they pressed into the ground below him. The gravel dug painfully into his palms and his knees but he didn't make a move to relieve the pressure as he stared at the offending weapon before him. Considering he hadn't had much time to recover from the blast, the beating of his chest was fast and erratic, thrumming in frantic beats as his gaze never left the weapon before him.

("Yes. I suppose you're right.")

His ears echoed with the remnants of a bang, the noise causing him to wince involuntarily. This was a mistake, for instantly the gun inched closer as the Falcon's grip tightened. "Don't you even think about moving or I swear I will blow your freaking brains out," he growled, eyes narrowed into thin slits.

But while the sight of the gun made Peter's muscles freeze, the person holding said weapon didn't bring about such a reaction. If anything, he almost wanted to laugh at the brazen statement, suddenly reminded of the old 80s action movies he used to watch with Ben and May.

While having an Avenger hold a gun to your face could warrant cause for hesitation, the fact that it was a freaking Avenger holding said gun wasn't lost on Peter. His repeat interactions with Mr. Stark had done well to lessen the sense of phantasm of it all, but it was still a strange feeling being in the presence of heroes, people he'd only ever seen on TV, people who could very well be just an illusion, nothing but myth and legend. Seeing the Falcon standing before him a hair's breadth away, only solidified the thought in his head.

The gun was a bit of a dampener, though, he did have to admit.

However, now that he was getting a good look at the man in front of him, it seemed like he was just as unnerved as Peter. His unoccupied hand was resting by his side, clenched tightly into a shaking fist. Sweat trickled down his face, disappearing behind his cracked goggles before dripping down his cheeks. His uniform looked like it had seen better days, covered in a thin layer of dirt and grime. Not only that, but his wings also seemed to be slightly damaged. Add in the fact that he was shifting his weight back and forth between his legs and Peter could safely assume the man was basically thinking the same thing he was.

They were both in some serious shit.

Of course, taking into consideration the mask adorning his face and the sheer confidence he could proudly portray with it on his face, Peter - Spider-Man decided to take the first step.

"Well...I guess this means you remember me." Vaguely, the faint image of shattering glass and metal hitting metal rang in his ears as the airport terminal wavered in his memories.

Obviously, something similar was happening to the Falcon, for the man's grip on the gun tightened and his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, you could say that," he growled out, his voice cold and hard. Peter's eyes remained locked on the gun before him as the man stepped closer. "Now, I'm only going to ask this once," the man said, his words slow and precise, just articulated enough for the kid to get the message across that what he was saying was not to be taken lightly.

"Who sent you?"

Spider-Man furrowed his brow, tilting his head slightly. "W-who...I-I don't...I don't under-"

His answer didn't seem to be good enough as the man took a few more steps forward, so much so that Peter had to flip over onto his backside as he began to scoot backward on his hands, his gaze never leaving the approaching weapon. "Hey! I asked you a question! And I'm going to get an answer, you got me?" The man snarled, his posture stiff and rigid. The teen couldn't tell whether it was from anger or stress. He was willing to bet on a combination of both.

Peter didn't bother nodding. His silence seemed to be enough of a confirmation.

"Alright, now who the fuck sent you?! Was it Stark?"

Spidey felt his fingers twitching against the concrete below him. "No...nobody sent me." He finally spoke, surprised at how level his voice was.

"Did you call anyone?"

"No."

Falcon narrowed his eyes and glanced away for a second, placing a hand over his mouth as he dragged it down his face, moving it to rub at the back of his neck as he kept his gun trained on the vigilante before him. "Alright. Does anyone else know I'm here?"

Spider-Man took in the man's agitated stance as he took a breath himself, taking a second to calm himself down. However, his eyes never left the gun on his face. Every second that passed with it still trailed on him was another growing bout of anxiety building up in his chest. However, he held onto his cool as he cocked his head. "Umm...not unless you count anybody in New York who watches the news."

The man gave him an odd stare. Peter cocked a brow under the mask at the man's supposed ignorance. "Nearly every station in the city is broadcasting the live footage of you flying around all willy-nilly," he scoffed, fighting to keep his voice as flippant and unconcerned as possible, fighting to keep himself from simply slapping the gun out of his face.

"You know, for someone who's supposed to be laying low, you sure don't seem to have a problem posing for the cameras. And I don't know how I feel about having to share my spot in The Post's weekly Superhero Crime Blotter. No offense, but you're kinda stepping in on my turf."

His attempts at a joke went unappreciated as the man continued to glare at him. The gun didn't trail away from his face, a fact Peter was all too painfully aware of as he began to count all the different ways he could disarm the man in front of him, seven of which requiring little more than a broken bone or two.

Was that too harsh? With each second he spent staring down the barrel of the gun, it seemed more and more reasonable.

"So, if you weren't sent, then what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, fingers thrumming against the gun.

Taking note of the opportunity, Peter raised up his arms, careful to watch the man as he tightened his grip on the gun as he gestured towards the burning building below. "Umm...hellllooooo?"

Exactly as expected, the man glanced away for a split second to follow the teen's gesture. And as soon as he did, Peter shot a web out, connecting it to the hilt of the gun before yanking it out of the man's hands.

The Falcon yelled in response as he moved his hand towards his hip. Assuming another gun was stashed away there, Spider-Man leapt into action, ramming into the man's chest, sending them both rolling to the ground.

The illusion was gone. This wasn't a myth or a legend anymore. This was a real-life man standing before him now, a man who just so happened to have the entire US government looking for him with his newly acquired criminal status.

There was no decision to be made.

"So, listen." Peter rolled away and crouched along the ground, the tenseness of his body contrasted by how light-hearted his voice was. Wilson gazed at him fiercely. "I was sort of in the middle of something so if we can wrap this up quickly please, I'd really appreciate it."

Not waiting for a response, Peter shot another web out. The man dipped to the side to avoid it, only to balk as the teen lunged for him, kneeing him under the jaw before rolling away again. Peter hopped back up to his feet a few paces away and shrugged.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't wanna sound disinterested or anything." Falcon threw a punch. Peter ducked under it and delivered one of his own at one-fifth his usual strength. It was still enough to send the man skidding backward.

"Getting to fight an Avenger - not once, but twice, is definitely going in my super-secret Spider diary tonight."

Whipping his head to the side, Falcon took note of the gun that had been whipped from his grasp. Leaping forward, he stretched to grab it, only for Spider-Man to shoot two more webs towards his outstretched hands, latching one securely to the concrete below.

"By the way," he leaned up against the air-conditioning unit sitting idle on the rood. "How do you spell your name again? No crazy silent x's or anything in there, right?"

The Falcon whipped a knife from his pocket and sliced through the webbing keeping him trapped, whipping the knife towards his assailant when he finished. Peter barely dipped to the side, allowing it to sink into the metal of the unit. "I feel I have to ask. Superheroes can sometimes go a little crazy with their names you know? You seem pretty down to Earth, though-"

He ducked another punch.

"- So I'll hold out on my hopes that I won't have to search up your wiki page to figure it out. You have one of those, you know."

The man dropped to the ground and swept his leg forward, knocking Peter's out from underneath him. He went down but landed on his hands, springing backward as he fired two more webs. The man rolled out of the way just in time, springing back up right next to his discarded gun. He lunged for it and wrapped his fingers around it just in time to duck another set of webs.

"Hey, how long until I have one of those, by the way? All you Avengers have a wiki page and I'm starting to feel a little left out."

There were bullets now. Peter felt his movements picking up speed as they whizzed past him. "So how long do I gotta be at this until I get my own Spidey-themed page? Or do you think it's more about quality of superheroing over how long you've actually been doing it?" One particular bullet whizzed close enough for him to hear the whine as it shot past his ear.

"Like, you think I could get me one of those by next week if I rescue the President's favorite dog or something? You think he has a dog? He seems like the kind of person who would have a dog-"

"Would you shut up?!"

Peter restrained the sudden desire to grin underneath his mask as he crouched atop the air conditioning unit, taking a second to catch his breath as the hail of bullets halted just long enough for the man to deepen his glare, which seemed more aggravated rather than downright hate-fueled.

"Am I annoying you?"

"So much." The gun cocked again.

Peter leapt off the unit and slid underneath the man's legs, mouth flying all the while. "Then it's working. People get real sloppy when they're angry."

As if to prove his point, as soon as the man turned to find him again, a glob of webbing was flying through the air, blocking up the muzzle of the man's gun and rendering it useless. Peter straightened back up and shrugged his shoulders as the Falcon's wide eyes stared at his smoking weapon. "Just ask the guy at Subway who made my sandwich last week. He was obviously having some sort of personal crisis cause that thing was a travesty."

Peter choked on whatever else he was going to say as a knife was suddenly back in his face, slashing millimeters from his nose. He grunted and took a step back, lifting an arm to block the blow before ramming his fist into the man's gut.

The man stumbled backward, falling to the floor as he grunted in pain. Righting himself, the kid raised his arm, web-shooters poised. He knew that if he really wanted to, he could snap the man like a twig. God knew he had the training to do so, courtesy of the Cons. Of course, that didn't mean he actually wanted to hurt him. He barely even wanted to hurt the common thugs and lowlifes he encountered on a daily basis.

Still, this fight was starting to droll on. Plus, there was a building that was kinda...you know...on fire.

Before he could fire any more webs, Falcon's hands went to his side and a new pistol was in his hands. Dang. Forgot about that one. Peter cursed as the man raised up the weapon, bullets firing his way.

Senses tingling frantically, the teen ducked below the oncoming hail and rolled to the side, firing another bout of webs at the man, hitting him in the legs. Yanking on the webs, he watched as Falcon dropped down to the ground.

Rolling along the concrete, the man raised up the gun once again, continuing to fire as the vigilante dodged and approached. He hissed as a bullet grazed his arm, leaping to the side to avoid the barrage before lifting himself up once again, Falcon doing the same.

Before either of them could make another move, a huge BOOM sounded through the air, the roof shuddering at the noise. Peter crouched down to the ground to steady himself, catching Falcon out of the corner of his eye doing the same. Against his better judgment, the teen turned away from his combatant and gazed down at the building below.

The fire was beginning to spread, the upper-level floors now aflame in a similar fashion to the ones below it. The building exterior looked as if it could crumble away in a matter of minutes, constant shudders shivering throughout the foundation as burning flames shot through the windows and cracks. But the thing that really caught Peter's attention was the faint sound of screams coming from the lower levels of the building.

He bit his lip as he felt his fists clench before tightly shutting his eyes. Whipping back around, he found that Falcon was still trailing his gun on him, but a new bout of unease was settling into his eyes.

Peter clapped his hands together and shrugged his shoulders nervously. "Umm...do you think we can put a pin in this?"

The man cocked a brow. "Are you serious?"

More screams. They sounded even more frantic than before. Suddenly feeling all bouts of carefree flippantness evaporating from his person, Peter straightened up and stared down the gun once more. He hesitated for a moment, felt the same familiar sickening churn in his stomach at the sight, but he pushed it down. It was quickly replaced with annoyance.

"Look, as of right now, I have much more important things to be worrying about." He was surprised at the harshness of his tone, and even more surprised by what he said next. "So if you wanna run then run. Get out of here and keep on hiding wherever it is you've been stashed away. Pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist anymore. But I'm not afforded that luxury."

He didn't give himself a moment to gauge the man's reaction as he turned and leapt up onto the roof ledge. He prepped to swing down, only to feel himself tensing, felt the hesitations in his muscles before his brain could even register it. And then he was turning around again.

"You know...I used to look up to you. To all of you."

Sam Wilson stared back at him. So did the gun.

"There was a time when I bet a lot of people thought they could count on you." He met the man's gaze head-on, hoped he could at least give him something to think about other than the bruises he had just acquired. "Guess they gotta settle for me."

Without another word, without checking to see the man's reaction, Peter leapt off the ledge, swinging down towards the burning inferno.

Spotting another shattered window, the teen swung through the small opening and landed on the shuddering floor. Instantly, he was bombarded with a wave of heat that nearly made him stagger backward.

Shaking through the fog that had quickly settled in his mind, the boy raced into the hallway, finding that the entire floor was now ablaze, bright orange light illuminating the rooms while simultaneously casting darkened shadows along the walls, floors, and ceiling.

Pinpointing the faint sound of cries and whimpers, the kid began to make his way towards the stairs. Wincing as he pressed his hand against the super-heated metal of the handrail, Peter jerked back and glared down the stairwell. Large flames blazed on either side of the pathway, including in the center of the stairs.

Craning his neck, the teen noticed that farther down the stairs, there was a path where the flames had yet to reach. Taking a steadying breath, Spidey took a few steps back before running forward, leaping into the air as he aimed for the safe spot. Feet touching down on warm metal, the teen rolled along the ledge before righting himself.

It didn't take him long to find the door leading into the next hallway. Pushing through the doorway, the kid gasped and rolled away as a huge burst of flame rushed the door, roaring loudly as it whooshed past him. Taking another steadying breath, the teen pushed through the door and landed on the floor, the roaring flames seeming to reach for him as he entered.

Above his head, the fluorescent lights flickered on and off, sparks cracking from the shattered bulbs. Wires hung down around his face, feeding the already growling fire that blazed through the hall. Pressing his hands against the closest door, Peter leaned closer as he tried to make out whether the sounds of crying were coming from nearby.

Detecting the sound of frightened voices beyond the door, the teen took a few steps back before ramming his shoulder into the door. The already crumbling material gave way to his strength as it crashed to the floor, loud shrieks of shock meeting his ears.

Lifting his head, Spider-Man made out the shape of two huddled figures in the corner, though it was hard to see through all of the smoke billowing around the room. Feeling the familiar tingle shivering up his spine, the boy glanced up and noticed that the ceiling above their heads looked ready to collapse any second.

Rushing forward, Spidey grasped the two workers and caught sight of the window pressed up against the wall, seemingly leading into the next room. The ceiling creaked and whined ominously above their heads as Peter shot forward, the two workers in tow.

Their screams rang out around him as he shot them all through the window, the group landing painfully on the other side as the ceiling caved down around where they had once stood. A harsh cough passed through his chest as the teen slowly rose back up to his hands and knees, the other two slowly doing the same. Glancing around, Peter took note that they seemed to be in a lab of some sort. On the other side of the room, there was another window only this one led outside.

Before he could push the pair towards safety, however, he grabbed onto the closest one, a man. "Doesn't this building have any protocols in place for something like this?" He asked, fighting to be heard over the roar of the flames.

The man stared at him frantically for a moment before licking his lips, shakily nodding his head. "Y-yeah, the...the sprinklers were supposed to go off. They're a high-powered model to deal with these kinds of chemical fires, b-but they didn't go off for some reason." He spared a frantic glance around the room. "The system operates from down in the basement, but it's probably all up in flames by now. You'll never make it down there. Without another word, he began to push his coworker towards the window.

Peter could still hear the flames roaring around him as he watched the pair begin to climb out the window, the man's words making his heart sink. He still had an entire floor to clear, but judging from how the ceiling had collapsed not only seconds before, it wouldn't be long until the entire building did the same. The only other way to get around it would be to put out the flames by activating the sprinkler system.

"Hold on, you said the system was in the basement, right?" He called as the man glanced back at him. "If I can get down there, can I restart it?"

The man shook his head, eyes filling with unease. "It's a dual system. To restart it, you'll have to manually override the switches and it takes two people to do it." He explained, casting one last glance towards the teen. "You can't do it alone." He said before disappearing behind the ledge.

Peter felt despair begin to clench around his heart before a new voice made him jump in surprise. "Guess it's a good thing you aren't."

He whipped around to watch as the Falcon stepped through the doorway, eyes narrowed as he folded his arms over his chest. "Now can we get a move on with this before we're both char-grilled?" He growled.

The kid didn't take the time to acknowledge the flutter of relief that washed through him at the man's presence, for he knew there was no time for such things. "We have to get down to the basement. But considering the stairwells are starting to melt right about now, we're gonna have to find another way in." He explained, casting a nervous glance towards the doorway, watching with bated breath as the fire inched closer.

The man nodded, seemingly trying to avoid glancing at the approaching flames as well as he gestured towards the door. "Come on, I think I have an idea." With that, he bolted through the opening without sparing a second glance behind him. Spidey was quick to follow as the pair quickly maneuvered towards the flaming stairwell.

The rising smoke and ash that plumed around the air was enough to make their eyes water, even Peter's, despite the mask covering his face. While he knew his suit had a filtration system for stuff like this, even it was having a hard time pushing through the thick blanket of ash flying around him. With that, he cast a nervous glance towards Falcon. He knew the man hadn't been exposed to the toxic fumes as long as he had, but it was still a concerning thought.

Shaking it from his head, the pair stopped as they entered the stairwell, the dark, black clouds even thicker in the enclosed space. Yet, through the smoke, they could make out the form of the entrance door at the bottom of the stairs, a roaring patch of flame blocking their path. Not even Peter could make the jump over that, and considering the space they were in, he doubted Falcon would even be able to open his wings, let alone fly them over.

Nevertheless, Peter watched as Falcon lifted up his wrist, quickly pressing a series of buttons on the screen before him. Before the teen could question what he was doing, he felt the man roughly grab his arm before hauling him back just as a pair of small missiles shot out of the man's shoulders, flying above their heads.

The missiles hit the ceiling above where the fire roared, a loud explosion rocking the small room as they hit their mark. Spider-Man winced at the loud BOOM, watching as a pile of debris and tile fell from the ceiling before landing on the flames, extinguishing them for a brief moment with the huge mess of concrete and ceramic smothering it.

"Come on!" Before he could voice his shock, the Falcon was dragging him forward. After taking a second to find his footing, the teen was racing just behind the older man, slamming his shoulder into the door as he and the ex-Avenger stumbled in, falling to the floor for a brief moment to pause and take a breath.

Bad idea.

If they thought the stairwell was bad, then this room was ten times worse. The metal pipes and shiny surfaces all reflected the flaming orange lights in such a way that it looked like the entire room was just one big fire. The roaring flames seemed to cover every inch of the area, thick grey smoke hanging in the air above their faces. Off to the side, Peter noticed a sparking electrical circuit that seemed to have been ruptured from its safety tubing, igniting the nearby vats of flammable chemicals.

"Guess we found out where this fire started." He called, glancing at the man, who narrowed his eyes as the sparking circuit before coughing behind his hand. Doing a quick scan of the room, the kid noticed the separate system circuits and routers lined up against one of the back walls. Gesturing towards the older man at the levers, he received a nod of confirmation before they began their move.

If the fire before had been bad, then the smoke in the basement made it ten times worse. Through the tears in their eyes and the thick layers of grainy, ash-filled air filling the room, it was nearly impossible to see anything. Going more by feeling than by sight at this point, the two pushed through the smoke and crashed against the back wall.

Cracking open his eyes, Peter shook the fog from his brain and caught sight of the mechanisms. Sitting against the back wall was a desk-like panel with an assortment of flashing buttons and warning lights flaring like firecrackers. Along the walls on either side of the panel were two levers connected to the circuits and sprinkles above their heads.

As Spider-Man caught a look at the mechanism, he quickly began to understand why the man said the machine would only work with two people. After activating the panels, you needed to turn the levers at the same time. And taking into consideration the distance between the two, it would likely be impossible without two people.

Falcon glared down at the panels before casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at the approaching flames. "Alright, so how the hell do we do this?" He asked, the hoarseness of his voice drawing attention to the fact that the smoke was not doing them any favors at the moment.

Peter said nothing as he roughly pushed past the man and went to stand before the operating system. He could practically feel just how slow his brain was moving with the sheer smoke hovering around him, but he was quickly able to orient himself with the system and frantically began to tap his fingers along the buttons. It only took a second to manually override the short-circuit that had disabled the sprinklers and reroute the system to focus full power onto the downed unit. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sam gazing at him in mild curiosity as he finished up the program.

"Got it!" He called as he plugged in the last series of codes. "Get to that lever over there!" He shouted as the flames inched closer, the roar filling his ears like cars on a freeway. Falcon quickly made his way over, hissing as his arm brushed up against one of the super-heated pipes. Tightly gripping the lever, Peter cast the man a small glance. His eyes widened as he caught sight of something above the man's head.

With a small grunt, the teen shot his arm out as fast as he could, his webs grabbing a hold of Sam's arm. Falcon yelped in shock as he was dragged down to the ground right as a huge portion of the ceiling cracked and gave out, showers of debris raining down around him, including a particularly heavy-looking piece of concrete that seemed to have been aiming for his head. Instead, it crashed down against the pack on his back as he floundered on the floor.

"Shit!" The man gasped as he ducked his head while the last few bits of debris rained down, small sparks cracking from his pack. He cast Peter a small, wide-eyed stare before the teen made a frantic gesture towards the lever. Coughing harshly against his hand, the man rushed back up to his feet and stepped around the newly formed pile of ash and concrete, grasping the lever tightly.

"Now!"

Instantly, the sound of shifting gears filled Peter's ears as the levers were cranked down. A loud rumbling filled the air followed by a hissing noise that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire room. After a second, a strong burst of water shot out of the sprinklers above their heads, cascades of water raining down around them.

The flames flickered and flashed in protest as they tried to fight against the onslaught, but as the water continued to pour, they eventually began to dwindle. As the suffocating heat of the room began to die out, Peter felt a burst of relief flood through him as he shocked out a gasp of relief, pressing his palms against his knees as he hunched over and tried to suck in a breath, but he was finding a great deal of difficulty in doing so.

For a moment, the teen forgot there was even anyone else in the room, at least until the sound of sirens reached his ears. "Fuck..."  Whipping his head back up at the man's curse, Peter watched as Sam disappeared back up the stairwell without another word.

The teen hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not he should aid the man. He glanced behind him at the levers, both now in the down-position as water continued to rain down around him. He narrowed his eyes and followed the man up the stairs.

Entering the first hallway, he caught sight of Falcon standing in the doorway, glancing uneasily at the front door farther down, flashing red and blue lights flaring behind the glass. "Can't let 'em..." the man trailed off, running a hand against his sweat-covered forehead.

Without a second thought, Peter latched onto the man's wrist, a loud shout meeting his ears. "Hey, what the-"

"Just shut up and follow me!" The teen hissed as he dragged the man down the hallway, sprinting as fast as he could against the slick tile floors, water pouring around them. Bursting out of the hallway's back door, the cold night air slammed into him forcefully, the kid resisting the urge to stop right there just to drag in the first clean breath of air he'd gotten in the past ten minutes.

Instead, he fired a web up towards the building they'd previously been atop, wrapping an arm around the Falcon's waist. Ignoring the man's indignant shouts, the teen blinked the hazy dots flickering across his vision at the clenching of his lungs as he webbed the pair into the air.

The sky wavered slightly as they quickly approached, Peter unceremoniously dropping Flacon on the roof alongside himself as he rolled along the concrete. His muscles screamed as he flopped to the floor, panting heavily as he tried to drag in as much clean air as possible. His lungs protested as he did so, harsh coughs tearing through his throat as he slowly began to shift.

Panting heavily, Peter shakily pushed himself onto his hands and knees as he blinked the black dots currently swimming along the edges of his vision out of sight. He let out a pained groan as he sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth, eyes snapping open as he heard the familiar click of a gun sounding from in front of him.

You gotta be kidding me right now.

He glared up at Wilson as he leveled the gun back at him in a frighteningly similar manner to earlier that night. But after crashing through a blazing inferno, Peter found that all his cares had mysteriously burned up. He sighed. "Are you serious right now? I literally just saved your life."

The man's face remained serious. "Yeah, well don't think that changes things, man. We're still on opposite sides of the playing field." He shifted the gun in his grip. "So don't think for a second that I won't blow your brains out if you even think of calling anybody out here."

Peter stared up at him for a moment, listened to the sounds of his own breathing, slightly wheezy and thick from the contaminated air he'd inhaled. The gun glared down at him, heavy and gaping. And as he stared at a sight he'd seen countless times, stared down a weapon that had been pointed at him more times than should have ever been reached, Peter noticed something interesting happen.

The usual unease and tension he should have been feeling weren't arising, weren't forming to weigh in his stomach. Maybe it was the last lingering remnants of smoke hanging around his head making him foggy and dazed. Maybe it was the sudden ache he could feel in his bones, tired and heavy. Or maybe it was the fact that his senses weren't screaming at him, shrieking and ringing in his ears and down his spine, warning him of impending doom.

Whatever it was, Peter found himself staring at the weapon with a slight intrigue, a low-level curiosity one would feel staring at the fish behind glass in an aquarium. But it wasn't fear. Whatever it was...it wasn't fear. And that was enough for him.

So with a little sigh, he began to push himself up. "Okay..."

"Hey. Did you not hear what I just said, freak?" Wilson took a threatening step forward. "I swear I'll kill you if you try anything."

Peter rose up to his feet and began to dust off his hands. "No, you won't."

"Excuse me?"

He angled his head up. "You're not going to shoot me, so let's just stop pretending cause I'm not all that great at acting. Just ask my old theater teacher. He's probably in the phone book."

Wilson glared. "Enough with the stupid jokes already! Do you not see the gun?"

A new irritation began to replace the strange intrigue from before. He wasn't afraid. And he didn't appreciate the man's attempts to make him so. He got enough of that on the daily. He didn't need it here. So with that, he folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah, I got that. But it's not as important as who's holding it."

The man huffed, didn't lower the weapon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I know who you are. You're Sam Wilson. The Falcon, an Avenger. You're a hero."

He scoffed bitterly, a new sour tone ringing in his words. "You watch the news lately? Cause that's not exactly the word people have been throwing around."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I know. It's not like you don't deserve it, either-"

"Hey-"

"But that's not the point right now."

The man growled impatiently. "Then what is the point?"

Peter let out a little breath, uncrossed his arms, and let them hang down at his sides as he stared back at the man through the mask. His words were strong, his voice steady.

"Right now, it doesn't matter what they think of you. What matters is what you think of yourself." He pointed down towards the previously burning building below. "If you believed everything they're saying about you, then you wouldn't have helped me save those people. You would have flown off the second you could, leaving me and them to fend for ourselves."

He swallowed, took another breath. "But you didn't. Cause you don't believe what they're saying. And neither do I. Not enough to believe that you'd shoot another hero in cold blood, at least."

Wilson said nothing, just kept staring back at him as he spoke, even as the teen shrugged his shoulders and scoffed.

"But hey. I've been wrong before. And I'm sure once in a blue moon those news outlets actually do get something right, so maybe that's the case this time." His voice hardened and he took a step forward. "What do you say? Who're you gonna prove wrong?"

Another step. Wilson didn't lower the gun, didn't lower his gaze nor his frown.

"Go ahead."

Another step. The gun rested against his chest now.

"Shoot me."

The man leveled him a hard glare as he held the gun to his chest, staring the vigilante straight in the face. His eyes were cold as he held the teen's gaze behind the mask. His hand never once shook. The gun never once flinched. His body remained stiff and rigid as his finger hovered over the trigger.

With an angered sigh, the gun dropped down to his side as the man turned his head away, pacing the weapon back into his holster.

Unbeknownst to him, Peter was finally allowing a breath to enter his lungs at the sign of surrender, the sudden implications of what he'd just done finally seeming to hit him.

Oh my god...that was the coolest thing I've ever done.

For not the first time in his Spider-Man career, Peter wished with everything in him that he could tell Ned.

Beside him, Wilson uttered curses under his breath as he clipped the leather pocket back over the gun. "Who the hell are you anyway?" He muttered as he removed his goggles with a sigh, letting out a small grunt of pain as he plopped down and took a seat on the ledge of the roof.

Without the mask blocking most of his face, Peter could see the smoot and grim that was smeared across his cheeks and the small trickle of blood that pooled from a scrape above his eye from when the debris had fallen.

Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes at the question. "You know, I was worried the red and blue spandex was going to be too subtle. I really need to expand my PR branch. Do some charity gigs. Organize a marathon."

Wilson stared back at him. He gestured towards the spider emblem on his suit. "Uh..."

"Right, right...Spider-dude."

"'Man' actually but I'll take what I can get."

Falcon reached behind him and tugged his pack off of his back, hissing under his breath as some of the sparks burned his hand. Placing it down on the ground in front of him, he undid one of the circuit panels and glared down at the frayed wires before lifting his head back up. "I read about you. You're that vigilante that hangs around here."

Peter took a seat against the air conditioning unit situated behind him. "I don't like that word."

"What word?"

"'Vigilante'"

"That's what you are."

"I prefer the term 'superpowered neighborhood watchman'. Just think of me like an overactive Home Owners Association that does more than just fine you for leaving your trash cans out for too long."

The man stared back at him for a moment, head tilted in mild intrigue. "You like to talk, don't you?"

"Usually more on Mondays, Mr. Falcon sir."

Wilson stared at him for a moment longer before he turned back down to his pack, tangling his hands in the wires as he huffed. "It's Sam," he muttered after a moment.

There was a little stretch of silence as Sam continued to curse as he tangled himself up in the mess that currently was his pack before he was letting out a frustrated sigh and angling his head back up.

"I don't get it, man. You fought against us in Germany. You were with Stark. He backed up the Accords, something that should stop you from doing hero work like this unsupervised. I mean, have you even read those things, or did you just go into that battle completely blind?"

The contempt in the man's tone made Peter fold his arms back over his chest. "Unlike your teammates, I like to go in knowing exactly what I'm going to be punching, so yeah, I did read them." He elected to leave out the part where he read about them after the battle in his AP Government class and continued. "And last I checked, my endeavors don't end up with buildings collapsing and thousands of people dying."

He shrugged "Plus, the closest I've ever gotten to going international with my affairs was last week when I stopped some dude from robbing the French bakery on 41st street."

Sam threw him a dark glare, seemingly unamused. "We were doing our jobs."

"And what a wonderful job you did, dude."

The man gritted his teeth and glared back down at his pack. "Fuck off, man. Who the hell are you to judge us?"

Peter cocked a brow and gestured back down to his costume. "You're kidding me, right?"

Sam wasn't convinced. "Putting on a stupid costume doesn't make you a hero."

"Neither does refusing to take responsibility for your actions."

"Yeah." The man threw him a look. "I'm sure that's a lot easier to do with a mask."

Peter bristled and jumped down from his seat. "Why do you think I'm still here, genius?" He stormed over to the edge of the building and pointed down towards the people who were still being evacuated, checked over, and fitted into ambulances.

"I don't leave until I know my work is done. Cause, believe it or not, it doesn't end when the bad guy's knocked out or the fire's gone. It ends when I know everyone's okay."

He leaned closer, lenses to the mask narrowing. "Same with every robbery I stop, every cat I pull from a tree, every family I help. My job's not done until I'm 100% sure they're okay. Whether they need medical assistance, a helping hand, or just someone to talk to while they deal with whatever's just happened to them, I'm there."

He folded his arms once again, felt his voice take on a sarcastic tone. "Tell me, just what do you Avengers do besides expect other people to pay for your mistakes?"

The man's hands clenched by his sides as he glowered. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Peter took a step forward, felt his voice rising. "Tell me, just what have you been doing all this time you've been hiding, huh? Building orphanages? Saving babies?"

The man was getting angrier. Peter found that he didn't care.

"No, how could you have time for all of that when you're too busy hiding from the messes you made? No, you leave all of that on Mr. Stark, don't you?"

He hadn't meant to bring up the man. But his name was out before he could think better of it. And as soon as it was, Sam reared back slightly, blinking at him with a newfound look in his eyes that slowly morphed into realization. He let out a cruel scoff and shook his head.

"Mr. Stark'. Jesus, no wonder you're so skewed." He smirked. "You're his patsy, aren't you?"

Peter narrowed his eyes but didn't dignify his question with a response. Something told him the man wasn't looking for one anyway.

Sam continued nonetheless. "Listen up, rookie. Despite what he's probably drilled into you, Stark is just as guilty as the rest of us."

He swallowed, heard his own words from days ago ringing in his ears. "I know. But at least he's doing something about it. Which is more than I can say for all of you," he spat with a pointed venom.

For a second, the man didn't respond. He just kept staring at him with a strange look in his eyes, scanning him up and down. Peter fought the urge to shift underneath the man's gaze and held his glare full-force. He wasn't backing down now.

Suddenly,

"Do you trust him?"

He blinked.

"What?"

"Stark. Do you trust him? Do you rely on him to have your back?"

"I...what are you-"

"Can you with one hundred percent certainty say that you can depend on him to stick up for you when the time comes?"

Peter stared at him, felt a dull humming starting up against the back of his neck. He didn't say anything.

Sam turned away, glanced down at the building down below, smoke still rising up into the air despite the extinguished flames. "You think all of this matters to him? You think all your hard work, all your good intentions will mean anything to them, to people like Stark, like Ross?" He narrowed his eyes, face taking on a cruel snarl as he glared. "People like them don't care about anything unless it somehow benefits them. And anything that does usually ends up biting people like you and me in the ass, right before they toss you aside."

The man scoffed and gave a little shake of his head, staring back at the kid with mixing looks of disbelief and contempt. "So it's only a matter of time before he throws you away, too."

Peter glared, if only to cover up the sudden churn that swirled in his stomach. "What is your deal, man? He wouldn't-" The words cut off sharply in his throat and he fought to swallow them down. He turned away for a moment, shuffled on his feet, and returned the man's contemptuous look, thankful the mask hid the unease beginning to spread onto his face.

"He wouldn't...Secretary Ross doesn't matter. He's too busy to concern himself with the likes of me, not when he's got a rogue group of superheroes to track down."

That earned him a glare.

"The only way he'd have heard of me is through that fight in Berlin, but compared to everything else, I'm just small fish. Barely even worth a mention." He shifted again, struggled to keep his arms folded over his chest as the desire to fiddle with his hands began to strengthen. "And anyway, Mr. Stark wouldn't expose me. It's...he knows how delicate my situation is. The circumstances...are special."

The words sounded right in his head. So why did his chest feel so tight all of a sudden?

Sam scoffed and shook his head. "Like that matters, man. You seriously think someone like Stark is going to back you up when it comes to Ross and his personal agendas of whatever? You think he's not going to rat you out and expose you to that government douchebag the second you start to be too much of an inconvenience?"

The man gazed back at him with an almost pitying look. "Come on, you can't be that naïve. Stark doesn't care about anybody other than himself and he's willing to do a lot to prove that."

Peter took a deep breath, felt it catch in his throat. He clenched his fists. "You're wrong."

The man's gaze softened ever so slightly, but it wasn't enough to wash away the obvious scorn still present in his voice. "I'm not. Cause you're just another blip to him, kid. He'll tell you what you want to hear, give you what you want to see, but the second he can't use you any longer, that's it. You're done. Cast aside like an old blanket."

"Oh, shut up! That's-

"Hate to break it to you, man, but that guy isn't what you think he is. He didn't care about us and he certainly doesn't care about you." Sam took a step closer. Peter took one back. But his words followed. "He can't. It's just not in his nature."

"Enough. Stop it. I don't want-"

"We trusted him too, you know. And look where it got us."

"Stop-"

"Take some advice: don't be as stupid as we were to trust someone like Tony Stark!"

"Shut up!"

Suddenly Peter's hands were up, slamming into the man's chest as they shoved him back. Sam grunted as he fell to the floor, hands instinctively reaching for his gun only to falter as he noticed the vigilante hadn't continued his attack.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Peter's voice was tight, dripping with barely restrained fury as his hands trembled and his ribs cracked in his chest. "You don't know anything! He would never do that. He would never do that to me! He wouldn't rat me out. He won't. Cause unlike all of you, I'm still here. You all left but I'm still here."

The oxygen was gone from the air, but somehow the words still found their way out. "He needed you and you left cause it got too hard so don't stand there and tell me not to trust Tony Stark cause he's not the one who stabbed us all in the back. He's not the one who left us all!"

He took a step forward, felt how shaky it was. "So you just...you don't, you don't know what you're talking about, alright? You don't...it's...you don't get it." His tongue felt thick and swollen in his mouth all of a sudden. "It's not...it's complicated. You don't get it. They don't get it. I...nobody-"

The smoke was back, wrapping around his head, his neck, his lungs. He could feel a gun pressing against his forehead, against his temple, pushing up his hair as the muzzle buried itself into his skin. He felt the fire burning against him, hot and muggy with the scent of alcohol swirling around him, their breath lingering as they grinned and laughed and waved their guns and he could do nothing but skitter back, pressing himself under the tables, under the beds, hiding from their eyes, from their grins and their breath, hot like fire burning all around him, burning the whole building down around him. Everything was swirling, liquid down the drain as black dots danced before his eyes, blinking in and out of existence, bright flashes and dark undertones. He could hear them ringing in the back of his head, gunshots and flames mixing together into a cacophony of unending noise that made him grit his teeth and shut his eyes against all of it, any of it, all of it, all of it, all-

"-ear me?...an you?...ome on, now, man. Give me something?"

There was something else now, something else besides the whining. Someone was talking to him.

He dared to open his eyes once more and saw that he was now on the floor, back pressing up against the rooftop ledge. And crouched before him was Sam, gazing down at him with the unmistakable gleam of concern, though he was trying his best to conceal it with tepid indifference.

He must have noticed Peter was now staring at him fully, for he straightened up just a tad and cocked a brow. "You with me, man?"

The teen blinked at him, took a second to make sure he wasn't a hallucination before giving a silent, muted nod.

"How long were you in there before I showed up?"

He opened his mouth and it took even longer to find his voice. "I...I don't know. Long enough."

He let out a little groan and pushed his knee up, resting an arm against it as he leaned his head back against the ledge. He could feel the man watching him, felt his eyes scouring him up and down. His face was hard as he spoke, but that didn't diminish the words themselves.

"Are...are you okay?"

It took Peter a moment to realize the words were genuine. He lifted his head back up to stare at the man. For a minute neither of them said anything, simply took in the sights before them. Finally,

"I'm fine."

Sam didn't stop staring and after a second his gaze seemed to shift. A new suspicion began to gleam behind his irises as he sized the kid up once again. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words were slow.

"How old are you?"

Peter stiffened.

"Tell me you're an adult. Tell me you're over eighteen."

The words were out before he even had to think about them. "I just turned nineteen like three months ago, so relax dude. I'm legal. Can drive and everything. Just can't buy beer yet. But if anything, now you don't have to worry about me swinging while drunk."

The lame excuse for a joke seemed to be annoying enough for the man to roll his eyes and drop it, much to Peter's relief. The man let out a tired sigh, grabbing a seat on the ledge once again. He stole a small glance over his shoulder at the cops still milling around the building. The teen assumed he was stuck there until the police presence died down a bit. And considering Peter was still slightly woozy from that little spiral he'd just had, the thought of swinging away willy-nilly into the night wasn't looking so hot yet.

So they'd have to make do with each other for a little while longer.

Peter pursed his lips in a moment of thought before reaching over and plucking the man's pack out of his hands, inspecting the wires inside while Sam let out an indignant sputter.

"What the hell-?"

"Do you know anything about fixing severed wires and circuit plates while not causing any more damage to this thing?"

Sam paused for a moment before letting out a huff, Peter taking that as a sign of submission as he began to work on repairing the pack. "Where the hell did Stark find you anyway?" He asked, resting his cheek against his fist as he propped his elbow up on one knee.

Peter glanced up at him before turning back to the pack. "It was a couple days before Berlin. He showed up at my house, said he knew who I was and that he needed me to help him stop...well, you guys." He explained, Sam giving a small scoff. "Anyway, he updated my suit and whisked me off." The teen paused for a moment. "I thought it was just a one-time thing, you know? I'd help out a little, do what I could, and then he would take the suit back and dump me right back where he found me."

The Avenger folded his arms over his chest. "Didn't he?"

"No...no he didn't. I mean, that's what I thought he was gonna do and that's certainly what I was expecting...but he didn't." He stared down at the wires, his hands pausing in their movements. "I-I don't know why he's bothering with me. I don't know why he's keeping me around but..." He trailed off for a moment before he began to continue working on the pack. "But he is. And I'm grateful for that."

Sam stared at the teen before giving a small shake of his head. "I don't get it, kid. Why are you so hung up on this asshole? I mean, from what you're saying, he basically just used you to get what he wanted.

Peter gave a little glare "You know...I'm trying to be nice and keep this little conversation just between you and me. And if you want to keep things that way, I suggest you cool it with the insults. " He growled before ripping out another wire much harsher than he needed.

Sam stared at the teen before turning away. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to piss this kid off anymore, especially considering he probably had Stark on his speed-dial or whatever. He rolled his eyes to cover up his insecurities before the teen began to speak once more. "Can I borrow that knife of yours?"

At the man's mistrusting glare, the kid rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's the final point in my master plan of luring you to this remote building, stealing your pack, killing you and then stealing your sweet knife. I'm a genius, aren't I?"

The man scoffed and pulled his knife out once more, tossing it to the vigilante. Peter caught it and used the sharp tip to pry one of the panels away from the rest of the metal, digging through the newly exposed wires.

He sighed as he continued to twist the wires of the pack. "My job is to help people, so helping Mr. Stark, despite his less-than-stellar-methods of approaching me, don't bother me. The only difference is..." He let out a small sigh. "He's the only one who's ever bothered to help me in return."

Sam blinked and leaned forward slightly.

"He...I don't know, he listens to me. Somehow, he finds time in his unbelievably busy schedule to make room for a stupid kid like me. I don't know...I guess I just interest him. I'm sure it can't last but..." He gave a small smile beneath the mask. "But I'll enjoy it while it does."

Peter didn't say anything after that and Sam didn't push him to. The pair simply sat in silence as Peter continued to work on the man's wings, the sound of sirens blaring from the distance, an occasional flash of red and blue streaking past.

After a few more minutes, he closed up the metal panel on the pack and turned back toward Sam. "There. That should make do until you get back to wherever it is you've been holding yourself up." He rose up to his feet and handed the man his pack.

Sam took the pack with a small nod of his head. "Thanks..." he murmured quietly as he silently slipped the wings onto his back. As he did so, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Spider-Man was staring at him, not even trying to hide the fact.

"What?" He asked with a cocked brow as the teen continued to stare. Peter said nothing and for a moment, Sam wondered whether or not he would speak at all. After another second, he finally opened his mouth. "Why did you let them film you?"

"Huh?"

"Those people." Peter continued. "I've read your Wiki page." He uttered, ignoring the man's eye roll. "You used to be Para-rescue. Stealth is right up your alley. And those pictures weren't shot by professionals hiding in trees, disguising themselves as squirrels and whatnot. So that means you let them take those pictures on purpose. Why?"

Sam stared down at the teen for a minute before a small humored huff fell from his lips. "Not bad, kid." He uttered quietly as he gave a small smirk. "Misdirection. The Rogue Avengers would never stay near a city where they've just been spotted, right?" At the kid's nod, he continued. "They'll assume we high-tailed it out of here as soon as possible"

Peter hesitated before giving another small nod. "So you're...hiding in plain sight?"

"Exactly."

Spidey gave a small chuckle as the hero nodded, the man's gaze turning back to the sky as he scanned the area for the clear way. Peter stared after him, fingers twitching by his sides as he debated whether or not he should keep his mouth shut. Finally, after a few more moments of internal debate, the teen realized he couldn't keep silent any longer.

"He's not what you think he is."

The Avenger knew who he was talking about without him having to even say the name. He let out a small scoff and turned back towards him. "Trust me, kid. You don't wanna know what I think he is."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Look, I know things are kinda bad with you guys, you and all the other Avengers...but you're not the only victims here, you know." He growled out, folding his arms over his chest. "This has been hard on him too."

Sam glared back at him. "Oh, yeah? I don't see him having to hole himself up in some abandoned warehouse just to make sure they don't throw you back into a cell." He snarled darkly, fists clenching.

Spidey returned the glare just as fiercely. "At least you're free."

The man continued to glare, although his expression became more one of confusion at that. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation. "Oh come on. You honestly don't think Mr. Stark doesn't have the capabilities to track you guys down? He had some of the most advanced tech in the world. You think he doesn't know how to trace you guys? You think he hasn't had the opportunity to turn you in already?"

"If you're trying to get me to warm up to him, I hate to say you kinda suck at it."

"You're missing the point," Peter snapped. "If he has the capabilities to turn you in, why do you think he hasn't done it yet?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Probably cause he's waiting for the right opportunity to tell Ross that suits him best." He uttered, trying not to acknowledge that small spark of uncertainty that had entered his mind.

Peter seemed all too quick to pick up on it, though. He didn't say anything, but the simple tilt of his head seemed to be enough.

The man let out a small sigh as he turned away, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "Hate to break it to you, kid, but the last time Stark saw us, he wasn't exactly too pleased. I know for a fact that he doesn't care about any of us."

He expected the teen to go off again, which only made him blink in surprise as the vigilante instead just kept staring at him. After a second of prolonged silence, he spoke.

"I think you know that's not true."

Sam stared at him. He said nothing.

"You know, growing up, you were one of my heroes." Peter glanced away, glanced down at the last of the ambulances beginning to clear away. "The other Avengers too. And...and you all still are."

He took a breath, let it out slowly. "I know you're not the bad guys." He stared straight at the man. "But neither is Mr. Stark."

Sam stared at the teen, the wind whipping around them as distant sirens continued to wail. "So then who is?" There was no malice in his voice, no hatred. Only a sense of defeat.

"Does there have to be a bad guy?"

Sam sighed. "There's always a bad guy, kid."

Spider-Man said nothing, could say nothing as he stared down at the ground. He let out a tired sigh before moving away. Sam stared at the vigilante as he went over to sit on the ledge, glancing down at the departing cops and paramedics. The man continued to stand, blinking down at his feet as the teen's words continued to ring in his ears.

Sam lifted his arm and ran a hand across his face, now truly feeling just how exhausted he was. He glanced back over towards Spider-Man, a flash of hesitation sparking in his brain before he waved it away, letting out a small sigh.

Walking over, the man placed a hand on the teen's shoulder. Spidey shrugged him off immediately, but Sam didn't take offense as the teen turned towards him. "Listen, I need to warn you about something."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tony Stark's going to kill me in my sleep. Just-"

"No, that..." He paused with a loud sigh. "that's not what I was going to say. I mean, I'm trying to warn you about the reason why I'm here." He explained. The vigilante shut his mouth and turned fully around to face him. "We've been stationed out around here for the past few weeks. There's been hints of an underground organization that's been hijacking government trucks loaded to the brim with stolen alien tech."

"Alien tech? Where the heck are they getting alien tech?" He asked.

Sam shook his head. "Damage Control is still trying to clean up the mess from when the Chitari invaded a few years back." He explained "Anyway, they've been stealing the tech and manufacturing it to make weapons."

Peter nodded his head slowly. "Alright, alien weapons." He furrowed his brow after a second, though. "I'm sorry but doesn't an underground gang making weapons seem a little, I don't know...below your pay grade? Especially considering you guys kinda have to keep a cover?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Not when their buyers are suspected Hydra officers."

Peter's eyes widened. "Oh..."

The man nodded. "Yeah, oh." He turned away. "Anyway, we don't know if their buyers are here, but we do know this is where the weapons are being made. So...just keep a heads up for stuff like that, alright? And definitely don't try and take out anyone you think might be Hydra-affiliated, kay? You are definitely not equipped to handle people like that."

The teen folded his arms over his chest. "I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much." He muttered indignantly, the lenses of his mask flaring out a bit not unlike a pouting toddler.

Sam couldn't help but give a small scoff at that. "I'm sure you can, kid. Just..." He paused for a moment. "...try not to get yourself killed, alright? I'm just...I'm just warning you so you'll be careful, m'kay?"

Peter couldn't help but smirk. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that sounded like concern in your voice."

"Aannnddd...it's gone. Great job."

The teen let out a chuckle as the man began to walk over towards the edge, his wings flaring out from the sides of his pack. He barely caught the teen whispering "Awesome" under his breath, but it was enough to have the man smirking.

Still, he wiped the look from his face as he turned back around. "You're not gonna tell Stark about this, are you? About...me being here?"

The kid said nothing for a moment and for a second, Sam felt a flutter of concern pass through him, but it was dispelled as the vigilante finally looked up. "He already has enough to deal with right now. I don't need to worry him about this, too," he sighed before glaring back up at the man. "Just do me a favor. Don't become something that he needs to worry about, alright?"

Sam stared down at the teen before letting out a small breath. "No promises, kid."

Spidey glanced down at the ground before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "Just as well. Any promises you make are probably worth as much as a two-week-old street taco," he muttered.

The Avenger couldn't help but smirk at that. "Now you're learning," he called as he leapt up, his wings instantly catching the wind as his propulsors took him soaring into the air, disappearing from sight after a moment.

 

---

 

Friday, March 25, 2016

Springfield Blvd - en route to Parker Residence

09:12 p.m.

The city's heart beat steady and strong as Peter landed with a small grunt on the rooftop, exhaling loudly as he fought to take a steadying breath. His chest still felt tight and muggy, like the air being sucked in was as thick as the milkshakes May served at her diner.

He only stopped for a moment to strain his ears, senses pricked and honed to trace any signs of distress, any outgoing calls for help, or cries of fear. When he picked up on no such sounds, the teen took a running leap and flew off the ledge once more, shooting a web to catch his descent, and up he was soaring again.

Over and over he repeated the pattern, falling into a steady rhythm of movement...and thought.

Sam's words still clung heavily to the back of his head like a wad of gum he couldn't quite shake. His warnings left him a bit more on edge, his muscles coiled just a tad tighter and his body prepped for any for of diversion or threat that could come flying out of nowhere, dawning fully-stocked military-grade gear and those terrifying Hydra masks he'd seen in his textbooks, aiming tanks and missiles that could shoot him right out of the sky.

Okay, maybe that was going a bit too far. But the threat was there. And as such, Peter's thoughts stayed there too.

Much to his begrudging realization, the teen's knowledge on the organization was fairly lacking. They'd covered it in World History back in seventh grade; the usual middle-school baseline levels of knowledge, enough information for him to pass a test or two, but nothing that really stuck outside of a couple of things. He supposed it was a bit easier to remember topics from his textbooks when they took the time to blow up Washington DC.

So...that helped.

But other than the little blips the TVs had shown after the disaster, a few documentaries here and there that could cash in on people's intrigue and fear, and some articles online that were quickly shut down once people realized they contained classified documents that had somehow been leaked, there wasn't much info Peter could safely rely on when it came to something like Hydra.

Except, of course, for the insider info he'd just gotten word of that night, courtesy of one ex-Avenger.

Peter shot out another web, felt it snap taut as he fell through the air before whipping him back up. The moment he'd finally left the rooftop next to the burned-out building, his first instincts had been to go to Mr. Stark (a realization that would later make him chew through one of his nails). The billionaire was way more equipped to deal with something like the ex-Nazi organization, much more than Peter himself was.

Of course, that was assuming Wilson hadn't been lying to him. Or that Mr. Stark wouldn't question where Peter had gotten his information.

It was these assumptions that would send Peter swinging towards home rather than towards Stark Tower.

He couldn't just outright believe the words of Mr. Wilson. For all he knew, the man had just been trying to get him to follow blank leads just to get him off their case, away from their trail and his nose out of their business. And despite the fact that Hydra-based weapon dealings didn't seem like the kind of thing a former Avenger would be lying about just to cover their own ass, Peter still decided it would be best to keep his eyes peeled. He'd confirm for himself exactly what was going on before bothering Mr. Stark with his wild goose chases.

And as for that second hang-up?

Peter felt the corners of his mouth twitch behind the mask, took a semi-deep breath (as much as his currently smoke-injured lungs would allow, anyway) and focused on swinging. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the man found out about him talking to the Avenger, or better yet, what he would do if he came face to face with Sam.

He wanted to believe that Mr. Stark would keep a level head, that he would be rational and calm enough to deal with the situation smartly, smoothly, exactly how he handled everything else: with confidence.

And yet, Peter couldn't help but remember the pain that had been etched onto the man's face up on that rooftop when he'd confessed to Peter, the betrayal in his tone of voice, the anger behind his clenched fists. And even if the man could stay calm and keep his emotions in check, the Accords were still another standing obstacle.

("You think all of this matters to him?")

Peter faltered on his next swing, miscalculating his trajectory and rolling along the rooftop underneath him to keep from splatting against the upcoming wall of the next-door apartments. He jumped up this his feet, taking a shuddering breath as he blinked and tried to figure out what had just happened. It had been a while since he'd messed up a swing like that.

("The second he can't use you any longer, that's it. You're done.")

He winced as the words shot through his ears like an ice pick to the brain. He felt his stomach flip painfully as his chest gave another uncomfortable twinge, grunting as he tried to clear his throat of the imaginary fluff starting to clog up his pipes. He moved towards the ledge and shot out another web before his muscles could freeze over entirely, swinging off into the air before he could lose his nerve again. But it still wasn't enough to outrun the thoughts now plaguing his mind.

Mr. Stark could turn him over, betray him, sign him away, ship him off with a wave and a smile.

The possibility was there. It had always been there, a neon sign that flared before his eyes in a blinding flash of warning lights that told him to stay away, to get out and listen to his instincts. The Accords were too dangerous. The present threat was real, and that threat was Tony Stark.

("The only thing you can trust in this world, Peter...is family.")

His father had been saying that for years, even before the Cons. It was a fact of life now. A staple that couldn't be questioned, an immovable force that would forever stand the test of time. Peter knew it was true, knew there was no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

His family was all he had.

But he had to admit, Mr. Stark was making a strong case for himself.

He'd felt it earlier, with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and especially when Mr. Stark had shown up. It was hard to ignore, like the neon sign. But this wasn't as intrusive, wasn't as painful to look at. It was a strange feeling. It left him breathless and kept his heart racing. But in a strange sort of way. In the same way web-swinging did, flying through the city from one web to the next, the feeling of free-falling mingling with the certainty that he would rise back up, the stability of knowing that he was safe.

Peter landed with a thump on another rooftop, making note of how far he was from home. He didn't make a move to shoot out another web though. For a second, he just stood there, let his eyes linger over the nearby buildings, let his ears soak up the noise, let his mind wander.

Peter wasn't one to opening himself up to strangers. The thought of being left alone with people he didn't know made an uncomfortable itch crawl up his spine, a chill that made his frame shiver, and an illogical need to curl up and hide burst in his head. But with Mr. Stark, hell, even with the man's friends, the itch wasn't as prominent. It was there. It was always there. But it wasn't a clawing dread that sank in his stomach, more of a background noise, a soft hissing that he could only really make out if he strained his ears and listened for it.

He couldn't help but get excited whenever he thought of Mr. Stark. Hell, just earlier that evening, he'd practically bounced out of his seat when the man had entered the freaking room.

He knew it probably wasn't the most tolerable thing. If anything, the billionaire probably found it annoying, but he just couldn't help himself. For some reason, he found himself unexplainably excited, strangely...happy whenever he was with the man. And he had no idea what for. He just was.

Such a thing should have scared him.

He wasn't used to not knowing. He didn't like not knowing. But for some reason, with Mr. Stark, it seemed...okay.

Maybe it was the carefree tone he always used. Maybe it was the cocky smile and lackadaisical attitude. Hell, maybe it was just the fact that he seemed...not angry when Peter opened his mouth and began to babble on about the dumbest things. It was like the man didn't care when the teen looked him in the eyes.

He didn't care when Peter was...himself.

The teen lowered his gaze as he fiddled with his fingers, hesitant to continue moving, to continue his trek home. As he continued to mull over the thoughts swirling around his head, he slowly began to piece the fragmented bits and pieces together. And as he did so, the slow conclusion he was beginning to move towards made his heart hammer.

He was starting to understand, if only a little bit, why he seemed so comfortable with Tony Stark.

He seemed trusting.

And that scared Peter more than anything.

That was rule number one. That was the one rule you could never, ever break. Not fully, at least. There were a few things that could slide: getting close with Ned, revealing his identity to Mr. Stark (well he kinda had no choice in that), accepting the man's internship offer. Those things...those things he could get away with.

But then there were the things he absolutely could never ever reveal.

He stole a small glance towards his house before a small sigh fell from his lips. There was only a small handful of people who knew what life was like for the teen at home, including Ned, who only truly knew because he'd been with the teen since middle school. Ned wasn't stupid. Peter had shown up with enough bruises and broken bones for him to figure it out.

Still, those rules burned brightly in Peter's head, carved in like a marker. Bold. Permanent. It was the reason he never openly told his best friend. He never spoke about home if he could avoid it, and for the most part, Ned respected such things and they left it at that.

Safe to say, Mr. Stark would not leave it at that. On the off chance that such affairs even mattered to the billionaire, Peter couldn't risk the chance of him trying to do something about it, or worse, going to the police.

Peter felt his heart begin hammering and his mind splinter painfully as a thrumming headache blared behind his eyes, the mere thought nearly sending him into a panic.

No. He couldn't have that. He just couldn't.

As much as he enjoyed being around the billionaire, he knew that he could never, ever trust him with this.

Peter shut his eyes and took a deep breath, repeating the action a few more times as he fought to tame the throbbing pain blaring in his head. After a moment, he was finally able to push it back. Running a hand through his hair, the teen let out a small sigh and leapt up to the building edge, firing another web as he began to swing closer towards home.

Despite that crushing truth ringing in his ears, he knew that it couldn't stop him from enjoying the billionaire's company, if only for a little while, in the time they had together before Mr. Stark finally got sick of him. Landing on the roof of his own house, the kid couldn't help but chuckle at one of the billions of jokes the man had snarked earlier that night.

With only a moment of hesitation barring his actions, Peter reached behind him and pulled his mask off, staring down at the large reflecting lenses as he ran his thumb over the material, a small smile forming on his lips.

("You are one strange kid, you know that?")

Mr. Stark had made this suit for him. Just for him. He'd decked it out in a blaze of awesome gadgets and cool sensors, most of which saved him from some pretty painful injuries that he was sure would fall upon him had he not had the suit. Safety features the billionaire had installed to make sure the teen didn't get hurt.

("Look, kid, like it or not, we're in this together now.")

Such things made the fantastical thought that maybe the man truly did care for him breeze through his mind like a lovely dream. Such things had that dream seeming more and more like a reality, if only a little bit.

("Yeah...silver linings.")

Peter took in a deep breath as another breeze flew past him, the cool air helping in clearing and loosening up his lungs, the air freely flowing through them now. The teen lifted his head and glanced in the direction of where he'd met up with Sam.

("Hate to break it to you, man, but that guy isn't what you think he is.")

The kid gave a small smirk.

No...he's not

He shoved the mask back into his pocket. He's better.

If what Mr. Stark said was true, if those private moments had meant anything, then Peter had to believe that the man would have his back when it came to the Accords. He would have to have faith.

Peter pushed down the fear that such an idea created.

Letting out a small breath of preparation, the teen glanced down over the edge of his building and noticed that there were no cars in the driveway. A sigh of relief bubbled past his lips at the realization that he wouldn't have to dodge the Cons for at least another night. Crawling down the side of the building, his feet created a small thump as he landed on his balcony.

Sliding the glass doors open, Peter entered the room and threw the mask onto his desk, flipping over his bed as he landed on his desk chair, shooting a web towards the now open door to slide it close once again. Reclining back in the chair, the teen pressed his fingers against his eyes as he let out a tired groan, his muscles aching as he finally took a second to relax, with no new surprises jumping out at him.

A small squeak from the others side of the room had him cursing his big mouth as he startled in his seat, whipping his head up as fast as he could. There, sitting on the couch in front of his TV was Ned, the teen staring at him with wide, unbelieving eyes as he held the pieces to an unfinished Lego structure, his mouth hanging open.

Peter instantly shot to his feet, Ned doing the same thing as both boys pointed incredulously at each other, unintelligible moans of disbelief falling from their mouths at the same time.

"Duhhh..."

"Y-Youu..."

"Nuh-uhh..."

"Yeah-huh..."

Peter felt his heart jump up to his throat as he stared at his best friend. "N-Ned, what are you doing here?!" He practically screeched.

"You said your dad wasn't home tonight so you invited me over!"

"I did?!"

"Yeah!"

"...Oh..."

With each new crisis popping out of the blue, this was turning out to be one long-ass night.

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Labs 01

09:45 p.m.

"Eyewitness accounts place the time of the explosion at approximately 8:15 tonight. The fire supposedly erupted from one of the lower labs and quickly spread to the rest of the building."

"Nearly two dozen employees were still inside of the building when the fire began, but miraculously, they all emerged with only minor injuries. Eyewitness accounts and multiple statements from victims place Spider-Man at the scene, where he went on to pull out fifteen employees to safety."

"While is it still unclear as to the full damage done to the inside of the East Town Chemical Plant, it's safe to say that these employees won't be forgetting the face of their Friendly Neighborhood Web-head anytime soon. This is Jamie Holmes bringing you live feed from the East Town Manufacturing Division. Back to you, Todd."

"Thanks, Jamie. In other news tonight-"

"Mute."

The voices filtering in through the screen were silenced as Tony glanced back down at the work desk he currently sat in front of. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek before tapping the handle of the screwdriver in his hand against the metal table. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all," he murmured with a small sigh. He glanced up at the bottle of half-empty scotch on the table. Reaching over once again, the man poured the amber-colored liquid into the small glass beside it and took a quick swig before setting the glass down once again.

Twisting the tool back around, he once again began to fiddle with the metal paneling on one of his suit plates. He'd have to remember to ask Peter about this little event the next time he saw him, make sure he came out of it unscathed. He knew he likely had, considering the teen wasn't banging at the tower window asking for assistance, as Tony had instructed him to do.

Of course, the thought didn't escape his mind that the kid had just decided to ignore what Tony had told him, but he decided to try and give the teen the benefit of the doubt for the time being, or at least until he had reason not to.

Tony furrowed his brow and shook his head. It wasn't like he was worried or anything. He just remembered that the filtration system on the suit could be a little finicky sometimes. He just wanted to make sure such things were working properly is all. Perfectly normal responsible mentor concerns. Not concerns at all, really. Merely precautionary measures.

He was so engrossed in his ideas on expanding said precautionary measures to include a build-in fire extinguisher and maybe another parachute or two, that he didn't even notice the sound of approaching footsteps. Of course, it didn't help when the stranger was trying to mask said footsteps. Nonetheless, Tony jumped slightly as a new voice entered the room.

"Keeping tabs on your latest invention, huh Stark?"

He knew who it was without even having to turn around.

The sudden shock of dread that shot through his heart was a big enough clue. His grip on the screwdriver tightened as he lowered his head, his shoulders tensing and muscles coiling underneath his shirt. He shut his eyes, felt his teeth grinding as he fought to keep his breathing under control, even as he felt the phantom spasms of pain return to his arm.

"FRIDAY?" His voice was low. He didn't bother to turn around, to look up.

"I'm sorry, Boss. She hacked into my system and disabled the alarm protocols."

A scoff fell from his lips, humorless and with distinct traces of bitterness that lingered on his face as he finally turned in his chair. "To be honest, I really shouldn't be surprised." He folded his arms over his chest and focused on keeping his expression from revealing just how hard his heart was now beating. "You've never really been one to ask for permission."

"What? And you have?" Natasha didn't bother looking shameful as she quirked a brow and let a loose smirk play on her lips.

Tony didn't return the casual look as he scanned his eyes over her.

From first glance, he never would have been able to tell anything was different. Her clothes were casual, enough for him to simply assume he'd run into her in the middle of the Common Floor, easy-going conversations on the tips of their tongues. The only notable thing was the hoodie over her head.

As if sensing his gaze, she reached up and flipped it off, revealing fiery red hair that draped down over her shoulders, a dead giveaway as to her identity.

"I was expecting a blonde."

"Not really my color."

He watched her gaze lift above his head towards the muted TV on the wall. He swallowed thickly, eyes narrowing as he watched her staring at the news report of Spider-Man still playing on the screen.

Her demeanor was so calm, so casual, like her appearance wasn't causing a deep dark maw to open up in the pit of Tony's stomach, threatening to suck him in and never let him go.

"You know, I only got a few glimpses of him in Berlin, but I've seen plenty of news footage of him." She walked forward. Tony watched with a new ferocity in his gaze, a hunger to soak in every movement, every twitch as he watched and waited for her to make a move. "He's not bad."

She met his gaze and he stared back into those piercing green eyes. He knew that look. He'd lived with that look for years, chatted with that look, joked with that look, fought with that look. Now, he wanted nothing more than to blast it off her fucking face.

"I'm only going to say it once, Romanoff so you better nail it down now before it slips out." He finally pushed himself up to his feet, removed his hands from the surface of the table so she couldn't see how badly they were shaking. "I don't want you dragging him into all your bullshit." He narrowed his eyes, focused as much venom and hatred into them as he possibly could, felt it dripping from his words as he spat them. She watched with a passive expression, a neutral gleam in her almost disinterested gaze.

"And if you even think of going after him..."

He leaned closer, his voice low as it rattled around in his throat like a savage growl. "I swear I'll kill you."

He wanted to throw up. He could feel it bubbling in his stomach, but he choked it down in favor of holding the woman's stare. She took a deep breath, never even flinched against his glare. "I get the picture," she said softly. "You have my word, Tony."

"Your word," he echoed, finally breaking their stare as he turned back around. "Your word means jack-shit to me." He took a seat again, picked at a loose screw and spun it around. He watched it blur into a steady ring of motion, drumming his fingers against the table.

"What are you doing here? Got tired of playing Seek-and-Find with the national government?" He flicked his finger and sent the spinning screw flying across the room. He picked up his scotch glass and took a sip as he heard the clatter of the screw somewhere in the distance.

Natasha's eyes flickered to where the noise had come from before taking a couple of strides that placed her up against the other side of the table. She set her hand down on the surface. "I came to check up on you." He noticed her gaze drift towards the bottle next to him.

Tony said nothing for a moment as his fingers twitched. "Check up on, or scope the perimeter? Whatever spy lingo is for...well, spying," he muttered before swiping his hand across the table, knocking her hand off as well as she took a step back. "Cause if you think for one second I'm gonna buy that bullshit, then you must be losing your edge."

"Tony-"

"Do the others know you're here?"

The question must have caught her off guard (or at least as much as anybody could catch her off guard), for she hesitated a fraction of a second long enough for Tony to notice.

"They do."

"Hmm...guessing they weren't all that happy with it, were they?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes as she blinked back at the man. "They don't want the risk of me blowing cover."

"Geez, and I thought you were good at lying through your teeth."

"Tony-"

"And...uh...what does Mr. America think of your little charity outreach program?"

The shift was instantaneous. The already tense air darkened, weighted down by the pressing unease lingering thick around them. He watched Natasha swallow, watched her shift her weight. He watched his own fingers beginning to shake so he dragged them down underneath the table, out of sight.

She sniffed, glanced away for a moment. "He's the one that suggested it."

He scanned her up and down, took note of each detail and minuscule movement. He lifted his steadier hand and propped a fist up against his mouth, giving a little nod of his head as he turned his gaze to the ground. "Right..."

His tone, saturated with deep contempt, must have finally struck a chord, for she let out a little sigh and leaned against the table once more. 'I'm telling the truth, Tony. He..." She trailed off.

He lifted his gaze and noticed her eyes seemed troubled now, the corners of her mouth twitching downwards as she pressed her fingers down against the table. She seemed agitated. Once upon a time, Tony would have found himself curious as to why.

But what she said next instantly reminded him as to why those days were far behind them.

"He was worried about you. He still is."

The chair topped over with a sickening clang as Tony shot to his feet, fury gleaming in his eyes as his lips curled into a snarl. "Well, you can tell him to blow it out his ass, alright! Cause how fucking dare he try and play the righteous card here when he doesn't even have the balls to come and say sorry to my goddamn face?" He could feel the heat spreading through his face, felt his tongue burning with each word he spat, smoldering and shriveling up on the ground as they landed.

"No, fuck Rogers! Fuck his bullshit apology! No amount of false faces and fake words of recompense are ever going to fix this, and the fact that you think showing up here out of the blue is going to do anything other than make me want to spit in your face and blast you straight of my goddamn tower is so laughably naïve that I almost can't believe how stupid you must be."

The threatening step he took forward was instantly cut off as he caught sight of her hands moving towards her hip. His eyes followed her movements and were just able to catch the traces of the holster by her side before her shirt brushed overtop it, shielding it from view once again.

It was obviously instinct, for Natasha seemed just as surprised with herself as Tony was. But he didn't let the hurt he felt at the action show on his face. Instead, he just sniffed and narrowed his eyes as he turned away.

"You can go ahead and tell him that." He stooped down to pick up his chair once again, taking a seat as his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

He knew it would go down like this. He fucking knew it. This was the whole reason he had avoided talking about stuff like this. This was why he refused to talk to Ross. This was why he dreaded even the very thought of talking to any of his old teammates. Cause as soon as he did, all the hurt, all the anger, all the pain, it would come bubbling back up to the surface and he wouldn't be able to hold it back. It would be Siberia all over again.

His words to Peter began to echo in his ears, making him grip the edges of the table even harder.

("None of us were innocent. We were all responsible. S-so don't go writing Cap as off as the bad guy, kid. Cause...cause I'm just as bad as him...maybe worse.")

He knew it made sense. He knew they were all to blame. He knew it wasn't just Cap's fault, it was his as well. But it didn't stop him from hating the man with every fiber of his being. Steve might not have been the bad guy, but he definitely wasn't the hero. Certainly not Tony's at least.

He reached over and took another swig from his drink, emptying the glass. He poured himself another.

The man let out a tired sigh as he stared down at the table. "And what about you? I'm sure he had to bribe you with something to get you over here," he muttered as he tossed his hand, waving it dismissively in the air.

Why was he still talking? Why was he even humoring this? Why did the feelings of being alone suddenly make him feel so sick?

Natasha let a small smile fall onto her face as she dared to move closer once again. Tony kept his eyes trailed on her but tried to mask it as best he could. "Actually, I'm the one that offered to go." She grabbed one of the nearby stools and pulled it towards the opposite side of the table. Tony watched but didn't say anything, not even as she slowly settled into the seat.

"He's not the only one who's worried about you, Tony."

His gaze narrowed and he curled his lip before turning away. "Bite me."

"I didn't come here to fight."

"No, of course not," Tony sneered as he took another swig of his drink. "You're just the delivery girl for late, soggy, flavorless apologies." He glanced down at his watch. "Well, you weren't here in 30 days or less so does that mean it's free?"

Natasha didn't say anything. He watched with a sickening twist of his stomach as her gaze softened, so much so that he finally had to look away once more.

In the back of his mind, he almost wished she would say something, say some magic words that would erase everything that had happened, say some phrase that could fix everything, repair everything they'd destroyed, regain that friendship that had been irreversibly damaged in the span of a few days.

His arm gave a twinge of pain. He reached over and gripped his wrist tightly, rubbed at the skin and the muscles underneath as they groaned in protest.

Natasha had never been one he'd call friendly in any sense of the word. Granted, their first-ever interactions had set a fairly strong bias against each other. But looking past the Palladium-poisoning, life-ending super-spy lying, Tony had honestly found something in Natasha that he'd never expected from her: a friend.

She wasn't warm. She wasn't compassionate or cuddly. And she certainly wasn't open with her feelings. But then again, neither was Tony. Perhaps the most important thing was that she never asked him to be. Just as he never asked the same of her.

Somehow, the two of them seemed to understand that there were things that couldn't be shared with anyone, not on the matter of trust, but on a matter of sheer soul-crushing confrontation. Some things were better left unsaid. Natasha understood that in a way that nobody else on the team had.

At least...he thought she'd understood. But that fight had proven that he'd gotten a hell of a lot of things wrong.

Natasha leaned her elbows against the table. It looked like she was debating reaching a hand out, but ultimately decided against it. "Listen Tony," she said softly, the man refusing to look her way. "I'm sorry things turned out this way. I never wanted this. I...none of us did."

She leaned back in her chair, brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "I was only doing what I thought was right. That's all any of us could do." She shrugged. "And, as it turns out, things went to shit pretty quickly."

Tony scoffed at that, but still didn't respond.

"But it happened. It's here, and we can't change that now." She let out a breath, eyes hardening with a new gleam. "All we can do now is decide how to move on."

She hesitated for a moment before moving her hand closer. She still didn't touch him, which he was grateful for. But it was closer nonetheless. "I didn't want to hurt you, Tony. And neither did Steve. But I'm sorry that we did," she said in a tone of voice that almost made him look up. But he didn't. "I know it will take a while. I know it'll be hard. But..." She paused. "But I hope with time...you'll be able to forgive me."

Tony stared down at the amber liquid sloshing up against his glass. He could practically feel her waiting for a response, a glare, a glance, something. He took another swig of his drink.

Natasha stared at the man for a moment longer before turning away to stare back down at the table. She noticed another empty glass sitting next to the bottle of scotch and reached over, pouring herself a small drink as well. Tony glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but still said nothing.

She took a sip of her own glass before Tony noticed her glancing down at the papers laid out on the table before them. He saw her hand rifle through a few, pushing the ones on top to get a glimpse of the files below.

"Plans for the arc reactor? What are you doing thinking about this again?"

Tony lifted a finger, ran it around the lip of his glass. She was waiting for a response again. And for a moment, Tony was content to not give her one, to let her sit and stew and suffer in the silence, desperate to get from him something he was not willing to give up. But the strange achiness in his chest was back and the desire to go and find some more painkillers was buffered by the fact that this little impromptu visit would probably be extended if he didn't at least give her something.

"It's...for my intern."

. . .

. . .

"Geez, if you don't wanna answer then don't answer. You don't have to lie to me an-"

"He's real." Tony sighed with a small glare before glancing back over to his glass, swirling the liquid inside around. "Okay, well, I'm like 97% sure he's not a figment of some super intense mid-alcoholic coma, but whatever." He fell silent once more, staring hard at the glass in thought for a moment, hesitation clear on his face.

"His name's Peter. Peter Parker."

"Parker?"

"Yes. That Parker. And before that judgmental look deepens, he's not here cause of that," he mumbled, glancing down at his glass once again. "I'd been considering taking in a few interns before this all started and he just happened to be at the top of the list. So, I'm testing the waters. Seeing how this plays out. If it goes well, I might start opening up Stark Industries to taking in more interns, outreaching more scholarships, all that jazz." He took another drink.

Natasha's eyebrows remained furrowed as she gave a small nod of her head. "Anything in particular that brought this up?"

"Yep."

"...care to share?"

"Nope."

"Alright, well can you at least give me a clue as to why this mystery intern has somehow gotten his hands on plans that you're hesitant to let your top scientists look at? Seems like a bit of a weird start-up project."

Tony traced the lip of his glass once again. This wasn't a good idea. It wasn't a good idea to start letting her know things she had no right knowing. She didn't even had the right to be standing there talking to him! So...why was she? Why was he letting her? Why was he suddenly remembering all the times he'd once talked to her like a friend, discussing stupid things, important things, things that didn't matter, and things that mattered a lot. He remembered when he could count on her to give him the type of advice only a friend could give.

He wondered what type of advice an enemy could give?

"He's...weird."

Natasha quirked a brow, obviously not having expected the short, sudden, and quite frankly, disjointed answer.

"'Weird...'" she parroted, tilting her head as she folded her arms over her chest. "Define 'weird', cause that ranges from giant, green rage monsters to liking ketchup on your eggs."

"I hope you're still giving Wilson flake for that wherever you guys are."

"Literally every time we see it happen."

Tony chuckled, a real genuine chuckle that he cut short the moment he realized how real it actually was. He blew out a breath, ran a hand through his hair. "Let's just say he's not like any kid I've ever met before."

"Have you met a lot of kids in the time we've been gone?"

"Don't be cute, Romanoff. You know what I mean." Tony pursed his lips and glanced away, drummed his fingers against the table. "He brings with him certain...issues."

Natasha leaned forward a bit. "What do you mean?"

The man paused for a moment before taking another sip of his drink. "I don't want to talk about it. And Peter definitely won't, so don't you even think about bringing it up with him unless you want a panic attack on your hands."

Natasha let out a breath. Tony matched it with one of his own. "I don't know what else I can say about him other than that he's...I don't know. He's...quiet. Soft-spoken. He's probably smarter than half of the people I got working here but he doesn't show it off, not until you get him working on something. He's just..." Tony swallowed, drummed his fingers again.

"Weird," Natasha finished for him.

He glanced over at her for a second before lowering his head towards the glass once more. "Yeah."

The woman twisted the glass in her hands around, taking in the grooves and lines etched into the smooth surface before a small smile fell onto her face. "He sounds like a good match for you."

Tony threw her a questioning look before rolling his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms over his chest. "Did you literally not hear any of the words that just came out of my mouth?"

"If that were a power I possessed, I would have started using it a long time ago."

He rolled his eyes.

The woman gave a little smile. "It sounds like you could learn a thing or two from each other."

Tony stared at her for a minute longer before turning away, staring back down at the table. "I don't know..."

Natasha blinked back at the man before her eyes flickered over towards the still-muted TV. Along the bottom of the screen, the time flashed in the corner, small print that was just big enough for her to make out. She let out a small breath as she placed the glass back down on the table, Tony taking a drink from his own. "I can't stay," she said softly. "I have people waiting for me."

Tony waved his hand dismissively as he rested a cheek on his propped-up fist, staring down at the papers before him. "Yeah, go. Run off. Have fun in your hidey-hole. Don't get shot. Or do. I don't care either way."

If the small smile that formed on the woman's lips was any indication, then she could somehow sense the lack of sharpness in his voice that hindered any truth to his words. "I'll be sure to drop by often, though. I gotta see Wonder Boy for myself," she called as she pulled her hoodie up once more, rising from her seat.

"Feel free not to," Tony called, not even lifting his head.

Natasha stared at him for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. He felt himself shudder at the touch, but found he couldn't pull away. He just didn't have the energy for it.

"I'll see you, Tony." She glanced warily at the bottle on the table. "Take care of yourself."

The man still didn't look up as the footsteps departed, dwindling before ceasing altogether. He turned away from the papers and lifted his hand to rub at his wrist once again, a tired sigh falling from his lips. He glanced behind him at the doorway before turning back towards the table. He reached over to pour himself another glass, only to find that the bottle of scotch was empty.

He glared at the offending object before dropping it back on the table. Rising up from his seat, he slowly walked over towards the side of the lab, his vision slightly hazy around the corners.

But not hazy enough.

Reaching the back wall, the man stooped down next to the small cabinet and pulled out another bottle from his secret stash. Moving back over to the table, he plopped back down in his seat with a huff. Popping open the bottle, he poured himself another glass before setting it down once again.

He swirled the liquid around, watching as he splashed against the smooth glass walls.

He took another drink.

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

09:12 PM

There weren't many people in his life whose company Peter enjoyed. Other than a few rising candidates at Stark Tower, the pathetic number could be counted on one hand with a few fingers to spare. However, for the longest time, one of these slots had had a name scribbled in with permanent marker.

Ned Leeds had been a staple in Peter's life that he'd been grateful for more times than he could count.

Tonight was not one of those times.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. OH. MY. GOD!"

"Ned-"

"You...you're...really? Like, you're serious with me right now? There aren't any cameramen about to jump out and punk me? Cause that'd be cool too, but compared to this, it'd probably be a bit of a letdown."

Peter felt his heart racing, could feel it in his fingertips. "Listen to me-"

"I...this is...my brain cannot comprehend this right now." Ned was pacing. His eyes weren't on Peter, couldn't see the dread spreading across his friend's face in waves of sheer unadulterated panic.

"I know Spider-Man. I actually know Spider-Man! And not even like a nonchalant little 'oh, Spider-Man? Yeah, I've seen him around. Said hi a couple times.' NO! This is full-blown 'I have pictures of Spider-Man at my twelfth birthday party posing with me next to a life-size lego replica of Luke Skywalker' levels of crazy!"

"Please, you gotta-"

"Oh, my gosh!" Ned spun around. "Flash is literally going to pee his pants when he figures out that the guy he's been picking on since middle school is his idol! I'm definitely going to videotape his reaction to hearing the news and-"

"Ned! Stop!" Peter was suddenly very glad the house was empty, cause he was pretty sure he heart it rattle at his shout.

Ned whipped his head towards the noise, eyes wide as he truly caught sight of his friend since he'd begun his excitement-fueled pacing. Peter felt his hands in his hair, felt his eyes staring down at the floor.

"You can't...you can't do this. I can't...you don't understand. This is...oh god."

This was it. Everything he'd ever tried to avoid was crashing down around him. They would find out. His father would find out. It was all over for him. They'd lock him up forever, leave him to rot, or beat him until his bones were splinters and his muscles were nothing but ribbon. They'd put him in the ground. Stuff him down a deep, dark hole and bury him. He'd be able to hear their feet walking overtop him, but no amount of screaming would be enough. He'd be trapped, forever and always. He could feel it now, the dirt pressing around him, filling his mouth, his ears, his nose, his eyes, sticking down his throat and coating his lungs.

Maybe that's why he couldn't breathe anymore. There was no air underground.

He felt his back hit the wall, felt his body slump to the floor. But more importantly, he felt Ned materialize beside him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Peter? Come on, man. You gotta calm down, alright?"

He could see the features of Ned's round face, his big brown eyes, and the tufts of matching brown hair drooping down over his forehead. He could see the concern on his face. It took him a moment of panic-induced starting to finally realize the concern was meant for him.

"Look, come on. Look at me, dude. It's alright. Everything's alright. I-"

Peter shot a hand out, felt it wrap around Ned's forearm. The boy stopped talking as Peter leaned forward and suddenly found enough strength to spit the dirt from his mouth and speak.

"Ned, listen to me." His voice was low, eyes blown wide. "You cannot tell anyone about this. Nobody can know. If my father finds out about this, if he finds out that I've been doing this, that I've been lying to him for all this time, he's going to kill me. He's going to-" His voice suddenly choked off again as he felt the dirt returning, felt it pressing down against his chest once again, stealing the air straight from his lungs. "He's going to...oh, god. What's he going to do?" There was too much. He couldn't see anymore, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe.

"What's he going to do to me?" He couldn't get out.

"Hey!" Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, pushing through the dirt, clearing it away. Peter blinked his eyes into focus and watched the dirt and mud and clay slowly receding back into the shadows, leaving him alone in his room once again. No. He wasn't alone.

"Peter, look at me."

His eyes met Ned's. The boy gazed at him with a new ferocity in his eyes. "He's not going to do anything to you." A ferocity matched only by the viciousness now in his voice.

"What-?"

"He's not going to do anything cause he's not going to find out." Ned's voice was hard, his eyes firm. "In case you've forgotten, I'm pretty good at keeping secrets. I've been keeping a pretty big one for you all this time, haven't I? What makes you think I can't keep another?"

Peter gazed back at him, didn't say anything as he focused on listening to his heart, feeling it slowly pumping the last traces of dirt out of his bloodstream.

"You shouldn't...you shouldn't have to do this."

Now, Ned was smiling. "Dude, Spider-Man needs my help keeping his secret. I would be pissed if you didn't include me in this." He leaned back on his haunches, grin spreading wider. "It's even cooler this way. Kinda like a super-secret superhero mission. Totally undercover. Under wraps. Very hush-hush. I love it."

The smile softened, diminished into another serious look. "I would never tell your dad, Peter. You know that, don't you?"

The teen blinked at him, their gazes meeting in a locked stare of emotion neither of them could name. Peter felt his friend's words ringing around in his head, banging up against the walls, bouncing around the room.

Ned knew more than most. Ned knew about the Cons and his father, knew more than the cameras and the papers did. Knew more than the people at school did. Knew more than most people wanted to know.

And shockingly, despite his knowledge, nobody else had ever figured it out. Nobody else had ever heard a little rumor or a seed of gossip. Ned had never started the sparks of one, had never even entertained the idea.

He lifted his eyes away from his hands and drifted them over to his friend's face. He searched every corner, every dimple, every crease on his face. But he could see no malice, no ill-intentions.

All he saw was Ned.

Ned, his best friend since sixth grade, the same kid he loved to be around, the same kid who got him excited over Star Wars and comic books and movies and TV and everything his father would have never even bothered to expose him to.

Peter swallowed, hesitated for a moment before giving a small, muted nod.

Ned had the power to destroy his life, but Peter was still there, still standing. That had to mean something. That had to be worth something.

His friend seemed satisfied by his answer, for he blew out a little breath and leaned back, resting his weight on his arm as he brushed his hair back and gave a shake of his head. "When did this happen, dude? How did this happen?"

"I was eight. Got bitten by a radioactive spider down in my dad's lab." His voice was quiet, apprehensive. He spared a wary glance over to Ned, who was staring at him with a blank look on his face.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Dude! that's like...comic-book levels of awesome!"

Peter finally let a small smile grace his lips.

"So, is this why Tony Stark gave you that internship? Cause he knows about you being Spider-Man?" Peter gave a now, which nearly sent his friend into another spiral of bubbling excitement. "I can't freaking believe this. You have the coolest life in the entire world!"

Ned let out a small laugh as he stood up, the excitement becoming too much for him to sit still any longer. "This is the most amazing thing ever, man...I mean...you're a superhero! A real-life superhero! And-" He paused, eyes going wide. "Are you an Avenger now?"

Peter let out a small scoff. "I don't think I'm quite there yet, Ned." His face grew thoughtful as he glanced towards the ceiling. "But I did happen to run into one of the Rogue Avengers tonight so.."

Predictably, Ned practically fell into his lap as he leaned closer. "You...I'm sorry, you did WHAT NOW?!"

Peter let out a small laugh and pushed his friend away, the teen going back to sit next to him. "I'll explain it all later. It's...it's kind of a long story."

Ned opened his mouth to keep talking but paused when his eyes landed on the ash dusting Peter's face, a visible cut slashed across the teen's forehead that was already beginning to fade.

Instantly, the joyous fire that had been burning inside the boy diminished as he glanced back down at the floor, his brows furrowing slightly. "And you do this every night? You...you go out and...and fight crime?"

Peter glanced over at him, confused as to the new unsure tone in his friend's voice. He gave a small nod. "Yeah, why?"

The other boy stared back at him, face twisted in concern." Is - isn't that...dangerous?" He murmured, wringing his hands slightly as he stared back at Peter.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I was kinda already used to that before I even started doing this," he said with a small smirk.

Ned didn't seem to share his amusement. "I'm being serious, Peter! This, I mean...I always hear on the news how Spider-Man is saving people from fires and stopping bank robberies and catching muggers and...and all that crap sounds super dangerous and I..." He trailed off, glancing back down at the floor. "I just, I'd hate to see you get hurt."

Peter stared back at the teen, that same strange feeling he'd been thinking about before returning in his chest. That same feeling he'd gotten with Mr. Stark, with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. After a moment, he let a small smile fall onto his face. Maybe he couldn't be certain of what the others thought of him, but he knew for a fact what Ned thought, the teen's words only solidifying his resolve.

There was a reason Ned was his best friend.

Lifting his arm, the teen placed his hand against Ned's shoulder, the teen glancing back up at him. "Look...I know this is all super weird and totally unbelievable..but I do happen to know what I'm doing. I've got crazy powers, man! I can catch a bus with my bare hands, I can crawl along the walls and the ceiling, I can take out five armed guys with practically nothing but a can of high-tech silly string attached to my wrist without even breaking a sweat!" He scoffed. "Plus, I have Mr. Stark watching my back now, too. It's not like I'm alone in this. For the most part, I have him for help."

Ned grew silent for a moment and Peter leaned closer, hoping his words had done something to soothe the teen's worries. The last thing he needed was Ned going off and telling someone about his secret simply because he believed he had to do it to keep his friend safe. However, he blinked in shock as Ned stared back up at him, smirking widely. "Well, now you have me, too."

Peter stared back at him for a moment, mouth going dry as he swallowed. For a moment, all he could do was blink back at his friend. Finally, after a second, the teen felt a smile form on his face as he chuckled. "Yeah...guess I do."

Both boys glanced down as Ned's watch beeped. "Crap..." The kid muttered as he rose up to his feet, Peter doing the same. "I have to get going or I'm not gonna make it back home before curfew."

Quickly lifting his arm, the teen pointed a stern finger Peter's direction, said boy raising up his hands in surrender. "And don't think we're done with this. I'm texting you with any and all questions I have on this and trust me, there are a lot." He exclaimed.

Peter laughed. "Okay, okay. Just make sure to text it on the E.X. Chat, m'kay?" He said. With how nosy the Cons could sometimes be, it had become sort of like a mandatory thing for him to create a secret text group on his phone that only he could access. Considering the topic up for discussion, it went without saying that they would have to use the private chat.

"Pshh...of course. What do you take me for?" Ned responded, though he could tell from the look Peter gave him that it was not something to take lightly. "Plus, don't expect me to hold back when I see you at school, either."

"Seriously, dude? School? Isn't that a little risky?"

"Hey! I reserve the right to be curious about this! My friend is literally an example of a Ripley's Believe It or Not exhibit."

Peter rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless as the two boys made their way over towards the door. Ned turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway, turning back as he held out his hand for their signature handshake.

Peter stared down at the outstretched hand, but decided against it. In a display of relief that he didn't realize he'd been holding in - something the teen would come to question later on that night - he leaned forward, wrapping his friend in a hug. Ned was obviously taken aback by it but was quick to return it in a display of strength that perhaps might have even rivaled Spider-Man.

Though, he supposed he had good reason. After all, Peter was never one to divulge in personal contact like this. At most, Ned could get a high-five out of him, perhaps a comforting shoulder pat. It was rare that the large boy could ever actually hug him. But now it was Peter hugging him, and not the other way around.

Safe to say, both boys realized just how momentous the seemingly small gesture was, so much so that either boy wanted to be the first to pull away.

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

51st Street - Back Alleyway

10:02 PM

Natasha stole one last glance at the building behind her before pulling her hood up tighter, continuing to walk down the narrow sidewalk until she came to the next alleyway.

Turning down the darkened path, she continued to walk along the dirt, stopping at the end. She leaned her back against the dirty stained brick wall, propping one foot up against the bricks as she folded her arms over her chest.

She let out a small sigh as she began to thrum her fingers against her arm, small strands of red hair falling down into her face as the brisk winds blew past her. After another few minutes of waiting, the soft sound of whooshing met her ears. Lifting her eyes up to the sky, she watched Sam descend down into the alleyway next to her, his wings quickly retracting back into his pack.

She noticed his face was dirty and his arms and uniform seemed to be covered in dirt or ash. She quirked a brow, the man letting out a soft growl as he folded his arms. "Don't ask," he muttered, the woman holding her hands up in surrender.

"I didn't say anything."

The man scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. I just had a little run-in with a spider pest."

Instantly, the smirk was washed off of her face as he turned her hard gaze towards him. "Did you hurt him?" she asked, her voice low and intense.

Sam cocked a brow, his face twisting into one of confusion as he shook his head. "No, he's fine. A real pain in the ass, I'll say that. But...no. He's...he's alright, I guess," he murmured before turning back towards her. "Why so concerned all of a sudden?"

"I'm not. Stark is."

Sam narrowed his own eyes at that and turned away with a small scoff. "Yeah, sure," he muttered before lifting his head. "How'd that go anyway? You wish you'd listened to me and Clint yet about just staying away and letting that asshole deal with his own shit?" He growled.

Natasha let out a small sigh as she watched Sam unstrap the pack, moving over towards the wall she was leaning against as he pulled out a raggedy backpack they'd stashed there earlier.

"No, actually. In fact, I plan on going back."

Sam threw her an incredulous look. "Come on, girl. You can't be serious."

One look from her told him she was as serious as can be.

He let out an annoyed groan and shook his head. "We already have enough problems to deal with, Nat. We don't need to be adding his to the pile! Stark's a grown man. He can handle himself."

Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a jacket, a baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses before he placed his own wings inside the bag, zipping it closed so that it looked like a regular old backpack. Undoing the jacket, he quickly wrapped it around himself and zipped it up, flipping the hoodie over his head as he placed a baseball cap under it, sliding a pair of sunglasses over his face as well.

Natasha watched silently before turning away. "You can spare me the lecture, alright? I already know I'm gonna have Clint up my ass for this. But you honestly think Steve's just going to want to drop this?"

It was obvious what Sam's answer was as he scoffed and glared up at the sky.

Before either of them could say any more, the sound of distant sirens had them quickly straightening up. Moving back over towards the end of the alley, Sam walked over to the rotting wooden fence blocking their way and pried one of the panels of wood away from the rest of the structure, revealing a human-sized hole that they could easily slip through.

Quickly and quietly moving past it, the pair began to walk along the darkened, shadowed path back to their safe house once again. They knew it was unlikely anyone would recognize them if they walked along the street, but they weren't one for taking chances.

Nat glanced over towards her partner as they walked. "So...Spider-Man, huh?"

"Yeah, the kid's a little shit."

The woman smirked. "Yeah? Well, I got a kid of my own I need to scope out. I'm sure I can get a bit of fun out of that."

Sam chuckled as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Heh...there aren't enough prayers in the world for that poor soul."

Natasha let out a small huff of amusement, but didn't say anything to correct him.